#never mind all gritty bits about the human condition and trying to hide all the worst bits of yourself to seem normal and having someone

[sonwar]

i hate talking about nbc’s hannibal because i feel like i can never fully encapsulate everything that show is about or everything it makes me feel or that it’s both dark and messed up and also the most romantic and passionate piece of media i have ever encountered

[boogiewrites]

Burning Star

Chapter 1

Characters: Din Djarin/The Mandalorian / Reader / You

Summary: Din Djarin is a long-time associate and friend. When faced with the truth about the creed he's taken, doubts begin to grow in his mind about his choices. He comes to you, looking for a confidant and he finds more than he bargained for. Begins latter part of S2, porn with plot. A growing romance between two characters that thought of themselves as solitary creatures now wanting to no longer be alone. But with The Mandalorian being who he is, things can never be so simple.

Warnings/Tags: Sexual Content. Dry humping. Confessions of feelings. Hurt/Comfort. Touch Starved. 

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You couldn’t recall the exact BBY you’d met The Mandalorian. But then again, you weren’t even sure of your birth year, so dates tended to blend into one another in your memory. You recalled every encounter though, every mission he’d asked you to assist him on, the times you’d healed him and his ship, and especially the time he’d come to your planet for refuge with a strange but endearing little green creature. Your small, backwater planet didn’t have much. But that was one of the main things that had drawn you to it. Your parents were nomads, and you’d adopted the same after their death. So you made yourself a home on a green little planet after years of travel. It homed tiny hubs for weary travelers dotted along with the mountainous surface. But the one they called Mando always came to yours.

You had entertained the idea of becoming a Mandalorian after your parent’s death. They were prospectors, planet-hopping and hoping to make a fortune. On one expedition the Imperials decided the planet you and hundreds of others were on was now theirs for the resources. If you want to call it luck, you did live. You were taken in by an orphanage, one of many overrun with children just like you. You were full of anger and hurt and wanted revenge.

You were caught one night, trying to leave, and a woman fatefully saw you and brought you back in, having the first real heart to heart you’d had in your life. With tears in your eyes, you said you wanted the people who killed your parents, dead. You didn’t see this as unreasonable and you still didn't truthfully. You had read about The Mandalorians and were going to join them you’d told her. You were going to learn to fight and be a warrior and take your revenge. Young and full of rage, this was the only thing that made sense. But this woman, who had been watching you knew better than you did. She saw your softness, that capacity for love and sensitivity, and stopped you.

“Do not let their hate make you hard. It’s what they want. You will act recklessly and in their interests with hate in your heart. The only way to defeat evil is with kindness and love.”

It didn’t make sense at the time and when you were in a heated mood you liked to act like it still didn’t. But she was right.

You had previously spent your days reading and learning, drawing the various landscapes your parents took you too and trying to befriend the local fauna. You were a curious child that grew into a curious adult and you had fought hard to keep that sensitivity the woman told you of. So far, it had served you well.

This didn’t mean you didn’t fight. You had to to survive, but when the opportunity for kindness arose you always gave the other being a chance. But if they betrayed that trust you killed them. It seemed fair when it all came down to it. Philosophically speaking, anyway.

You had settled a store for supplies on a long-abandoned mining planet where a nearly extinct mutated species of Nexu lived in the caves under the planet’s surface. You’d protected them for generations now and they trusted you. But they were deadly to anyone else. There were rumors of the mines not being empty, of treasures left behind because they were too tricky to extract. You knew this wasn’t true. You and your toothy, furry associates had explored every bit of the caves that you could find. But that didn’t stop the desperate from trying. This was unfortunately the root of most of the violence in your life. At least you were protecting others in the meantime.

Maybe that’s what drew your Mandalorian to you. He had taken one way, The Way, and you had taken another. You saw in each other what you could have been. He’d given in to his anger and rage when he was young, and you had learned to see past yours. You had the empathy that came from years of self-reflection and control. You had taken different paths, and you both found what was missing in each other. You had the excitement of helping him on quarry hunts on a handful of occasions and he could hide and mend when needed. It was a balance, much like the force you’d read about, and it fell into place without much effort.

Wasn’t it the way that days that began like any other would lead to things you’d never expected? This day was no different. You had previously been most excited about the stew you’d been brewing for the second day, taking your sweet time with an old recipe you’d found in one of the books one of your neighbors had given you. The term neighbor is used loosely as it would be a day's walk, at the least, to the closest person.

The excitement sparked inside your chest as you went out to greet whoever happened to be landing in the field by your settlement. Then you saw the relic hovering above the broken blades of grass. You hadn’t seen a Razor Crest since his and it was easy to know who was going to come off the ramp when it happened upon your humble patch of the planet. You shield your eyes from the burning sun, close this time of the year as the glint off his Beskar armor sends a shock to your eyes.

It was a relief to see you, he thought. Something familiar, consistent, and warm to come back to after the turbulent journey he’d found himself on with the child.

“Hey, stranger!”You call out loudly, waiting for him to be closer so you didn’t have to shout and scare the foul in the surrounding trees. “I know it’s not repairs bringing you in. Your ship is shining like the Bright Star it’s in such good condition. You been on a vacation or something?”

He knew you were joking, his eyes relaxing under his helmet even though you couldn’t see. “Just got back.” his voice hits your ears, the gritty muffle of mechanical filter making it feel remote. You let him approach you, before reaching to hug him. It was something he’d had to get used to, and something you insisted on. After growing close during your time spent on his ship, the trauma bonding of violence and high stakes forced intimacy between two otherwise solitary creatures. For as long as you spent apart, the time picked up where it started when you came back together. Almost dying is hard work, and saving another from it tends to fasten the bond between people with surprising speed.

You had never shied away from him, he’d never given you a reason to. You approached life with an open heart and only shut it to protect yourself when needed. The contact felt soothing despite his hard outer layers. Both physical and figurative. A wrap of strong arms around his helmet, the weight of someone against him, a slight tug down from the height difference. It all felt very sincere, very human to him. At the moment that’s all he was certain about. The helmet hid the troubled eyes that would’ve given him away, and he found himself thankful for it.

“Always good to see you, Manny.” you give him a good squeeze, a kiss to the helmet that you polish out, cooing up at him with attentiveness. You’d refused to call him Mando any longer after one particularly heinous mission. Calling him something everyone else did, something so generic, didn’t fit. So a pet name it was. He’d never had one before. He secretly preferred it. “This Beskar keeping you safe?” you ask, buffing the spot with your sleeve and then patting his chest plate.

“Yes.” he nods. “Except for all the people trying to kill me for it.” You laugh and pat his hard head.

