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shotmrmiller · 10 months ago

Note

(so not too terribly dark, but still wanted to give the warning just to be safe)

but say that one of the boys get a pet. and they can't stop gushing about how cute and perfect you are, how you look so pretty in his collar. especially when they're on missions, you're all he can talk about. hundreds of photos of you, as his screensaver and lockscreen and everything in between. they show their brothers-in-arms the innocent photos of you. maybe the ones bordering on indecent, but nothing of your body or how you look underneath him, taking his cock and being stuffed full of him. absolutely does not show them the videos he has of you alone, the ones you send him for when he's away on missions to keep him company where you're whining and mewling and sobbing for him because your toy can't compare and you miss his cock so badly. definitely also doesn't show them the videos he has where he bends you over the counter, the sink, the couch, his cock fitting so perfectly in you, or the ones where you're on your back and your eyes are so glassy, so full of love and warmth and safety.

you meet the boys at the pub, after you've been with him for a couple months (more or less, depending). and they love you. coo and fawn over you, your ears and tail and the collar that sports your handler's name proudly. pressing up against him, all shy smiles and sparkling eyes and fitting into their little group seamlessly.

well, all except one, who spends the evening holding his tongue and masking his sneer, this darkness consuming him and eating him from the inside out as he watches your handler press soft kisses to your skin, plays with the charm on your collar and keeps you tucked safe to his side.

he hates you. your handler is supposed to be his.

and so he starts his game of getting your handler to distrust you, make him suspicious and wary of you.

you don't actually love your handler, he says. how could you move her into your flat after only knowing her such a short time. so trusting, too trusting of you, when you could be out playing with others while he's gone, fucking and fawning over someone else and maybe even bringing them back to his.

you're no good for him. he feels it in his gut, that there's something off about you. and your handler knows just as well how important gut feelings can be. they've saved his life — and his mates' — more times than he can count. maybe he's just blinded by you. it is a little suspicious how perfect you seem, never seem to put up much of a fuss and practically never disagree with him.

and slowly, your handler starts to let these thoughts bleed into his own. he's known his mate for so long — far longer than he's known you — so he'd be amiss to not trust his judgement. he'd do the same if he were in his comrade's position.

your handler starts to change. out with the boys longer, changes his lockscreen to something else — his favorite team, him with his friends, an actress he fancies. he's not as open with his affection. doesn't want to play as often. doesn't kiss you as much, doesn't bring you out with his friends anymore.

and you don't understand. because now his words are colder, harsher. and you cry and beg and plead for him to tell you what's wrong, what did i do please i don't understand but he won't give you an answer because this is another one of your tricks, manipulating him.

it comes to a head after a mission that took months. he didn't text you as often, definitely didn't call. you offered to send him videos, film some before hand for him, but he waved you off and told you there was no need. and then he comes home and he cuts your collar right off and he still doesn't tell you why.

but you're not his anymore, and you wonder how long you haven't been his, and it breaks something in you. but you eventually move forward — definitely don't move on. not yet, not now. maybe not ever, because you were so in love with him and you've never been so happy. didn't even think you could feel that kind of happiness before.

but you try. go out with your friends, maybe get more drunk than you should. and one evening, you and your group go the bar that he frequents. maybe he's gone, maybe he won't be there.

but he is, because of course he is. he doesn't see you. but you definitely see the arm he has wrapped around his mate, the kiss he presses to his jaw like he used to with you. and he sees. gives you a wicked, satisfied smirk as he leans more into your former handler's touch, makes you watch as he gets a kiss and pulled in closer, until your eyes travel down to where his throat is, and a collar rests there, your handler's name proudly etched.

Ah. I thought you were gonna send something about non-con or something spook.

yikes. im about to be dragged to the slammerrrr. anyway.

ouch. my heart.

TW: thoughts of death, suicide? drinking far too much alcohol and vomit, er anything else lmk

There is nothing left for you there. You simply accept the bitter truth. No point in hanging around where you aren't wanted. It hurts, of course it does.

But he is a part of your past, now. He's moved on, clearly. There's no telling yourself some self-soothing nonsense like how karma will get the new pet because you don't believe in that.

What you do believe in, is that the world is unfair, and there is just no changing that.

