star wars

an erotic star wars story, which, as you explained your vision,

was very obviously meant to be a thinly veiled fantasy about us,

in which i was obi-wan kenobi and you were anakin skywalker,

my padawan (though i was affronted by the implication

of some power imbalance or pedagogical element, you older than i⁠—

indeed, already a full knight—and never, surely never one of us

instructing the other in anything but how to twist the knife).

they (we) were to go on some new adventure on a planet non-descript

(dealer’s choice, but we knew it would end up on coruscant⁠—

i wanted as many people around as possible when we were out,

even in fiction) and then they would, of course, fuck.

this must have been a truly burning desire, to willingly cast yourself

as a jedi, because whenever the standard question of

“what would you want your life to be in the star wars universe”

came up, you always said “a droid,” an honest and absurd answer

when you could be a jedi or pilot or bounty hunter or anything

but the silly little astromech that you knew you were inside

(indeed, were we not R2-D2 and C-3PO, my incessant worrying

and annoying politeness, deference, fear, your abrasive comments hidden

behind beeps and boops only i could understand?). at the very least

it was in-character to cast yourself as the chosen one.

i asked if you wanted anakin genderbent to more accurately match

our dynamic, but you said making it as gay as possible was ideal,

or, if anything, to genderbend obi-wan, and i could not disagree.

besides, like anakin, you said, you cried more than i did,

and i had to be obi-wan because you read in a novel that qui-gon

made him learn a bunch of dead languages. it’s all so funny

that it ended this way, with forgotten writing. we met because

you liked my writing—no, not the smut that i had started

posting a few months before we met, which you did eventually read,

prompting this request of me, among so many other things

far exceeding words—but instead pithy, cruel nonsense

i had written on reddit, mocking the inaccuracies

of a linguistics article written by some poor freelancer,

which moved you, inexplicably, to dm me and say that

you liked how i wrote. i’m glad it was that post and not

the erotica; i never would have given real thought

to someone who messaged me there, even if, occasionally,

the unrequested genitals they showed me were intriguing.

the failure to finish this story for you was not the first instance

my lack of words had disappointed—you asked me

to write another linguistics post for your birthday, and i

did not. our story arced like the movies, first with a betrayal

(in your view), me leaving you burning in lava but unable

to finish the job, neither out of pity nor of malice but out of love

and hate, unable to reignite my saber, let the energy flow

through the kyber, cut you loose at last in a flurry of blue plasma,

instead content to watch you burn before me, until finally your rage

and hate overcame you. and then we would reunite years later, you

more powerful than ever and i living in exile in the desert, soon