“Can’t blame them. Stylish... strong... beautiful. Just like you, huh?” you give him a wrinkled nose snort and you hear the grunt of amusement and note the subtle nod.

“What I’m best known for. My looks.”

He spoke with such a monotone delivery that his jokes might’ve not landed to someone more fearful and not as knowledgeable of the Mandalorian's personality under all that flash. “Where’s your little guy?”

No sooner than the words were out of your mouth than a gurgle and chirp from a perfectly him sized sack hanging off his shoulders appeared the little green wrinkly friend. “Always close by. Except when I tell him to be. Then he prefers to wander.”

“This goo ball wouldn’t be bad would you?” he tilts his oversized ears and blinks at his father figure as if he’d brutally insulted him. “Never.” you coo and give him little rubs under his jowls. His eyes shut and he happily soaks up the affection. “C’mon. Let's get inside. I bet you’re hungry.”

“He’s always hungry.” a slightly disgruntled Mando grumbles behind you.

“Sounds like you need to eat too.” you retort, hears his heavy footsteps behind you as you enter the humble building you’d built. It was made from the trees that used to fill the little clearing where the landing pad and accommodations were now. They grew fat and had many low, heavy limbs, perfect for construction. The floor was wooden, the walls a mixture of found metal, clay, and beams, same as the roof which made a lovely sound when it rained and kept the harsh seasons out. Dried flowers and herbs hung from low rafters, all part of the long list of things you did to keep yourself busy. You loved making, and your space reflected that. Despite it not being used by anyone but yourself that often, you kept it clean. Shelves and bins as you entered, a small counter for business off the side, a few small tables and chairs on the other side of the large square space with a small kitchen and refresher through doors on the far wall. It wasn’t much, but you’d made it all and it’d served its purpose thus far.

You sit the child down on a table with a cushion in it, letting his round head reach just over the tabletop. He reaches for the flowers in a bottle while you speak and Mando keeps the child's hand from breaking anything.

“Here you go. Been simmering for two days. Broth, meat, and some herbs and veg from the garden. Doesn’t get better than that little one.” You hand him a tiny spoon you’d carved for his equally tiny hands and he makes a confused sound.

“She made that for you, remember? Be nice, use your manners.” he motions towards it with a nod. You watch the child struggle for a moment before giving up and raise the small bowl.

“That works too.” you grin. “You want some? You could get the broth through that absorption accessory I made you.”

“It was destroyed during a mission recently.”

“Ah.” you nod and purse your lips. “I think I have parts to make another.”

He was used to paying for things being made for him. But you and your hobby of tinkering in a little bit of everything had led to a few things that were one of a kind. You’d made a long device that could fit under his helmet to allow liquids to be consumed without removing his helmet. He thought it was thoughtful but it was purely selfish as you were tired of him not eating your food. Before, you had bartered to eat together in separate rooms so you could get feedback. He wasn’t very good at it. Eating to live was his main purpose of doing it at all, not like you that lived to eat.

“Thank you.” is his quiet reply. There’s an easy silence watching the child burp and gulp and making a mess of himself in the process.

“What brings you in this time? You need me to open up the hut? I’ve still got fuel.”

“I’ll refuel before I leave.” You were used to his pauses, but something felt different, you could feel the consideration for his words churning in the silence. “I came to speak to you about something.”

“I can’t tell if this is good or bad.”

“I’m not sure myself.”

Your brow furrows and you lean across the table to engage him. “In trouble again?”

He is still and quiet for another beat. “I found other Mandalorians.”

Your eyes grow wide, “Oh.” you process the information, your surprise clear on your face, you had never been good at keeping control of your expressions. “Is that... not good?”

“We found a common ground and helped each other. But I feel as if I have more questions than I did before. I was so certain before of my standing within the Mandalore creed. I was raised by it, swore to it. And now...”

“What happened Manny?” you reach across and put your hand over his, the child coos at the action. The child could feel emotions, pick up on non-verbal things others couldn’t, and he knew when you were around, his protector was much happier.

“I come from a segment of Mandalorians that broke away from society. They have very different views of The Way. They told me I belonged to a cult of religious zealots.”

“Wow. They didn’t sugar coat that at all did they?” you pat his hand and try to not come off as condescending about it.

“I was not aware of this. This… difference.” you give him a sympathetic smile even though you aren’t sure if he’s looking at your face.

“What do you mean differences?”

“As soon as I met them they removed their helmets.”

“Oh well, yeah that would…” you nod, “That’s a big difference.”

“Have you read about the Children of the Watch? I know you were fond of reading of Mandalore as a child.” he asks with a touch of warmth to his words, as if it made him proud to say it about you.

‘A bit yes. There’s not much about them out there. They’re very strict and secretive. They didn’t want the progressive Mandalorians corrupting what they saw as the true Way. You all believe in being warriors and protecting what’s yours. The helmet thing seems to be the biggest deal.”

“It’s given me��� concerning thoughts.”

“Do you mind if I give my opinion on it?”

“That’s what I came for.” his words made you feel special, like you mattered. They didn’t have the tainted burn of someone that wanted to use you or what you for their gain. He came to you to talk. You were flattered.

You turn your body to face his direction, both hands on top of his large, still armored one that he stared at for a moment while you spoke. Watching your hand's flowery movements to accompany your points broke his concentration on them. “I believe this equates to my discovery that I’m not human.”

His attention is grabbed, head swinging up and the child taking notice.

“I am mostly, but I have Cathar in my bloodline....”

It made sense, he thought, he pieced things together, your angled golden eyes, the large swell of hair you styled in various ways, sometimes wild and free and sometimes braided for more function when fighting. Your nails were long and sharp, your teeth a bit pointed as well, he’d never noticed if you could retract them, he thought you’d styled them in that way. Most importantly he could see the strength your ancestors had instilled in you. Even now. You were fierce, proud, loyal, and passionate. It explained your quick temper for those who harmed others for their selfish benefit. If someone had only glanced at you, human would be the general assumption. But if someone took the time to know you as he had, it was easy to believe there was something else in your blood.