Every day, you wake up and there is no color in your life. Everything is just grey. Dull. Lifeless. Kind of how you wish you ended up, sometimes.

Occasionally, you see them both out in public. The ache is there in your chest, eating you alive, threatening to swallow you whole. You watch them for maybe a couple of seconds and turn your attention elsewhere because to do anything other than that is foolishness.

The truth will either come to light one day, or it'll be shrouded by the dark forever.

It is what it is.

Your body at this point, is just trudging along. Moving through the motions of staying alive.

How miserable.

You go out with your friends again, simply humoring them because 'you just look so sad, let's go out and have fun', only to see him there again. This time, you barely even glance in his direction.

Shot easily turns into shots until you're acting sloppy. Not in a violent sense, mind you, but your inhibitions are lowered. If you can't open your heart back up again, opening up your legs will do for now.

Stumbling inside the bathroom, you pull the random you're with inside, and shut the door, using your heeled foot to keep it closed.

He's pawing at your chest too rough. It hurts, yet it reminds you that you are still here. Alive. Finally, a different type of pain than the one in your sternum.

Your fingers are fumbling with his belt buckle, only for the flimsy door you're both behind is almost broken off of the hinges, and the random is ripped off of you.

You don't recognize who's interrupted you because you're seeing double, and you're far too pissed to try and resist the hand that grabs your wrist and drags you out.

Your head is starting to spin violently, or maybe it's whoever is manhandling you that's pirouetting, but it doesn't matter because your mouth is starting to salivate heavily, and there's an acrid taste on your tongue.

"I think...I think I'ma throw up."

Now you're definitely being tossed around because there's a hard, blunt pressure on your stomach, and the world is now upside down. Your skin is clammy with cold sweat, and you can physically feel liquid coming up your esophagus.

"P'me down. Put m'down. Now."

There's a harsh sound of a door being slammed open, and then you're outside. The frosty air bites at your flesh, pricks stinging at your arms and legs, and you're quickly placed on your feet, where you pivot and hack up all the shots and sugary drinks you've had all night.

The brick wall digs into your palm where you hold yourself up with a trembling arm as you empty your stomach on the grass and over your heels, and you can vaguely feel your hair being pulled back, away from your face.

You wipe the strings of saliva that hang from your lips away with the back of your hand, close your eyes, tilt your head up, and take in a deep, shuddering breath.

You are too sloshed to be coherent, and you try to slur out a thank you when the person who brought you outside cooly responds.

"Didn't think you to be the type. In the bathroom of a dingy bar? Really?"

A tiny rush of clarity runs through your body, and you're frozen in fear? shock?

It's your ex.

You dig your nails into the wall painfully, grainy stone stinging your fingertips.

"T'wha' do," you pause to swallow the excess spit in your mouth as bile tries to come up your throat again, "do I owe th' horror?"

He sounds sober, clear. Much unlike yourself.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

What were you doing, indeed? Nothing. Suffering. Poisoning yourself. Wishing you weren't alive. Hating him. Hating his new pet. Feeling nothing. Drowning in your own misery. Wishing you were drowning in water instead.

"Wha' y'want?" you slurred.

"You're proper pissed. Let's take you home." He grabs your wrist from behind you, and the bottle that held all of your emotions spills. Your reaction is visceral, turning around to look at him as you rip your wrist out of his grip.

"Don't touch me!" you shriek, "Don't fuckin' touch me!"

The shout was so vicious it scraped your already hoarse throat, and it sends you into a coughing fit.

He takes a step forward, attempting to reach for you but you flinch back and away from him, tripping over a mound of grass and falling onto your behind.

"Get, no, stay away f'me, yeah? You're no' needed."

You won't cry. Not in front of him. So you bite your tongue, and let your agony turn into a burning fury.

"Go away! G'the fuck away from me!"

His hands come up in a defensive stance, like someone trying to pacify a cornered animal.

"Will y—" You don't let him finish, instead you start screaming. It's blood-curdling, it sounds like nails on a chalkboard. And it does exactly what you wanted.

You get people's attention.

A group of strong, burly men forcibly haul him away— far away— from you.

Other women come running to your aid, crouching beside you and patting you down, making sure that you and your clothing are intact.

You start to feel overwhelmingly dizzy; your body is going slack and then there's nothing.

