#and ben and fannie…care about each other more than anything (for better or worse) but have fundamentally different outlooks on life

[askbensolo]

Journal Entry #44: one stayed, one swayed, one strayed

So I may have made a mistake. Amalia and I had planned a holocall to catch up (because I suck at replying to messages), and...I asked if she wanted to see Fannie, too. Since she’s here and everything.

I knew Amalia hadn’t spoken to Fannie or Luke for a long time. But they always ask me how she’s doing, since I’m the only one she still talks to. They clearly still care about her, even if she doesn’t think so. I don’t know—I just figured I’d ask.

And much to my surprise…she agreed. As long as I was going to be there, she said.

And you know what? It actually started out okay. Like I said…Amalia’s a lot more mellow now. She’s still herself, in the same way that I’m still me despite not being an emo boi anymore—but she does seem to care about people more, and there’s just more light in her eyes when she engages with you.

There was some chit-chat between me and Fannie and Amalia about what we’ve all been up to. I was feeling really proud of Mal. I know she’s got some issues with the Jedi and everything, and it must have taken a lot for her to be willing to talk to Fannie again.

What I don’t understand, is that Fannie must have known that too. So...I was shocked when Fannie just...went for the throat, and asked Amalia if she still didn't want to be a Jedi.

I think I mentioned to you how Amalia has developed some different beliefs on the Force. She thinks the Force must be a person rather than a thing. Like…some sort of divine spiritual being, I guess. And again, I say: don’t ask me about that stuff—not my lane, buddy. I just live here.

All I know is, she seems happier this way, thinking of the Force as someone who cares about her, and I thought Fannie would be happy for her, too. I mean…I am. But...she wasn't.

“Amalia…the Force isn’t a person,” Fannie said, sounding confused. “The Jedi have never believed the Force is a person.”

“Well, that’s why I’m not a Jedi,” said Amalia.

“The Jedi have passed down their ancient knowledge and wisdom for centuries. Do you really think they were all incorrect?”

“The Jedi have also passed down many mistakes and corrupt practices,” Amalia countered. “They were incorrect in that. Who’s to say there weren’t other things they got wrong? Or things that got twisted along the way? The Jedi were mortal. The Force is not. I follow the Force now, Fannie. Not the Jedi.”

“The Jedi do follow the Force,” Fannie argued. “The Jedi Order, despite its failings, has been a firm foundation for many years for all who would follow the Force—”

“All? Or just those with a high enough Force sensitivity?” Amalia asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose the life of a Jedi is specifically for those with a special ability to sense the Force, like you and I,” Fannie conceded, “but isn’t that all the more reason why you should have stayed? You were given a gift. It seems a shame to waste it."

"You just said someone gave me a gift," pressed Amalia. "Who did, if not a person?"

You know me. I’m all for debating the esoteric. But I was starting to get a little stressed about them fighting. One of them was a good friend because she shared my darker sense of humor and the feeling of being kind of an outcast. And one of them I was kinda hoping would be my girlfriend soon.

"Okay, ladies, break it up," I said. "I mean, come on. Who can really know anything about the Force for sure?"

"Every one of us can, if we seek to know the Force," said Amalia, with the urgency of one sharing a profound revelation.

"The Jedi know the Force," said Fannie, with the zeal of one defending a sacred institution. "They have studied it for generations."

"Why don't you guys just accept that you, you know, each see things a little differently, and move on?" I suggested, with the pragmatism of one who’d given up trying to understand the galaxy a long time ago. "It seems to be working out great for each of you, even if you guys believe different things. And who knows, maybe both of you are kind of right."

Amazingly enough, then they both turned on me.

"We can't both be right, Solo," Amalia said. "Our beliefs about the Force are pretty mutually exclusive."

"There is only one truth," agreed Fannie. "Your eyes couldn't be brown and blue at the same time."

"Well, what if I had one eye that was brown, and one eye that was blue, and each of you were sitting on either side of me—" I started to say, but as clever as I thought this little parable was, it did not go over well with the girls.

"Oh please. Not that 'blind men and the bantha' crap," Amalia groaned.

"There would still be only one truth—that you had a brown eye and a blue eye, rather than fully brown or fully blue—and both of us would be wrong," Fannie said.

"Okaaay," I said, "but you'd still both be half right—"

"Which would still make us both wrong," Amalia said.