“I grew up with what I assumed were humans, but I’ll never know that now. I could’ve been a foundling for all I know. So I had this loyalty to them, what I thought was a bond, a call to be a part of that. But once I came of age and... things started to appear a bit more complicated I went to someone to see what was wrong with me. Turns out nothing, I’m just not human.” you chuckle and shrug, recalling your awkward memories. “I was then left with the questioning of where my loyalty lies. Who was I? Was I Cathar enough to call myself that? Was I human enough to remain within that species, to live and love and fight with them? I was missing such a large portion of who I was, in my blood, I was someone I’d never known. I had so many things I might’ve missed out on you know? Hunting, hierarchies, mating, having family, a pride. We were known for litters, did I have siblings?” you sigh and you feel the sadness well up as it always did when you ponder the unknowns of your existence. “I digress… what I have concluded, and you may take into consideration is that you are in fact, both. Neither is more or less important. They are born of the same thing, they were once one single unit and all future and past components of Manda. You have your war gods, so do they. You have your morals, your duties, your... Way. Even if you were not a Child of the Watch, if you broke those creeds they specified, you are still a Mandalorian. You are not what you speak after all, you are your actions. Both sects believe neither to be a part of the other, but yet they helped you? You help your fellow Mandalorian. It is only a title, The Way is beyond titles, Manny, you know this.”

“I did not know that about you.” was his response.

“There’s far more we don’t know about our fellow man than we do know.” you smile at him and pat his hand. “You are usually quiet and prefer not to discuss frivolous matters. So I don’t bother you with trivia about myself.”

“I don’t believe that you or your beliefs are frivolous.” He pauses a moment, looking at your hand before placing his on top of yours. Both of his now tentatively trying to comfort yours. He didn’t show physical affection, it wasn’t natural to him. You took notice but kept your eyes on the way his hand gently stroked your own as he tried to elaborate the best he could. “You are... very well-read. An… admirable warrior of high morals. Your ideas have helped me with this. I still have concerns...questions. But for the first time since I learned this I feel… better understood.” You could almost feel the pain of him pulling those words out himself to give to another. This wasn’t his strong suit and you knew it. Was it some of the most endearing conversation you’d ever shared? Yes. Did it make your chest ache just slightly with the sweetness he was presenting even though his eyes were hidden? Also yes. He must be hurting, truly upset, and overwhelmed to try to share the burden of it with someone else.

You look back up to him and hold his hands tightly. “You’re very welcome.” you share a connected moment, eyes to the dark void of his visor as your hands move softly and slowly within the others’. “Would you prefer to continue talking about it? Or would you rather us take one of our walks? I think a break might help clear your head.”

“I think you're right .”

--------------------------------------------------------------

You took the opportunity to carry about the child, stopping to let him feel leaves and touch branches, pinching tiny bites of native fruit for him to experience. It was lovely, the scenery and the company. You kept the conversation light, talking about the books you'd read, the things you’d made, how the local Nexu’s were doing, and what the former guests had been up to. He’d met many of the foundlings that had eventually found their way to you. They had been in the same orphanage as you had. He’d scared most of them, and you couldn’t blame them, but he had always asked how they were when you spoke regardless. The child to him was the first foundling he’d taken in, lived with, cared for, and protected. You had helped with the younger children at the orphanage as you grew up and had taken in a handful over the years. And as children did, they would leave once they felt they were ready or the itch to be free came. You were concerned about how your Mando would take losing his little guy. You could tell they had a strong connection. You walked back both holding one of the outstretched arms of the very slow child, you could see how it was easy to be swept up by the little creature.

You had him care for the child, readying him for bed and getting what was needed out of his ship before locking it down and coming into the small clay and brick temporary home next to yours. It was modest, like yours, built from the clay in the hills you’d gathered yourself and decorated with various stones and tile. It was more than enough compared to what he was used to. A small room for the child to sleep, tucked away safe and cozy and you once again held the father figure and wished him a goodnight up against the cool metal of his helmet. He thanks you for your help, as he always does.

You tell him not to mention it, he’d do the same for you, as you always did. The parting goodbyes were always rather special and tender to you. He would tell you he hoped you found yourself in the favor of the maker, to be safe, vigilant, and that he would see you again. He’d always kept his promise.

---------

Going without sleep wasn’t something new for him. So sitting in the light of one of the four moons in the sky wasn’t exactly unexpected when you saw it from the dark interior of your home. He knew you were there. He had detected the movement in the building with his helmet without even looking in your direction. He sat on the stone stoop outside, helmet slowly shifting between looking down to the dirt path in front of him and up into the bright sky. It was the only glint off him from the moonlight, he was without his usual covering of Beskar armor on the rest of his body. He was in his black fabric shirt and pants, odd to see him without the visual breaks the shapes of his armor made. He still had his boots and his helmet on. You had yet to see him without them. You put on a robe to cover yourself in your summer-light sleeping shift and decided to see if you can be of any help.

He couldn’t decide if he was relieved or more anxious at the sight of you. He felt naked suddenly, despite all of his body being covered except his hands. He became hyper-aware of the small patch of skin around his neck that was uncovered, the wind tickling and reminding him he was in his most exposed state around someone in decades. You looked soft as you take slow steps towards him across the grassy garden between the buildings. It wasn’t just your loose hair, the free, flowing fabric showing skin he didn’t recall seeing before. The glow of the moon lent him to think he could see the energy around you as you approached and it bounced off your skin. But unlike The Way he was taught, he didn’t think less of you for appearing delicate. He knew better, but it seemed to help make him feel more at ease in his state of what he would call undress.

“Hey Manny.” your voice was considerate like a mother's and full of affection he didn’t feel he deserved. “Would you like some company?” you ask, tilting your head and holding out a small cup of cold liquid down to him. “Brought tea.” you mumble before moving to stand near him, the edges of your robes reaching out to caress the shaft of his boot on occasion.

With his head low, shielding his chin from your view he takes a sip. At this point in his inner monologue, he didn’t have it in him to ask you to turn away while he drank, hiding in the shadows was good enough.

“Put the kid to bed but you forgot to put yourself down too?” you give him a sleepy smile. You hear a long exhale from the filter in his helmet. “Still too much going on in your head to sleep, huh?” you say with a nod, already knowing. You sit your cup on the corner of the small stone landing in front of the door. You kneel before him, settling in and studying him dutifully. You’d never seen him look so vulnerable before, and you were mixed on your decision about how to approach him.

“Yeah. Still too much.”

“I’m all ears if you want to spill.” you offer with upward palms.

“I don’t want to keep you up. You should go back to bed. You were resting before you saw me.”

“And now I won’t be able to go back to sleep until I know you’re okay.”

A small grunt of acceptance comes from the helmet. “I feel angry and it confuses me. I shouldn’t be angry. I’ve made my decisions. Most a long time ago. But I am. I’m trying to practice humility, acceptance. But there’s only anger and this feeling of being betrayed.”

“That sounds normal to me.” you nod in support, thankful he was finally sharing with you what was going on in his mind. You’d had glances inside before, stories he’d told, where his morals lie, but this felt different. “They did help you. Maybe it’s good to focus on that?”