Your head pounds furiously inside of your skull, and you can't unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

Where are you? is your first thought, quickly followed by, I need water.

You attempt to sit up, only to lie back down with a loud groan when you feel a hammering inside of your temples.

"You're finally awake."

Who the fuck is that?

"You met me back when you used to wear a collar around your neck, doll."

Oh. You said that out loud.

You recognize that nickname. Definitely one of his little friends. Pressing the heels of your palm into your eyes, you let out another groan.

"How chivalrous of you, taking a drunk girl home, but you—" his tone is stern as he cuts you off.

"I know what happened."

Sigh.

"Yeah, I'm sure you do."

"I know why he cut off your collar."

"Is that why you brought me here?" you irritably asked. "You brought me here to gossip?"

You hear shuffling and his voice sounds farther away when he speaks again.

"There's water on the nightstand, also two pills for your headache."

You snort. "Not a whole bottle?"

"If I was sure that you wouldn't try and swallow the whole thing, sure."

Of course.

"Get some rest, I'll bring you back some soup for your hangover later."

His gentle tone as he offers to take care of you makes you irrationally angry. "You're not my fucking owner." What a Freudian slip.

"I could be if you gave me the chance," he offered. You don't move until you hear the door clicking shut.

What the fuck?

#this was PERSONAL #IM BLAMING YOU FOR MY TEARS #ALL TWO OF THEM #because only a lone tear rolls down my cheek #btw this is giving owner simon new pet johnny #what a piece of garbage #141 pet angst #i live for angst #task force 141

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askbensolo · 10 days ago

Text

Journal Entry #52: don’t fall in love with boys who write, ‘cause they edit and edit till the story’s just right

I turned and slammed my fist into the wall. And then I yelled as loud as I could, and did it again even harder. And if that sounds like something I had already learned not to do in front of her, well—let’s just say I’m a slow learner.

“Ben,” she murmured from her place on the white stone bench, fiddling quietly with her fingers in her lap.

I tried to catch my breath, then slumped my back hard against the stucco wall and started picking off the scraped skin from the side of my hand. It stung, but I kind of liked it—it’s hard to explain. “Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I just—I just wasn’t expecting to hear you to say that. Sorry.”

And what had she said, the reader may ask? Well—you might recall what she had said in that voice recording from earlier: that she wanted me, she needed me, she couldn’t live without me whether or not anyone else thought it was a good idea—all that stuff that made my ego go brrrrr—

Well, I come all the way to Ryloth and track her down, and she takes me into the depths of her father’s courtyard gardens where everything looks like a fairy tale, and tells me that: actually? She’s now considering a life of solitude, like the Jedi of old.

WHAT.

“I was in a really bad place when I sent you that message,” Fannie said quietly. “I…had just received some very difficult news, and I was feeling very alone, and I didn’t know why you weren’t talking to me…” She looked up at me, then, with the distrust of one scrutinizing a stranger. “To be honest, Ben, I don’t even know why you’re here right now.”

“Why else?” I asked, sinking down to the ground and matching the intensity of her gaze. “‘Cause I love you.”

It used to be difficult to say. But now, it was just like stating a fact. Water is blue. Space is black. Sand is coarse, rough and irritating. I love you.

But the words that had once made her light up and blush and giggle and look up at me with big sparkling eyes had no effect, this time, and her face, normally sweet and open, looked tired and closed-off. “Ben, you haven’t spoken to me for weeks. And it was certainly not for my lack of trying. But…it was actually rather helpful for me, because it gave me just what I needed in order to come to the conclusion that…that this probably isn’t right for us. Luke thought so, too. I went to visit him, a few weeks ago, and…”

“Yeah, I know you did,” I cut in quickly, to stop her from re-summarizing that whole saga all over again. “I was there. I overheard.”

She looked stunned. “You were—there?”

“Yeah, I was there,” I said, and it felt kind of good to say so, as if by doing so I was winning some kind of argument—I don’t know what, though. “I just so happened to be visiting the exact same weekend, and I was going over to his office to meet him, and then I overheard you talking to him, and I heard everything the two of you said. Or…most things. I heard what he said to you, anyway.”