"Look, is it really that important what the Force is or isn't like?" I asked impatiently.

"Yes!" Fannie and Amalia said at the same time.

"The Force is the giver of all life, watching over us, working all events toward our good, loving us despite our darkness, giving us the will and the strength to do what's right," said Amalia. "I didn't know how to have hope or joy or love for myself or anyone else, until I discovered that the Force made me on purpose and gives a damn about me."

"The Force is the energy that flows through each of us and every living creature, and in the influence we wield over the world, whether for good or evil," said Fannie. “If you are not in tune with it, you are not in tune with yourself or others or the rest of nature.”

"The Force is out there, sure, but I don't see why it's so worth bothering about," I said. “Seems like it kinda just does what it wants. I mean, it doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me. And if I’m honest? I don’t really want anything to do with it, either.”

Fannie and Amalia both stared at me, frustrated. I didn't understand why they thought I was so wrong. I was the only one here not trying to get everyone else to change their mind. I was totally okay with Amalia believing what she wanted to and Fannie believing what she wanted to as long as I could believe what I wanted to and somehow that made me the bad guy?

We were all quiet for a bit, until Fannie broke the silence.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “We all learned the same things from Master Luke. All three of us.”

Amalia and I exchanged glances.

“Well...I just don’t think that what Luke taught was true,” Amalia said, her words brusque, but her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “Not because he’s a liar. Because he’s misguided. I think he learned and taught an incorrect understanding of the Force.”

“I just don’t really care what’s true because my life is just work and rent and whatever little time I get to myself to have fun, and the last time I was interested in the Force I got super abused and manipulated,” I said.

“But we used to all accept the same things as truth,” said Fannie. "I just...don't know what's different."

“We were younger then. People change as they grow up. Not everyone believes the same things at twenty-five that they did at fifteen,” Amalia said.

“I’ve sure changed a lot. Not just regarding the Force, but all over,” I said.

Fannie sighed, and started to look a little sad. And then...I felt an impression brush up against the outside of my mind—it was the three of us, at Luke's school: Amalia and I a little smaller than we were right now and Fannie exactly the same size, hair and lekku and montrals all a little shorter—the three of us, dressed in Jedi robes, Fannie's with the ruffles she'd sewn on, mine plain and rough and ugly, Amalia's with the sleeves cut short—sitting in the grass and comparing notes scrawled from lessons with Uncle Luke—discussing the light side of the Force and the dark, meditating together—Amalia and I goofing off while Fannie tried in vain to reel us back in—Fannie and I teaming up to talk Amalia away from the deep end when she was losing her mind—me watching in absolute jealousy while Fannie and Amalia sparred—Fannie's saber against the saber that was once Amalia's but now sat sadly on a special shelf in my uncle's office—Amalia had no idea how often I'd caught Luke gazing wistfully at it, back when I used to still meet with him for counseling—

All that in a flash, and then I turned and looked and saw it all in Fannie’s eyes, and my heart felt heavy for her. And I realized that...letting Amalia and I go our own way was a sort of bitter loss for Fan, a source of grief that I couldn’t really understand—but I could feel it—an anchor dragging her below the surface—my friend, the girl I loved, the girl with the great big heart like an open wound, the girl who yearned for the galaxy to make sense.

I put my arm around her shoulder without really thinking about it, and brushed the backs of my fingers against her cheek to comfort her. And gave her a little nudge like, hey, things are okay, I’m still here, right?

“Oh my frick,” said Amalia, who I’d temporarily forgotten about, in a tone of voice like she was witnessing the eighth wonder of the galaxy. “I had to see it to believe it. But I just saw it, and I still don’t know if I believe it.”

Fannie and I looked at each other uncomfortably. We hadn’t been planning to tell her. Or anyone, really. Not for a while. But acting close with each other had just become sort of natural to us. I withdrew my arm and Fannie scooted ever-so-slightly further away from me.

Amalia shook her head. “I mean. Look. Sure. You guys are kind of cute, not gonna lie. But I’m just gonna say it: you two shouldn’t be together.”

I was stunned. That was really so not her business.

“Okay. Cool. Who asked you?” I replied, more than a little annoyed.