“I’m not angry at them.”

Your brow shows your confusion.

“I’m angry at the Children of the Watch.”

That was different. You understood him being angry at those that called him a zealot and dismissed his beliefs. Despite them being so similar.

“No matter how small of a part of my creed may have been a lie. It was still a lie. Now I wonder what else was a lie. None of it? All of it? I’ve given my life to this.”

“It’s not... simple.” you offer gently, eyes to the ground, not wanting to antagonize him.

“No. It’s not.” you let him think, studying his bare hands. It gave you plenty to do in the downtime. You’d seen bits of him before when healing him, but you couldn’t recall if you’d seen his hands. The warm brown skin was marked with light and dark scars alike from the years of abuse his body had taken. They were bigger than yours, more square and sturdy in comparison. “The things I’ve sacrificed for a lie.” it was almost a hiss, and you feel the burn of it in your chest for him.

“I know it’s not my apology to give,” you say quietly, rising on your knees to touch his forearms, suddenly aware of the softness and warmth underneath your hands as you touched him. There were no bracers to block you or worry about activating, there was just a man under there after all. “But I am sorry about how much this is upsetting you.”

“You are never a source of upset, Jaira.” Your name came off his lips like a whisper. He had so seldom used it. He wanted to reach out and touch your hands, but the thought of skin against his made him more agitated in multiple ways, both good and bad. Your expressive face told him you had known this but thanked him for the kind words all the same.

“Nor you to me, Manny.” you said his name in the same tender way, making it feel almost vulgar as you rest so close together.

He looks away, you can see the gears shifting from his subtle body language. “I believe it’s long overdue… in the interest of exploring the things I’ve sacrificed... you’ve earned my real name.” Your eyes go large, a quick jerk upward as he moves, bravely so, to place his hand over yours. His skin felt as hot as the sun. “My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

“Din.” you say with an unintentionally sickeningly sweet sigh of revelation. You give a smile that grows larger slowly, feeling it reach up into your eyes. “Din. That’s such a… gentle name. I like it.” you insist with a nudge forward of your chin.

“Yours reminds me of a phrase we have in Mandoa.” he looks down, now preoccupied with his decision to touch your hand. It was so giving, warm, and feeling distinctly feminine when paired with his.

“What’s that?”

“I think it would translate best to luck… destiny. Bright stars that light the good course to take.”

Your eyes went wide like a forest animal. You couldn’t help it, it was one of the sweetest sentiments anyone had ever given you. “Say it for me, Din.”

He felt his chest jerk at the word. He wasn’t used to being affected by them. Certainly not his name. “Jate’kara.”

“I’ve not been able to find much about your language. Would you be willing to teach me someday?”

“Of course.” he sounded borderline offended at your statement.

“Did I say something wrong?” you ask with a tilt of your head.

“No, no.” he shakes his head. “You don’t have to ask things of me like they’re favors.” he clarifies. “Whatever you need of me...I’ll do it.”

It sent a flip to your insides. This felt like a lot of responsibility. You could just... request things from this myth-worthy Mandalorian? It was an odd power rush you weren’t truly capable of dealing with in this rather intimate setting. You were close, almost between his knees, hands clasped together and speaking quietly into the warm night air. The condensation ran cool on your skin, the wind leaving bumps over your skin in its wake. The buzz of animals and insects was loud but faded when you were so close and so deep in conversation. If he said you could ask anything of him. Then perhaps you would. Why sit on the intensity of the moment? Strike.

“What is it that is bothering you? You feel... different. Not angry. I’ve seen you angry this is more subtle more...deep. I feel like you’re holding back. What is it that's making you so angry? You are so logical and reasonable in your approach to things. What is it that's so distressing you can't sleep?”

He takes a deep breath. He hasn’t wanted to say and be thought of as simple or even crude. But you'd asked and he was left with no excuse. “There are things that men want...even need that arent considered with The Way. I am a Mandalorian. But I am also a man. I've given so much of myself to being Mandalorian that I've had to deny myself things that are a part of that human side of me.”

“And with learning of the lies, you’re angry because you feel like you've been suffering for no reason.”

“Yes.” a stern answer and a strong nod to accompany it.

You almost lost your nerve, but with the way his thumb kept sweeping across your skin and the voltage it felt like it created with every touch you would’ve cursed yourself if you didn’t ask. “What have you sacrificed unwillingly, Din?”

Your eyes gave you away if your tone hadn’t. His helmet doesn’t move, he is as still as stone, gray, and shining like a polished river rock as he bores into you. “That is a bold question.”

“You have given me bold answers. I return the earnestness with the things I want to know.”

“You want to know these things?”

“I want to know you.” a direct answer and a slight leaning forward to keep him close as if he might run away in fear. Which was the most ridiculous imagery you could imagine. “I always have. I’ve been witness to your good and the bad actions. I’d like to be a bearer of your thoughts tool. I can’t help but want to understand what makes you, you. Of all the creatures and people I’ve met, you are the only one to hold my attention so completely both with and without his presence.”

Your words made for the most interesting combination of occurrences in his chest and stomach. It was fire and ice, a pull to the man in him, and a calling of praise for the life he led. His cheeks burned, a rare occurrence. It had all been a fantasy before now. But you with your fond words and their heated meanings were making them feel more real by the second.

“You do know how to appeal to both sides of me that I’m talking about.” he pauses and observes your face a moment, and no sign of retreat is within your eyes. “There's been no place for the��� physical intimacy that men can crave. I am not one to pay, and I don't have the time to put into such efforts that I believe are needed for such… intimate things. They’re as sacred as an oath. I might've not acted that way when I was young. But clarity is gained with experience.”

“I share the sentiment.” a touch of sadness he understood well was in your eyes and it made his chest ache. A being like you shouldn’t know these feelings. A flash of anger lit within him for the injustice in a universe where a woman like you would ever feel lonely in such a way.

“You’ve taken no oath to hold you back from such things.”

“But I have not had the time, place, or person to swear such sacred oaths.” you give a subdued laugh, throwing his words back at him. “Or… at least I didn’t think I did… because I wasn’t sure if they could.” you look away and he sees it. You meant him.

“They can,” he answers, a deep fearless voice emanates from the helmet that holds your entire body at attention. “There are… obstacles to overcome. But they can.”

With a rush of confidence, you move closer, your chest against his legs and your hands on his knees. “Do you know of any obstacle I have yet to overcome?” a smirk that catches him off guard appears, a playfulness to your eyes bright and doting on him makes him catch the fever you were trying to spread.

“No.” a breathy answer through Beskar.

“Then let me help.” you offer. “I have grown so fond of you over these years. I wasn’t convinced you felt the same.”