Fannie frowned. “…So that’s why you weren’t talking to me,” she said stiffly, then cast her gaze down to her lap. “Well…I hadn’t decided yet, at that point. Not completely. I had decided mostly, but I still wanted to talk to you, first. That’s why I was asking you if we could talk—so that we could figure it out, together. But then, you kept on ignoring me, and left me to decide on my own—so, I was forced to come to my own decision, and perhaps it’s a good thing that I did, because—”

“Wait,” I interrupted, because I needed to know. “Did…did Luke tell you about what happened? Between me and him?”

Fannie looked at me and squinted, a little bit. “No. Why? Did something happen?”

Oh. So she didn’t know. A surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one.

Well, that was perfect, I thought to myself. Because—that meant she could hear it from me, instead of from Luke. It meant I could tell the story my way, and, maybe, make myself look a little less bad—

And then, I had a sudden thought:

Maybe it meant I didn’t need to tell the story at all.

Ooh.

Ooooooh.

Snoke? Snoke, was that you?

But, it wasn’t Snoke, and I knew it.

It was Ben. Pure, unadulterated Ben.

“Ben,” Fannie said, breaking through my thoughts, sounding sort of serious and sort of alarmed. “You’re…you’re frightening me. What happened between you and Luke?”

“Well…I talked to him,” I said slowly. “After you left. I didn’t want to freak you out, so I waited for you to leave, and then…then I went, and I talked to Luke.”

I stopped there, trying to figure out what to say next.

“…Yes?” Fannie urged, her eyes boring through me. “And then what happened?”

Well, I didn’t have any time to think. I decided to just roll with whatever started coming out of my mouth first.

“…And then I said, ‘Uncle Luke, I heard what you said to Fannie, and it kinda hurts my feelings, but it totally makes sense, and I really, really respect you for looking out for her.’” I pressed my lips together and looked at her to see how she’d react.

Oh, man. That was such a hot steaming load, even I couldn’t buy it.

Fannie blinked a couple of times, processing this information. (Disinformation?)

“…Okay,” she said slowly. “…And then?”

She…she bought it??

Well, I was really in it now. I couldn’t go back. I could only keep going forward.

“And then,” I went on, floundering for my next words, “he…he told me not to talk to you anymore, and—well—see—that’s why I haven’t been texting you all this time.”

Oh! Okay. Okay. So…not only are we not telling her the story…we are actually telling her a completely new one that we just made up right now. Okay. Okay! Cool cool cool.

“Luke…told you…not to talk to me?” Fannie echoed, looking sort of shocked. “That…doesn’t sound like something he’d do at all.”

Yeah, and there’s actually a really great explanation for that, I thought to myself dryly.

But, I just shrugged. “Yeah, well—he told me he thought you were too attached to me. That you’d be too tempted to start things up with me again. It didn’t really seem right to me, either, but—hey, he’s the Jedi Master, isn’t he? I just…figured he knew best.”

Fannie didn’t say anything back. But, I had her rapt attention, and her big brown eyes looked very big, and very sad.

“It was…really hard not to talk to you,” I continued, looking at her sincerely. (Except, not actually, because that would have required me to, you know, not be lying.) “I really wanted to talk to you. I missed you. A lot. I saw your voice message come in, but I didn’t open it. And then I couldn’t take it anymore, and I finally did open it—like, today, actually—and I heard how awful you sounded, and I couldn’t take it, and I had to come see you.”

You know what’s funny? It didn’t feel like lying. The more drawn-out this whole thing became, the more I actually started to…believe my own version of events. I mean…well…yeah! A lot of the emotions behind it were real, anyway—I really did feel like Luke had wronged us by meddling in our relationship and I really did miss her and I really was glad to see her right now. I sure liked this version of events better than the real version. So…why shouldn’t this version be the real one, instead? And by just…feeding it to her, I could make it true.

For the first time in a long time, I began to feel like everything between me and Fannie was gonna be…okay.

Huh. Who knew? The power to alter reality wasn’t exclusive to an occult Dathomirian magic, or hidden in some secret Sith holocron. No—the power to alter reality lived in my very tongue. And I sealed my new reality into existence with one final little lie:

“Ben…sorry, forgive me, but…are you…are you telling the truth right now?”

I paused, and licked my lips, and said the magic word.

“Yes.”

