We’re the only ones left.
i could follow you to the beginning
just to relive the start
maybe then we’d remember to slow down
at all of our favorite parts
Anakin Skywalker & Obi-Wan Kenobi ~ Obikin
I still had one of these! It’s stoooooooone old … o.o
And in that moment, Obi-Wan knew that Anakin loved him.
Not as a brother loved his brother, or a friend loved his friend, no – Anakin loved him as he loved Padme, deeply and wildly and passionately. It scared Obi-Wan, not because of its intensity or its heat, but because of how immensely he enjoyed the way Anakin cared for him. It should have been a burden, it should have made him recoil, should have made him warn his former Padawan to tread lightly where attachment and affection and want were concerned.
But instead, it only made Obi-Wan warm, to look into Anakin’s eyes, to look into the eyes of the boy he had trained and the man that he called friend and brother, and to know that he loved him enough to throw aside his entire future in the Order. That Anakin would die for him was not surprising – Obi-Wan had witnessed his short-sightedness before, and on more than one occasion had been on the receiving end of his misguided heroism – but what was surprising was that Anakin had chosen to live for him too.
Leaving was for the best, Obi-Wan knew that. Ending the war was far more important than whatever painful, beautiful love existed in Anakin’s eyes when they watched him. It would do both of them good to be apart from one another, to let the stars separate them and know that they were strong enough to survive without one another. Attachment was forbidden for a reason, it clouded the senses and confused the mind, and the sooner Anakin realized that, the better.
He stopped, sure that when he turned around Anakin would have that same damnable look in his eyes, that cut him to the quick and made Obi-Wan feel that he could never survive so far from him. Stars, Anakin would look half-starved for him, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure if he was strong enough to not sate his hunger.
His eyes, while needing, weren’t at all primal with hunger when Obi-Wan faced him. They were soft, pained, and Obi-Wan had to keep himself from reaching out to him.
“May the Force be with you, Master,” Anakin said.
There was a goodbye in his voice. Not only because Obi-Wan was leaving. He felt it, and there was nothing he could do but nod and smile, to wish him the same.
There was something else, hidden under his words, buried beneath his farewell.
Something like ‘I love you.’
@mamzellecombeferre i can’t copy past your prompt properly or make this super long because TABLET but as promised. The prompt was : Bossuet, Joly et Feuilly + one frayed unraveling sock, two ribbons and a paintbrush.
To find Bossuet sitting in the middle of Joly’s living-room, two candles lightened in front of him, and one sock laying on the ground next to them, was not as shocking to Feuilly now as it might have been a year back. He had been the witness of many odd things in Joly’s (and Bossuet’s really) rooms, and he generally tried not to ask too many questions. Still – Joly had been whispering since he’d arrived with the pamphlets for tomorrow’s evening, and Bossuet looked so serious, that this time Feuilly’s curiosity got the best of him:
“Is everything alright?” He asked, finding himself whispering too despite not knowing why. “What are you doing?”
“Alas,” said Bossuet gravely. “Here lies my last sock. She was as brave as one could living at my feet, but now i fear her time to keep me warm is over at last. I will mourn her as it is proper, for none was as itchy, full of holes yet faithful to the post as she. She will be missed.”
Feuilly blinked. Joly moved around him, and came to put a hand on Bossuet’s shoulder, his face full of sympathy, despite his lips twitching like they wished to smile. Feuilly hesitated, stared at his friends, then thought about his lonely lodgings, and sat in front of Bossuet.
“Why is there only one?” He asked.
Clearly Bossuet hadn’t expected him to play along, because his serious demeanour threatened to break for a moment, before he coughed and answered with as much feeling as possible:
“The other left a while ago, never to be seen again, during a trip to the washing rooms. And while we must applaud her will for freedom, for it is what we all want and wishes for, i’m afraid this was the last straw for this one. Abandonned by all, she decayed until she came to this state. There is nothing to be done with it now. Even our best, most talented seamstress as declared her done for. As such, we are saying goodbye today before burying it.”
Feuilly looked at the sock. It looked indeed in a very bad state, and it was clear it would never fit anyone’s feet again. Still – to throw things away was against his nature. He thought for a moment, and then he straightened up.