“I do.”

“We can approach this issue together and… overcome it the same. As we have before.”

“As we will again.” He recites part of the toast you liked to give before leaving on missions. He remembered it. He did care.

“What obstacles are there? You know you have my silence with such things.”

Where did he even begin? He didn’t feel prepared and ironically he was unprepared for such actions to take place and feelings to be felt. “I know. I trust you.” There was nothing but the truth in his words and you reach to put your hand to the side of his helmet as if it were his cheek. You had always accepted this part of him, treating the helmet as if it WAS him and not an external thing. Which is how he thought of it most of the time. There was never a wish for him to remove it or invasive questions. You were knowledgeable about the Mandalorians and knew their armor was sacred to them, and you assumed as such about this man and his helmet. He places his hand over yours, the warmth between them registering on his helmet display and building condensation on its surface. “Let’s go inside.” he instructs, taking your hands, a flush of warmth through his bones at the touch of another.

“Is the child-?”

“Fast asleep.” he quickly answers, leading you to the small bedroom in the earthen home.

He stands at the long side of the bed for a moment, hand in yours and trying to get his bearings, it had been so long since he’d done anything like this. You saw his head moving and taking in the room and then you and back again, you could sense the uncertainty. “Din, relax.” a warm smile comes across your face, taking the lead, and that was fine with you. You almost coo his name, your hands moving to his upper arms to rub them reassuringly.

“Hard when it’s been so long.” he regrets it as he says it, thinking it might sound a bit pathetic.

“Believe me it’s been a very long time for me too.” you console him, standing chest to chest to start. You follow the hills and valleys of his arms, strong and lean under the pliant fabric to his bare hands, lacing your fingers together, feeling him hide the twitches and jerks from the sensation of touch. “Sit down on the bed. Let me get close to you.” he sits down, sat up far too straight. “Put the bend of your knees against the bed... there we go.” he feels your hands on his thighs and an audible gulp hits your ears that you ignore. “You know I’m not going to judge you. I want this… I want you too.” He feels you close the space between you, your legs sliding between his naturally wide splayed ones. “Now tell me what obstacles did you mean before? Talk to me and let me know what you need.” your hands trace the dark lines on his helmet and a shiver runs down his back.

You were being far better about this than he warranted. It made him want you more, a hunger in his lower stomach slowly growing past his anxiety. “Helmet stays on.” was his first thought, spoken almost too quickly.

“Of course.” you keep your voice quiet and soothing, hands making their trek up and down his arms, waiting to feel them lose their tension. “Do you have to leave everything else on?” you coax him with a squeeze to his biceps, putting one leg up, now visible from beneath your robe over his.

You can’t see it but you get an actual grin out of him. “No.” a more confident response, feeling more relaxed with your unintentional playful humor. You see him look down to see the bare skin, the touchless friction between your bodies growing hotter by the second.“But let’s not get carried away.”

You hear the laugh this time, he sees your expression shift, a triumphant smile for getting him out of his own head. “I know I can be sensitive when I’ve not... been touched in a long time.”

“Yeah?” he liked the sounds of you talking about it a little too much. He wanted to hear anything you’d tell him about your body.

“Yeah.” your breath catches, “Are you?”

He nods, he didn’t have the confidence in this area yet to own what he saw as shortcomings.

“I want to sit in your lap. Can I?” You wanted to take it slow. The last thing you wanted was to scare him off. There is a fine line between indulgence and going too far when it came to dealing with a man like him.

“Yes.” another quick nod, and you are happy to give in, your hips settle well on his strong thighs, feeling secure. To him, it felt it took forever and didn’t last long enough. The drag of your bare skin against his thin clothes was a lot. The weight of what felt like a lifetime of neglect to himself and his needs weighs as heavy on him as you do. He had known touch only through violence for decades now, the tenderness you were offering him willingly was almost overwhelming. He was taught the ways of war and violence since he was young. The ways of more fragile things; of love and intimacy he’d had to learn on his own.

“I’ll go slow.” Slow was the opposite of how your hearts were beating. Your fingers wanted to touch that strip of skin unveiled around his shirt collar, but you only stared at it for the moment. His head pauses just above your chest, your arms resting on his shoulders, fingers light on the edge of his helmet and hungry to move farther down.

“Thank you.” a simple but honest answer.

You’d been close before, seen large spaces of bare skin and carried one another, slept shoved into a single space too small for you both but it had never felt like this. Everywhere your bodies met was warm and giving, both now very aware of the gap between both your hips in this position. You took the time to study him up close, the metal of his helmet was unbelievably smooth as your fingers traced invisible lines and doted on the hard surface separating you from him. Did you want his helmet off? Yes. You wanted to know, to be the only one to know, to touch and feel and savor every inch of him. The more you thought about it, the closer you got to him, the harder it was to recall a time you didn’t think of him this way. Repressing your wants and needs was something you were both personally familiar with.

“It doesn’t bother you when I touch your helmet like this does it?”

“N-no. I like it.” his face a melted mess under the guard. He watched you so close, your bright eyes glowing with the light the moon beaming down. He couldn’t feel it, but he knew everywhere you touched, spots lighting up red with heat, pulsing where more pressure was applied. It was a good introduction to being touched again. You push forward, a single kiss to where you believed his cheek to be. When you pulled away, he answered before you could ask. “Go on.” a heated hiss through the filter deep and dark and heavy as it hit your ears. You place another to the other side, tilting his head you give him another to his forehead. His eyes would close when you were near, a happy sigh, a weighted exhale is let out, feeling his shoulders slumping with each dot of affection. You hold his metal cheeks, a faint kiss to the tinted part of his visor. You press your forehead against his, barely a measurement worth noting separating you as he gives in to your touch, wanting to fall into you, to give you back what you were giving him.

You move your hands slowly, giving him time to register and adapt before moving on, your arms wrap around his helmet, holding him close before leaving a trail of smaller kisses behind, bringing his head only slightly down into your chest. Underneath he was a slack-jawed puddle. Your arms made their way down his shoulders to his back, you could even feel the raised skin of scars you’d helped suture, fingertips light along them, exploring new ones. After your flat palms explored his back, finding his breathing steady and deep you tried something new. A drag of your nails against the fabric drew a deep groan from him. “Good?”

“Ung-” a deep enthusiastic grunt escapes the helmet pushed to your collarbone. “Yes.” You continue, you scratch his back and he swears he could cry at the sensation. You didn’t move away or avoid his scars, the patchwork he felt his body looked like. You embraced it, all of him, and it was hitting him harder than he expected it to.