I could almost imagine a deep, resonant chime, like a deafening gong, rumbling out of my false confession and rippling out and forever altering the entire fabric of the universe and making it all, suddenly, true—

Except, no. It wasn’t that easy. I would have to keep chasing after and mending the tears myself, to keep the fabric of my new little universe from falling apart.

Fannie shook her head like she had a headache. “I…I should talk to Luke.”

“No,” I told her quickly, ready with my needle and thread. “I—well—I don’t want him to know I talked to you. I promised him I wouldn’t. I don’t want him to find out.”

Miraculously, she nodded. But, not as one who was fully awake—she nodded as if she were in a dreamlike trance. I don’t think I was really all that convincing. I think she was just too overwhelmed to really think critically.

That, and I had probably built up enough trust with her by now that she didn’t think I’d just lie to her face.

“This…yes, this changes a lot,” she said, knitting an imaginary scarf with her fingers. “I…Ben, I’m sorry. I misjudged you. I thought—well, I assumed—you’ve had trouble replying to my messages before, so I jumped to conclusions, and—no, I’m sorry. Why would Luke—? I still don’t understand, but—no, this—this changes a lot of things.”

I stood up. Slowly.

And approached her.

And sat down next to her on the bench.

And held my hand out toward hers.

And looked her in the big brown eyes.

She looked at me, and hesitated, then placed her hand in mine.

W-o-w. It had been weeks since we’d last talked. But since we’d been on different worlds since the start of September, we hadn’t touched in months (well, two of ‘em, I guess—but two still counts). Touching her was like touching a live wire. I started—well…feeling things. Things I’d never felt my whole life up until sometime this summer. My heart started pounding—but this was the good kind of heart rate increase.

I think she started feeling things, too.

We looked at each other.

I put my free hand under her chin, and tilted her face up a little, and didn’t look away from her eyes, and brought my face reeeal close to hers till we were breathing each other’s breath, and nuzzled her cheek with my nose, and pressed my lips to her jawline, and drew back and looked her in the eyes again. Just to see what would happen.

Well…we started swappin’ cooties, that’s what happened. And I’m not in the business of writing that kind of stuff, so I’ll just tell you we kept all our clothes on and we still didn’t kiss on the mouth exactly and we never hit any bases but just messed around on the infield like five feet out from the batter’s box and you’ve probably seen worse on middle school campuses anyway—but I’m still skipping ahead regardless.

“No, wait, stop,” she mumbled, muffled by my hair. This was about twenty minutes later. (Maybe? It’s always so hard to tell.) “I—I don’t want to be doing this. I just told you that I don’t want to be with anyone—that I want to dedicate myself to the Force—at least for now.”

I got up off of her and knelt down in the grass and grinned and wiped off my mouth on my sleeve, because I was all slobbery (see, I told ya—I don’t write romance flimsibacks). “With all due respect, Fan? You’re not cut out for celibacy.”

She glared at me as she wiped my spit off her cheek. “I really think that’s my call to make, not yours.”

“Hey, I’m just repeating what you said, sister.”

“What did I say? And when?”

“That whole time I was kissin’ up your neck just now. You were going ‘I’m not cut out for celibacy I’m not cut out for celibacy’ under your breath. I could hear you.” I laughed at her, and she flushed.

“I…I didn’t know you could hear.”

“Well—your mouth was right next to my ear, sweetheart, of course I could hear!”

“Oh.”

I laughed again and kissed her on the cheek. She giggled, embarrassed, and let me do it.

Things almost felt like they used to.

But…they weren’t. Not yet, anyway.

“…No. No.” She detangled herself from me and sat up against the wall and buried her face in her hands. “I…can’t let myself change my mind, just because you’re here. Even if it wasn’t your fault that you weren’t talking to me. No—I made up my mind. I can’t be in a relationship right now. Not with everything going on with Pennie—I’m too vulnerable to unhealthy attachments.”

“Wait—what’s going on with Pennie?” I asked, shuffling over on my knees and sitting next to her. “Besides what you told me last spring?”

When she had told me last spring about her youngest sister’s…relationship with their father, it had taken a long time for her to spit it out, and she had done so amidst heavy sobs. This time, it came out as easily as a breath, and her eyes were dry and hollow.