“Nobody, but you know that I always say what I think, just like you do, Ben,” she said. “Think about the whole conversation we’ve just had. I mean. Do you guys not see how incompatible your worldviews are? Do you not think you’re gonna have issues down the line trying to reconcile your values?”

I looked at Fannie, almost afraid she’d agree. But she looked upset, and not agreeable in the least, and I felt better. I turned back to Amalia's hologram.

“We have a lot of differences, yeah. But we’re willing to work through them and accept each other as we are, and that’s that,” I said stiffly.

“Ben’s been through a lot,” said Fannie. “I can forgive that he has trouble connecting with the Force.”

“Hey, I’ve been through a lot, too!” said Amalia. “But I still believe in something. I believe in something, Fannie—he doesn’t believe in anything. And he doesn’t have trouble connecting with the Force—that man is sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as he freaking can.”

“Hey, I said I believe in the Force,” I said defensively. “It’s pretty hard not to, when people can use it to make things float and stuff.”

“And he’s Luke’s own nephew, for goodness’ sake!” Fannie said.

“He's also the grandson of one of the biggest Sith Lords who ever lived. But I don’t think it really matters who he’s related to, or if he believes the Force exists, if he doesn’t care,” said Amalia. “Be honest with yourself, Fannie. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with someone who doesn’t have a purpose and doesn’t know why he’s alive, except to make money and have fun?”

“Listen, Mal,” I said. “Not all of us are cut out for seeing the grand scope of some cosmic order and imagining we have a part in it. Some of us just wanna live our lives—”

But Fannie interrupted me.

“You’re jealous, Amalia,” she said, unusually nasty, unusually venomous. We both stared at her. “You’re jealous. You’re jealous! You liked him, too. I know you did. And you’re jealous that he chose me.”

That seemed to hit kind of a nerve with Amalia. I’m not sure why. Either it was true…or it was so untrue that it pissed her off to even hear the idea suggested. She raised her brow and sucked in her cheeks and blinked a little, as if to say…well, damn, alrighty then.

“…Okay,” she said, sounding less-than-friendly, but less-than-frigid. “Weeell. That sounds like a great place to call it quits. Nice talking with you both, and I wish y’all the best. Talk to you later, Ben. And, Fannie…good luck.” And then she signed off, before I could even say anything.

I looked at Fan desperately, hoping we could have some kind of debrief, but…she stood up with a huff and stormed off too.

Geez. Three things that are complicated: 1) religion, 2) growing up, and 3) girls.

[prettyblossoms]

Lost in Limbo (A Reddie Fic) Ch.3

Summary: Dealing with the pressure of being a teenager is proving to be too much for seventeen-year-old Eddie Kaspbrak, who is unable to deal with his overbearing mother's expectations and violent school bullies. To make matters worse, he is fighting a losing battle with his sexuality.

Meanwhile, Richie Tozier is trying to convince himself that what he feels towards his best friend is a mere attraction, covering it up by being with multiple girls.

Will they be able to find the truth in each other or are they destined to crash and burn?

                                    Chapter 3: Coming Undone

By the time his third-period class had come and gone, Eddie regained most of his composure. He accepted what happened with his mother and was ready for his punishment the millisecond he got into the house.

He had shaken off the of the majority of Richie’s jokes. However, he still felt Richie’s hand on his thigh and heard the unnerving voice of the leper. Even though it had been years since the fight with Pennywise, he still was haunted by nightmares.

In many of these dreams, he would die. Even if it wasn't real, he still felt the excruciating pain surge through his body as It ripped his limbs off his body. His pleas and cries for help always ended up going unheard. Eddie would wake up in a state of panic. He could recall how his heart raced so rapidly in his chest that it hurt. It hurt so bad that he began to struggle to breathe.

In other instances, he had mustered up the courage to tell his friends the truth about his battle with his sexuality and the leper. Earning him only gasps, slurs, and vile insults they each spoke as they all stood in the shadows of the sewer. The only person he could see in this dream was Richie, but that was more than enough to completely kill him. The look of disgust, anger, and hatred in his eyes cut him more in-depth than any physical pain he could ever feel. He would wake up sobbing so loudly that he had to bite his bottom lip to muffle the noise. The amount of emotional distress the dreams caused made him wish he would just suffocate and die. At least that would be better than losing the only people worth living for.