You take a deep breath, another kiss to soothe to the cold metal. “Do you want to...see me? Or- touch me back?”

He hadn’t even thought about it, his brain hadn’t moved past the feel-good moments you were covering him in.

“Yes.” a simple but hungry answer. As you see his helmet tilt downward towards your chest.

“I want you to too.” Your sincere tone struck him, he watched your agile fingers reach for the belt that held your robe in place. It fell silent, blood in your ears as it was your turn to feel the taste of nervousness on your tongue. Your body was something that did things for you, it wasn’t something you often stopped to consider the aesthetic of. The quiet noises that he let escape as you took off the robe left any hesitation behind with it as it laid on the floor abandoned. His hands didn’t move, his chest did noticeably, as yours mirrored, picking up speed as you moved forward. You take one of his hands, thumbs rubbing circles, leaving small kisses on his fingertips as the sounds beneath the Beskar grew louder. The rhythm of his breathing was now audible, helpless sounds you never expected to hear from anything but pain brushed against your ears and touched you in places no one had in ages. You kiss him palm, nose nuzzled into the only slightly trembling fingers. After you felt the skin-to-skin contact was enough to calibrate him, you meet what you felt to be his eyes, taking his hand and placing it over your breast. You were still covered with the thin sleep shift but it was made for breathability in the heat of summer and didn’t leave much to the imagination. You take him by the wrist of the awkwardly avoidant hand and put it on the curve of your hip. “Is this-?”

“Yes.” he rushes out and sees you smile, causing another kiss to be given to his helmet where you were aiming for what would be his mouth. He groaned, feeling your nipple harden against his palm, the other feeling the silky slip of fabric as he let himself give a firm grip to your fleshiest parts.

“Go on, Din,” you whisper into his visor. “Touch me,” you ask of him. A strangled noise breaking through bitten lips is your answer. You place your hand gently on top of his, showing him it was okay, reminding him how to, helping him give in. Your hand forces his to cup the weight of your chest, the exhale of pleasure fogged up his visor as you had your head rested against his. “Like that, yeah.” you wet your lips and his hand begins to move on its own. Soon his hands are kneading at you, a simple brush of thumb over your nipple forces an inhale he drinks up the sound of.

He fondly recalled this now, that static in the air, the shared breaths and the power he felt with a woman in his grip. He relaxes his head against the bend of your neck, mouth open and watering, hidden from view but the sound of his breathing was enough to tell you he was giving over to it now. The tentativeness leaves, his hand pulls your hips closer to him, both inhaling at the feeling of touch against the places your arousal was spreading from. You let out a small whine at the feeling of the seam of his pants, pressed against by his growing erection.

“Fuck.” you hear exhaled into your shoulder and you shudder. “You feel...so good.” his hand grips you firmly, “Like velvet in my hands…” his lips brush against his helmet and he wishes it was your skin. He was famished for touch, for this connection and lust he’d repressed for so long. But here it was, in his hands, in his lap asking him for more. His hands ran up your bare chest, feeling the pulse under your skin and the slick your sweat had created. “You’re as hot as a star under my hands.” he groans.

You audibly swoon at the comment, feeling that distinct masculine roughness of well-worked hands as his palms moved into your hairline. “And you’re as hard as Beskar under me.” You move your hips, a grind against his, and a fully formed moan escapes, neck going limp and the heaviness of the helmet resting on your shoulder now. You whine, the friction feeling even more delicious against your glossy wet center. He encourages you wordlessly, a hand on your ass to keep a slow rhythm, a painful drag of your engorged clit against the perfectly fit shaft of his cock. Such a thin piece of material between you, you thought. You reach between your legs, a wet mess on both of you and it’s no surprise. “I’m as wet as Kamino, Din.” you hum and smile, the front of his helmet against your neck again. You feel the vibration of his groan against your skin. “Look what you’re doing to me,” you whisper, mouth pressed against his helmet where his ear would be. He sees the light hit your fingers as you raise them. “See that?”

“Fuck...yes little star I do.” he groaned heavily, his chest heaving a bit. You get bolder, your hand moving from your lips to the painfully hard throb in his pants. Another long groan, a jerk of his hips as you palm him, a back and forth against the pressure, feeling him jump against the confines. “Unf - I - I won’t- “ his hips jerk and his hand moved faster than you can register to your wrist. A firm hold that makes you moan and stop. There was that strength you had wanted to be obedient to. “That might be a bit… much for me.” He stopped you out of fear of not being able to stop. He didn’t want to scare you, unleash something he wasn’t ready for or couldn’t control. It was a concern he’d cum too soon and embarrass himself, this wasn’t something he could just jump back into and impress anyone.

He was thankful you weren’t disappointed, “Do you want me to make you cum, Din?” Every time you said his name with such lust in your voice it made him moan. But he didn’t feel the least bit weak for it.

“I wanted us both to...enjoy this.”

“If you think I’m not enjoying myself you’re welcome to put that hand between my legs and find the contrary.” Another moan that makes him slump comes heavily from him. “If you do want to...enjoy this…” you let out a small breathy laugh he raises his head to. “I can arrange that.” you offer, your nose gliding affectionately against the center indent of his helmet. “Relax and enjoy this with me, Din.” you give him a reassuring smile, lining your hips up again. You grind back and forth, his hands finding their place on your body quickly. You straighten your back to give him a view of you, and you finally let your fingers dive under the neck of his shirt, feeling the slightest glimpse of hair at the base of his neck, your fingers go as far into his helmet as they can. You start that back and forth against him, over and over, lazy growing more urgent as each time he gives a harsh drag across your clit, the stimulation you needed. “I’ve thought about you like this, you know.”

A small “Ungff.” was the only response he could manage.

“Wanted my hands to feel your skin, just for pleasure. Wanted to know how you’d feel... thick and throbbing beneath me like this.”

With a deep grunt, his hand holds your hip sternly, the other moving to the back of your head, pressing your forehead to his. “Yes-keep talking like that, fuck.” The demand was thick in his voice, his hands no longer gentle, giving away the need they were trying to find an outlet for.

“You’ve turned me into something I’m not for anyone else. Some needy young girl, hungry for a taste of flash and flesh with a man.”

“You’re so, fuck you’re so soft.” he moans, helmet pushing back against you like a bull, and you were happy to ride. "Your so good at that."

You let it build, focusing on the feeling between your legs, you let your breathing take over, every grind a release of sound, and a step climbed together towards your peak. “I knew you would be impressive. You had to be. Look at you.” You pant and you feel his fingers sink into your hair, a fistful slowly tightening as you held onto his back and head, leveraging and letting your hips do all the work. “No man’s ever made me such a greedy woman with only his hands before Din. No one. Only you.” The filter slips and your mouth falls open, breath fast from exertion, both sets of hands now with a white-knuckled grip against each other's bodies.