“You sock may very well never be a sock again,” he said. “But i have another future for it if you let me try, Bossuet.”
Bossuet looked surprised but intrigued. He waved at him permission, and both Joly and him leaned closer as Feuilly grbbed the sock, and started to examine it before twisting it experimentally.
“I haven’t done this since i was a little boy,” said Feuilly thoughtfully. “Do you guys have some strings?”
Joly looked around, then he asked: “we have ribbons?” And went to retrieve them when Feuilly nodded decisively.
Once in possession of that, Feuilly went to work, and filled the poor sock with one the ribbons, making sure it didn’t spill out of the sock’s hole. Then, he carefully took the other ribbon and tied it up around the sock, until it looked like the sock had a little round head, and a frayed dress, with some imagination.
“There,” he said, pleased. “Now your sock is a doll, and kids will be happy to play with it. I made my first doll like that. Of course, i got better at carving tree branches after that, but nothing truly remplaces little dolls like that. They’re softer.”
He raised his eyes, satisfied, but then saw the faces of Joly and Bossuet. They had stilled, their eyes sad and a bit shocked, and Feuilly suddenly felt embarassed by his creation. It was as if Feuilly’s poor childhood had suddenly invaded the room with all its pitifulness and ugliness, and awkardness was not long to follow. Feuilly flushed in shame, tried to find something to say, anything, to have them forget what he’d said when Joly suddenly declared thoughfully:
“Do you know, if you squint, the doll looks like Grantaire a bit.”
“It does,” said Bossuet, moving closer. “I don’t know if it is the color or the form, but all it misses is the ugly nose.”
“Feuilly,” said Joly, “you know how to paint, don’t you? R left us one of his paintbrushes yesterday, after giving up again to paint us. We should draw his face, and then offer the doll to him. He is no child, but i can only assume he will be delighted we have thought of him.”
Feuilly breathed out slowly. It was truly Bossuet and Joly’s gift, he thought, that none of their sudden cheerfulness felt forced or full of pity. When he smiled, they beamed, and something uncomfortable disappeared in Feuilly’s stomach.
“Alright,” he said, holding the sock doll carefully in his hand. “Let’s make it for Grantaire.”
Friendly reminder that the first person Marius talks to after he had just fallen out with his grandfather is Bossuet.
Marius who has to be absolutely heart-broken and angry, whose father has recently died, who has just made his grandfather kick him out, who has just left his financialy stable, secure life, the only life he’s ever had, who has no idea where to go, what to do, with next to no money and literally no one left.
Marius who then hears this random stranger calling out his name, a man he has never even met before and who just got kicked out of law school for someone he didn’t even know. A completely poor, young man who doesn’t even has a place to live, who does something nice for someone he has never met without expecting anything in return simply out of the sheer goodwill of his heart.
Bossuet is literally the first good thing that happens to Marius in this new, probably absolutely terrifying part of his life that just started.
He is like, the epitome hope here, that things might not be as bad as they seem. That even in the most hopeless times, there’s the brightness of unconditional human kindness.
I just. Love. Bossuet. So. Much.
So I wasn’t going to do anything this year, and then suddenly this happened. It’s unproofread, so don’t hesitate to alert me to any typos – I’m super rusty at this, so I expect there are many.
Though Enjolras had ordered sleep, Feuilly was not alone in quietly tending to his affairs. Around him, men sorted through their pockets, refilled pipes, scribbled hasty notes to their loved ones on any scrap of paper they could find. He heard murmurs of conversation as his comrades sat in twos and threes, clasping hands and brushing shoulders. He had never been a soldier, but he somehow knew that this very scene had played out countless times before in countless places across the globe. He felt as though he were part of a never-ending play, as though he had stepped into a role played by countless actors before him, one that would be reprized until the bloody curtain of history at last fell on the human race. The thought offered as much comfort as it did despair – never had he felt himself more part of the world as he did now, squatting crouched behind their barricade, the streets beneath his feet uneven and dripping with blood and with history. He felt as though he could reach out and touch all the others who sat, as he did, awaiting death with open eyes and a steady heart.
“Are you not going to take our general’s words to heart?”