He was forced back to reality when he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He jumped at the touch and looked behind him to see Ms. Lewis. Her black unruly hair was in an array of curls that stuck tightly to her head. She was staring at Eddie, her sparkling baby blue eyes filled with concern. She wore a long floral dress that completely covered her feet paired with cardigan wrapped around her body.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Eddie.” She carefully spoke as if she was dealing with a wounded animal. “The bell for lunch rang 10 minutes ago, and you’ve been just sitting here staring at the whiteboard."

Eddie exhaled slowly, not knowing what to say. He knew he looked like a deer caught in headlights, so he avoided her stare.

Ms. Lewis didn't falter as she continued, "You also didn’t get involved with the class discussion on Lords of the Flies, which is completely unlike you. Are you okay?”

Eventually, Eddie’s tired eyes met hers, and he wanted to shatter to pieces. She was understanding, smart, and attentive. Like any reasonable person should be. He wished his mother could be like her. Hell, he wanted Ms. Lewis to be his mother because he was on the verge of falling apart. He needed someone to listen to him without judgment. The weight of the world suffocating him was becoming too much to bare.

But, his mother was far from being someone like Ms. Lewis. If he happened to break around her, she would want to put him in the hospital. Which would fuel her fire to start getting Eddie new medications, ones that he doesn’t need. Worst of all, she would never let him out of the house again. Not without a hell of a fight.

Unfortunately, Ms. Lewis was not his mother. Even though he felt comfortable, safe, and unjudged around her, he knew that she was obligated to let the school know whatever he may say. In turn, they would notify his mother.

Eddie sighed deeply and continued to look into her eyes as he lied, “I’m sorry Ms. Lewis, I'm just drained. I stayed up studying for an upcoming exam.” He inwardly thought, ‘Please don’t ask me what subject. For the love of God, please don’t ask me what subject.’

Ms. Lewis stared at him skeptically but let her suspicions go. She smiled at him, “I am sure the exam is important. Just remember to take care of yourself. Okay, Eddie? Now go on, hurry and go get lunch.”

He smiled back at her meekly as he stood up and grabbed his stuff. “I understand. It won't happen again. Thank you, Ms. Lewis.”

Bev, Mike, Bill, Stan, and Ben all sat at their usual table. Their current discussion was focusing on what they wanted to do for the upcoming weekend. Bill had suggested going to see The Sandlot at the Aladdin to which Stan and Bev agreed. Bill and Stan wanted to see it because not only was it a comedy, but it was also a story about friendship. Bev just loved going to the movies.

However, Ben and Mike wanted to have a camping night at the barrens. It had been a couple of months since they had the chance to stargaze and they knew the weather would be perfect this weekend. It also just happened that Eddie’s mom would be out of town this Friday and wouldn't be returning until Monday. His mom leaving and letting him stay home was a pretty rare occurrence. The time was right, and they felt this was the better option.

Since they couldn’t come to a consensus, they all agreed to wait for Richie and Eddie to decide.

Beverly took a bite from her juicy green apple causing a loud crunch at the table, listening to the chatter as she silently chewed the food in her mouth. The redhead looked up to see the doors of the cafeteria opening, immediately noticing that Richie was heading over to the table with his “girlfriend” in tow under his arm.

She groaned loudly, breaking the boy's attention away from their conversation. Whenever Richie’s girlfriend came around, she just couldn’t help but feel irritable.

Beverly just couldn’t shake the feeling that this girl was toxic to them, especially Richie.

Everyone at the table looked at her out of concern and were about to ask her if she was alright, but they too noticed the couple coming towards the table.

They all sighed and prepared for another lunch filled with awkward laughs and stares.

None of them even had to exchange words to know not to mention their ideas for the weekend because she was the type of person who just invited herself.

“Fellow losers, I require your utmost attention.” Richie said using one of his British voices, “King Tozier has arrived.” He plopped down in his usual spot, besides Beverly and patted her back.

The joke earned a laugh from all of his friends.

Samantha, feeling left out, replicated one of his voices as she spoke, “Along with his queen.” She took the seat right beside Richie, which is where Eddie usually sat. Then she placed her large bag on the only space remaining on the bench.

Richie didn’t notice; his eyes were glued onto his pepperoni pizza. He could hear Samantha speaking to him, but his thoughts about Eddie were drowning out her words. He merely nodded his head every couple of minutes to make it look as if he was listening.