It was hot and fast and what you needed to satiate your needs. His hands and sounds told you everything you need to know for now. He wanted you, needed you, craved you. He was giving you the power to make him weak, a rush to your head that wasn’t just your impending orgasm.

“Fuck Din I’m close.” you admit, your mouth open and panting, tongue shamelessly lapping at his helmet, your lips kissing him as if he could kiss back. Once again, he returned the kisses with his hands, switching grip one went to your back, the other back to your breasts bouncing out of their thin confines.

“Fucking do it.” he bites out through gritted teeth, fingers tugging your top down to expose you and give your nipple a pinch.

“Mmmph!” a slight whine but a plea for more. “Yes fuck I love that Din, harder.” your words rush out and he eagerly follows.

“Cum for me. Cum on me. Please.” he growls, and it ignites something in you. Something primal. “C’mon little star, fuckin burn for me.” he commands, a barked order, caught up in it all, the heat, the friction, and the haze of lust around you both he cums. Unexpectedly but it didn’t matter at this point. With that solid thrust against you, a hand gripped into the flesh between your shoulder blades, the masculine energy you’d craved washes over you in the grunts and expletives that leak from the helmet.

“Yes, fucking cum Din. Give it to me.” you moan shamelessly, head falling back. A yip of “Yes.” building from whines to full roars overcomes you as you do as he asks and explode into a white bright hot light that consumes you. You try to keep the pace, the contact but your body stutters and begins to shake. The now warm metal of his helmet presses between your bouncing tits as your head tilts back and he holds you up with both hands, you never felt fear of falling when his hands were on you. At least not falling into the floor.

It was as if his mind cleared, and he was left soaking in this gleaming woman cumming hard in his arms. He held you up, seeing your chest heave, the pink flushing your skin, how much desire he felt in his growled name as you gnashed your teeth and came on him.

Fuck he felt good.

He got to scoop you up, a trembling and panting shadow of the primal goddess you’d just been, arms wrapping around your waist, one hand moving to see your face as it fought to regain its bearings.

"You glow like a star when you're like this." He isn't sure if he's overstepped, he doesn't know if the shine in your eyes is from the recent orgasm or his words. “Fuck you are… beautiful. You know that?” your mass of hair falls forward as you look down at him, chest still finding its normal pace.

Your eyes blink, a flutter of disbelief and, if he read you correctly, a slice of fear for only a second. “Beautiful?” you ask, feeling a bit bewildered.

His hand stops its gentle stroking against your hair and face. “You act like you’ve never been called that before.” You can feel the subtle laugh in his chest when he says it.

When your face remains still for a moment, eyes bright and full of memories he wishes he could access you reply almost sheepishly, “I've not.”

With the simple, quiet answer he was given more information about you than you knew you'd given up. You'd never let anyone in like this before. No one had ever held you and told you the things you longed to hear from another you cared for. You were like him after all.

With a light hand, you rest against his helmet again, stroking it as if it were his hair. "It means more coming from you than it would anyone else."

Now you've taken his words from him. You managed to make him feel special. Something he had denied his entire life. Something he wasn't sure he even believed anyone could be. In the same sentiment as your confession, he was glad it was you that was changing his changing his mind about such things. Learning the truth about the Children of the Watch, and the questions it brought up about his life was the first in a wave of realizations he'd face. Perhaps it was time to reevaluate how he lived his life if it meant missing out on things like you.

I tagged those who wanted in my Javi fic and interacted with my posts about making this fic. If you want to be added or removed just let me know.

@jaegeeeeer​ @likedovesinthewnd​ @inkededucatednnerdy​  @biharryjames @ladamari68​ @past-romantic​ @weliketomoveit @shikin83​ @ookamikuro​ @anglovesthis​ @swol-bear @louist91syndrome​ @guiltylitpleasures​ @nfnoofiii​ @hellothefriend​ @beatha-dubhach @l-e-i-n-t-h​ @firehart9​ ​

[josephmxa]

Welcome to Wonderland: Faults of an Armstrong Part II

The Truth She Paid

“Ari…”

“Yes, Daddy?”

“Do you miss your mother?”

Every time he asked me, there was a small buzz in my stomach. Started small, then rumbled, then pinched my edges. And I felt… I felt like what I last ate was coming right back up. I remembered squeezing his hand tight. I remembered my eyes going over her name on the tombstone again and again. How my skin shivered under the slight winter breeze. Every time he asked me this, the train station stood bare. My vocabulary dwindled to the understanding of when I used to be an infant. My breaths gone shallow, my heart stirred slow. It irked the hairs on my body so much so my ears popped and every noise registered at a higher frequency.

Did I miss the woman who never shared the love my dad had? Did I miss her disdain? Her arrogance? Her naivete? How about her maddened wrinkled features every time I stepped an inch in her room? Because I certainly did not miss the lifeless soul my father tended to as if he loved her the same. So, I ask again, did I miss the mother who never was?

No.

In my eyes, she hadn’t earned the title. In hers, I hadn’t lived up to a single standard to that of her little baby boy Ari. Nothing but his deformed shadow.

But every time he asked me… his cold metal hand tightened. The clinks in his arms sounded off in the winter breeze. His sunken eyes grew red on her engraved name. By just standing here with me, a story of regret and guilt could be told by a simple picture take from her grave. So, how could I disappoint the man—my father—who missed the wife he used to love?

As always, my voice soft and tuned with a touch of sadness, I simply said, “yes,” and then peered up at his face and watched a small stream stride down his cheek. His face struck me odd because of how much it changed. Because back then I hadn’t the ability to empathize with him. Never had the opportunity of having nearly enough history with her he’s had. The mad love he shared with Annaliese was lost in me and believe, I tried fitting his shoes on me. I’ve tried listening. He still refused to retell a broken part of their history. Believe me, I’ve been nothing short of curious and have been denied countless times over.

Made me wonder why, no, how I ever thought I could understand.

Knowing him, his next words came with ease; I could recite them one day when his time came. “Her brilliance exceeded my expectations. Her beauty far surpassed mine. What I first thought of her laid in a pile of ash days after knowing her. She raised my standards high and became the woman to beat. No one else reached the heights of her level. She, my wife, my life… I lost her long before she died. There wasn’t an ounce of strength in me to deny her ignorance. Not an ounce of courage to restrain her arrogance. I loved her so dearly, I followed her inside the abyss she rests in.”