“Well, Ben: Pentarra has offered to make my sister one of his wives.”

I stared. He had already made her one of his dancers. But…one of his wives?

Ew.

“But…she’s his daughter.”

Fannie nodded.

“That’s…disgusting.”

She nodded again, and nearly smiled—the kind of smile one smiles when life has become so cruel as to be almost humorous. And for a second, I felt horrible that I was—maybe—I don’t know—taking advantage of her current vulnerable state to try to get her to stay with me and be mine—

But then, I reframed it in my head, and felt…not so bad. I wasn’t taking advantage of anything. She needed me—now more than ever. She’d said so herself, in that voice recording. She’d been in a rough place when she recorded it, sure—but, isn’t that when people are at their most honest?

“I am the only one in my family who has been willing to say out loud that this is wrong,” Fannie went on. “Not everyone approves, necessarily—but no one else will speak out against it. My sister hates me, because she feels I don’t think I can make her own decisions. She sees this as her wedding. Everyone is preparing for it as if it were a wedding. Well, it’s no wedding to me—it is merely a perverse charade, and I will not—cannot—honor their false union. I have felt very alone, and I know that right now I am very susceptible to developing an unhealthy attachment—so, I’m sorry, Ben, even if we did share the same beliefs about the Force…now’s just not a good time for me.”

“What is an unhealthy attachment, anyway?” I asked, then.

“An attachment that would cause me to place my trust and hope in it, rather than in the Force,” Fannie explained, almost mechanically. “And I cannot afford distraction at such a crucial time in my life.”

I looked her in the eyes. “But…at such a crucial time in your life, you’d still be alone,” I told her.

She looked out into the distance. “The Force is all I need, Ben. I must remind myself of that.”

“No,” I argued, and reached over and turned her face to look at me. “No. I may not believe all your beliefs, Fan—not with the same level of conviction that you do, anyway—but I do know your beliefs and I know what the Jedi teach. I’ve heard you say so yourself: the Force isn’t a person. It’s an impersonal energy. You could be as close to the Force as Master Yoda himself, and you’d still be all alone, and have no one. The Force doesn’t love you. The Force doesn’t know you. The Force doesn’t give a crap about you—it can’t. When you’re staring at the ceiling and crying your eyes dry in the middle of the night till your ribcage aches and your fingers go numb, the Force will not feel a damn—darn—thing for you. It’s a power you can draw from, a source of supernatural energy, whatever—but at the end of the day? It doesn’t freaking care. Because it can’t. It’s just a thing. Midichlorians, or whatever the frick. You’re gonna place your trust and hope in that? You’d still be alone. All alone.”

She looked like she was about to say something—to pose an argument, or something—but she stopped short. Her eyes widened in a swell of panicked horror and filled with tears, and her hands started to tremble. Her breathing became kind of short and ragged. I could feel her heart opening up and splitting like a huge, raw wound.

Ooh. I’d gotten her good.

And so what if it came at the expense of shaking the very foundations of her most deeply-held religious beliefs? If something couldn’t hold up to a good shaking, was it even worth believing in?

I saw doubt in her eyes. Tasted it in the air all around her. Wondered what Uncle Luke would think of that.

Maybe Luke had been right about me, after all: Ben Solo, corrupter of Jedi.

…Or maybe of just one Jedi in particular.

I reached out, and held both her hands tight in mine to still her trembling. Pulled her a little closer to me.

“Fannie. I’m a person,” I told her slowly, stamping out each word in durasteel. “I know you, and I love you. I could be with you, in all of this. I want to be there for you, and with you.” I laid a gentle kiss on top of her tear-stained cheek. “The Force is great and all, and if you wanna build your life around it, cool—but it’s not a person, it’s a thing. You need a someone, Fannie, not a something. So, all I’m saying is…” I kissed her other cheek, and then her nose. “Let me be your someone. Please.”

She whimpered. I felt it again—the splintering of her heart.

“I…I want to say yes, Ben, I just…don’t know…”

“Fan. Please. I’m not saying this for me. I’m saying this for you.” (This was something I said because it sounded good, not because it was actually true.)