Beverly and Stan both rolled their eyes in annoyance. Stan scooched closer to Bill, who was forced into Mike.

Stan hated this girl.

More importantly, he hated that Richie was usually oblivious to the fact that he was putting his friends on the back burner. Mainly, to poor Eddie.

However, today seemed different. Stan noticed that Richie’s whole demeanor towards her had changed. Usually, they would be obnoxiously swapping spit, unable to keep their hands off of each other by now. Yet, Richie was not even looking at her. He was staring more lovingly at his fucking pizza than Samantha.

Stan wasn't going to mention it though. At least, not right now. He grabbed an anti-bacterial wipe from his lunch box and wiped the table and the seat down for his hypochondriac friend. Even though he was closer to Bill, he understood Eddie the most.

Although they were very different, they both had very similar qualities. Stans extreme OCD caused him to be very careful and methodical with how he did things. Everything he owned had a rightful place, the contents of lunch box being a prime example.

Everything inside had to be separated so it would not come into contact with his other food. The bottom of the pail had to have the container with his sandwich. Above the container was home to his fruits. Finally, the top portion of the lunch pail holding his vegetables. If anything inside were to fall out of place, he couldn't help but feel compelled to fix it.

Just like Eddie couldn't help the urge to clean everything out of his irrational fear of germs. The kid couldn't stand to be around anyone who showed the smallest symptoms of an illness. He couldn't use public bathrooms because of the possibilities of who used them. He carried his hand sanitizer in his fanny pack, bringing it out at least five times a day. For Christ sake, he couldn't even spend the night at his friend's houses without bringing his antibacterial soap.

Out of all the loser's club members, they both could empathize with each other on how much it sucked to not be in charge of their lives.

For that, Stan was thankful for having Eddie as his friend. So, he left the antibacterial wipes on the table, knowing all too well that Eddie would insist on wiping the surfaces down a second time.

Eddie inched closer in line, feeling like his skin was crawling. The cafeteria was jam-packed with people. Usually, he would rather die before eating the shit they call food, but he knew he wouldn't survive the day without something. He was going to take the risk, just this once.

The thought of how disgustingly dirty everything was caused him to feel very uneasy. He refused to touch anything and kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest. If anyone got too close to him, he would bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming at them. He reached the front of the line and was greeted with a massive set woman in her fifties wearing a hairnet on her head and a disgusting apron wrapped around her body.

Eddie wanted to throw up.

"What's your student ID number?" She asked him in an uninterested tone.

"1124599," Eddie responded nervously, his stomach began to cry at him in protest.

She typed it into her computer lazily. "What do you want?" Her voice held no enthusiasm.

"What do you have?"

Eddie watched as she rolled her eyes at him."Today we are serving pepperoni pizza or spaghetti."

Both of those options sounded equally as repulsive to Eddie. He began to think to himself, 'The pizza has probably been touched by the workers, while the spaghetti is hopefully scooped up onto the tray. The tray that is in contact with at least two dirty students per day, meaning that thousands have had the potential to use it. There had to multiple types of germs on the trays alone. Maybe they would let me wash my tray if I asked.'

The woman grunted. "Kid, your holding up the line. Pick one." She demanded.

Eddie felt defeated. "Spaghetti, I guess."

He watched in horror as she walked over to the window and grabbed a tray from the middle of a large stack. Then she grabbed an ice cream scooper off the metal table. Using the scoop, she got some spaghetti out of a deep pan. She smacked it onto the tray harshly and lifted the scooper back up, for Eddie to see the spaghetti remained completely intact. It looked sticky, disgusting, and days old. Finally, she opted for him to take the tray.

Eddie shakily grabbed onto it, feeling as if his fingers were going to burn off just from touching it. Upon walking out of the cafeteria, he at least felt less compacted, but dirty nonetheless.

The hypochondriac noticed that all of the Loser’s were sitting in their usual spot. He began to walk over to them, relieved that he was finally going to be able to relax and stop shaking. His pace slowed down when he saw they weren’t speaking to each other. A sign that there was something out of the ordinary going on. His eyes locked onto to Richie, whose gaze was downcast, staring at his empty tray. Usually, he would be talking so much that their friends had to beg him to shut up.

He looked to Richie’s right and found the reason why they were so quiet. Samantha was there talking about god knows what, in his seat.