On cue, the air went quiet. The soft whistling of winter came and gone, and we felt the quick bite of its cold. We stood here, in silent pray, for a woman I do wish I could’ve respected.

“Burton,” Andrew called. He stood on the other side of him, no doubt latched around his arm. “What happened to Annaliese?”

He said nothing at first. When he was about to, he looked at me, his features smothered in regret. Part of me wished to say, I know.

Twenty years.

Twenty guilt ridden years and this was what he came to be.

He turned his head back. Slowly, he held it up. Most likely hoped the clear blue sky calmed him. “What is the first, and most important law, of alchemy?”

“Equivalent exchange,” Andrew answered. “In order to obtain, something of equal value must be given. Isn’t that the first and only law of alchemy? The world’s one truth?”

For the first time, I saw this man crack a mad smile; a soft chuckle following thereafter. “There’s a whole truth to alchemy and this world you will not have the fortune of knowing.” His mad smile faded. “Why?”

Like him, I lost myself in the serenity of the morning winter sky. “Because alchemy is a crime against natural order.”

He breathed in heavy and when I shot a look at his face, his eyes were closed. “In a span of five years, Annaliese and I tried conceiving a child together. We picked a name. Built a room. Bought clothes for a boy because we were so sure. We prepared ourselves three times over. And we weren’t going for a fourth try after that. But we were desperate. She was desperate. So, we tried. And nine months came and gone and what do you know, Annaliese is on the hospital bed and I’m right there as her anchor, like I’ve always been. And in one day’s work, a healthy, baby boy was born.”

His metal rattled. His breathing grew louder but sounded shaken. Yet his posture remained the same. “Twenty years ago, Ari, your mother and I studied with the theory of human transmutation; the practice of bringing who we lost back to life. We ran through every catalog stored in my personal library. We housed up in the local archives of alchemy in the heart of Winheim. We laid out the ground rules and drew the circle. What someone tried before, we were to do better. We had the body for a soul and they had nothing but ash. She was so sure of success without concerning herself over the possible repercussions. And I bought into her madness.”

He centered his head then, laid his eyes open and on her name. “Tell me, what are the components of the human body?”

“Water, Fat, Minerals, Carbohydrates, and Protein,” Andrew answered.

If Andrew weren’t so easily distracted, he’d have answered right. I mean, he did, but he missed the nitty gritty of the human body. “Those are the compounds,” I said. “What about the elements that make up the chemical composition? Oxygen, Carbon, Hydrogen, Nitrogen, Calcium, Phosphorus, Potassium, Sulfur, Sodium and Magnesium. You know the compounds but not the elements, where do you start from that?”

For the first time since these annual visits, I had wondered if my dad lost it—all because he snickered. “You’re right, Ari. Those are the components of the human body. But we had his body. So, I asked myself, what are the components of a soul? The blood of ours?” He drew in a slow breath. “What made the soul of a human body so the corpse breaths life? A soul is pure energy, what alchemy feeds on, but you can’t generate energy a human body creates. Alchemy had its history of theories and studies and experiments, but not one sure way it was possible. And I purposefully relegated that truth to the back of my mind. And for what? I paid enough and yet it took more.”

His breaths went shallow and his metal skin rattled again. Watching him made me anxious. I remembered how his honesty warmed me, even when his anxiety let my skin out in the cold.

“We heard him cry,” he continued. “We saw him move. But… but after a second, I felt my ears bleed. Every other noise cancelled out in his deafening shrill. The next I knew, I woke in the hospital, my wounds cauterized and my wife… I didn’t know. When someone finally answered me, they said she had lost a few of her internal organs and for that… for that, she couldn’t give birth again. For her sin, she was rendered terminally ill and physically weak. Took me about a year until I caved and fixed myself with automotive prosthetics at a shop downtown and after I got a hang of it, I cared for her and I out of the hospital.

I waited for a moment when she smiled, when I could catch her off guard and see her love fill back up. But I wasted the time of day on her. And I knew I lost her when she refused to raise an adoptive child. She dispelled the idea so much she believed if she couldn’t birth a child, why parent one given up by another?

They wouldn’t ever measure up to her Ari.”

“And instead… you gave Isla the time of day. Everyday,” I said. Being his automotive mechanic, how could they be close? His weekly check-ups. His physical therapies. The bi-monthly tweaks and changes. Imagine your wife in a state of depression, so far off her life meant nothing without a child of her own. You watched as her condition worsened and drained every bit of energy you used on her. And while you remained a little bit sexually active, she couldn’t reciprocate your pleasures like before. But this other woman comes into your life and she’s positive. She’s loving and strong. She’s added on to your life, saved your life, and you remember you’re only human.

Unlike alchemy, we can’t give up feelings for something of equal value.

By Isla’s gingered hair, he couldn’t hide the truth from me anymore.

Isn’t it funny, though? He led me to believe such a rotten woman was my mother. He led me to believe Isla was only his mechanic. The best part? He’s told me countless times my birthday was of no meaning when every time each year, we’d come here and my curiosity questioned his honesty. We never came here for the day she died, we came here for the day their experiment failed.

I heard him draw in shallow breaths. “Yes,” he said. His eyes turned to me. What a goggled reflection of my own gingered hair. “I was frustrated in ways you’re too young to understand. I was mad at her throwing her life away and the only woman I talked to besides my sister about my dealings with her was Isla. I grew to know her. And I confessed my infidelity to Annaliese; she grew a fit and even more so when the truth of you became known to her. Her condition worsened by the month.” And she died shortly before my fourth birthday. “Threw every vulgar slur my way for naming you such.”

Ariel Armstrong.

Ari for short.

In another life, another reality, I could see myself loving that woman. I could feel her love. I could hear myself calling her mommy every chance I got. Deep down wished she could be the woman my dad used to know. The woman he shared a little over a decade with. But all good things never last, he taught me.

A shame for him, really. Lost his wife, and then his sister sometime after. Two women incomparable. Though I wasn’t glad Jaqueline Armstrong died, it was nice having someone my age growing up with me. Someone who felt more like a brother than he was as my cousin.

“Do you miss Annaliese?” Andrew asked him.

He stared back on her name and drew out a soft breath. Sometimes made me wonder if he lost a lung. And made me understand how much she put his heart through. “I miss the woman I used to love.”

And so, the truth Annaliese (and Burton) paid. And I gotta say, this chapter turned out much better than when I first wrote it several months ago. I’m loving that I have this project going where I can take a break from KJ (Killing Justice).

Tagging: @merigreenleaf, @firewritten, @isveltetip. If anyone would like to be removed, please let me know, and if anyone would like to be tagged, also please let me know. Thanks for reading and stay tuned!