But she shook her head and blinked out some more tears, and I spent several more minutes persuading and a few more minutes cajoling and I even threw in a little begging for fun—still, I couldn’t get her to say yes, and my patience, which you will be surprised to learn I’ve never had in high reserves anyway, began to wear thin.

“Well…think about it,” I said finally, maybe a little rougher than I meant to, turning out from her again and sitting back against the wall. “And—think about it quickly, if you can. I need to get back to Naboo tonight. Tomorrow morning, latest. I just spent the weekend on Kashyyyk with Amalia—”

“You were with Amalia all weekend?” Fannie interrupted suddenly, like she was waking up, her eyes wide. Her lower lip sucked in a little bit.

I blinked at her, trying to figure out what was going on (I’m a little slow like that sometimes), and I was about to go “oh, chill out, it wasn’t anything weird, we just went as friends”—

But…then it occurred to me. That…keeping my mouth shut? Kind of maybe swayed things in my favor.

So…I shrugged a little, kept my cards to myself, and looked at her to see what she’d do.

“…Are you…interested in dating people now?” Fannie asked finally. She bit her lip. “Because, you said before that you weren’t…that you weren’t interested in dating. Just interested in me.”

Oh, so now she was paying attention!

She was right. I had said that. After I’d decided to fall in love with her (because that’s how it had happened for me; I didn’t just fall in love, I had to decide to do it), part of me wondered if it would change how I saw other girls. But, it didn’t. I looked around me and nothing magical had happened and whenever I looked at women I still just saw people. And whenever I looked at Amalia, I almost saw a dude (except in certain select low-light conditions, apparently).

But Fannie didn’t need to know that.

“Weeell…” I said slowly, as if I were thinking through it, when in reality it was already thought out. “Being with you kinda made me realize…that it’s actually sort of nice to have someone around.” Which was true. “And, that I maybe would like to have a partner after all.” Which was true. “And…I don’t know. Amalia and I do get along pretty well.” Which was true.

I looked at her, and shrugged, and checked my metaphorical hand under the metaphorical table, and watched for her next move.

And, oh, wait—there was an ace in here! I whipped that out and laid it down.

“But…if I was gonna be with anyone…I’d really like it to be you…Fa’nakhra,” I whispered, stroking the back of my index finger against her cheek. And I totally butchered her name, I’m sure, but—you know? It’s the thought that counts.

And with all my cards out now, I ended my turn, and waited to see what she’d do.

Well…she folded, that’s what she did. My bluff worked, and the ace clinched it. She folded, and she folded in half, and she laid down in my lap and clasped her arms around my waist and cried and said she didn’t want to be alone—she wanted to be my girlfriend. My girlfriend! So I could finally stop with the whole “girlfriend-not-really-my-girlfriend” thing and just call her my girlfriend now. And yeah, it kinda sucks that she had to come to that decision after the really manipulate-y “what if I dated someone who wasn’t you?” instead of the slightly-less-manipulate-y “let me be your person,” but—hey—I got what I wanted, and that was the important thing to me.

Oh yeah and also getting to be there for her during this trying time—that was important to me, too, of course. Just for the record.

But…I felt like crap for lying to her about me and Luke. And, I felt like crap for kind of goading her into this position. And, I thought to myself, no—wait—if I let this go on, it’s just gonna keep getting worse and worse—I have to nip this in the bud now, or I’m gonna ruin both our lives—so…even though it hurt like hell, I gritted my teeth and pulled her up and looked her in the eyes and said, wait, no, Fan, wait…I’m sorry…this is all just a huge mess…I’ve really screwed things up…I haven’t been fair to you…and I came clean to her about everything—

Except…no, I didn’t, because that whole last paragraph was a giant freaking lie, and I just lied to you exactly like how I lied to her. What I really did was I held her in my arms and I grinned all sweet and I wiped off her tears as she was still crying and said, okay, Fan, it’s official then: you’re my girlfriend! And then I kissed her—not on the mouth, but close enough that the corners of our lips brushed, and guess what, your boi has a girlfriend now, officially.

But—didn’t you wish that it was true? Didn’t you feel happier when you thought it was? Didn’t you like me better two paragraphs ago? Don’t you hate me more now that I told you I lied? Wasn’t that a much more satisfying draft, and wasn’t I a much more likable character?

…Exactly.

See?

I should’ve just let you believe the lie.