Joly, ‘Chetta and Bossuet call R “kid” because they have adopted him. That’s it. He’s their adopted child. *wipes tears away*



Musichetta : Be careful with your diet, love, bad cholesterol runs in the family

Grantaire : Why does that matter? I’m adopted!

Bossuet, slamming his fist against the fridge : What? Oh my God! Who told you?

Grantaire: Bossuet, I’m older than you..


hellooo you’re taking prompts!! that is very good of you!! :D if you’re in the mood, can i request some Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet (platonic or otherwise, R-involving or otherwise) set in spaaace? or with awkward parental meetings? or (somehow, miraculously) both? :)


(I also had a prompt from @mayleavestars for JMBR coffee shop in space, so clearly I had to do space, coffee shop, and meeting the parents all at once!)

Joly looks up in alarm when Bossuet
skids into the shop during an afternoon lull, his momentum finally
stopped by the counter when he runs into it and promptly bangs his
personal communicator down on it. “I am ruining our weekend plans,”
says Bossuet.

“Did you forget an appointment
again?” Grantaire calls from the kitchen, where he’s making a batch
of his moon-famous muffins. “I keep telling you, we really need to
start a calendar for all of us so when we get Bahorel and Jehan to
cover for a day or two we can make the most of it.”

“I got a message from my parents,”
says Bossuet, eyes wide, and Joly freezes, because Bossuet adores his
parents, so it must be bad news. Musichetta, who has been ignoring
them with enviable serenity from where she’s planning out the week’s
menu, looks up, so it must be serious. “They bought tickets here
without telling me and they’re arriving this afternoon. On the next
shuttle. Mom sent the message from Earthport so I wouldn’t have time
to prepare myself.”

That is … not disastrous. But it is
definitely very nerve-wracking. Joly takes a deep breath and can
almost feel Musichetta and Grantaire taking one in tandem. He
recovers from his deep breath first. “Um, can I ask why?”

“She said something about bringing
the earth to the moon colony if the moon colony won’t come to earth,
but really it’s to meet you two. Well, three, I keep telling them you
aren’t technically our boyfriend, R, but you’re my roommate, so they

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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.

Wordcount: 1529

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?”

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Les Mis Modern Aesthetic, Bossuet

He possessed knowledge and wit, but all he did miscarried. Everything failed him and everybody deceived him; what he was building tumbled down on top of him. If he were splitting wood, he cut off a finger. If he had a mistress, he speedily discovered that he had a friend also. Some misfortune happened to him every moment, hence his joviality. He said: “I live under falling tiles.” He was not easily astonished, because, for him, an accident was what he had foreseen, he took his bad luck serenely, and smiled at the teasing of fate, like a person who is listening to pleasantries. He was poor, but his fund of good humor was inexhaustible. He soon reached his last sou, never his last burst of laughter.

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo, 3.4.1

Face Claim: Sinqua Walls

Les Mis Modern Aesthetic, Joly

He was the gayest of them all. All these young, maniacal, puny, merry incoherences lived in harmony together, and the result was an eccentric and agreeable being whom his comrades, who were prodigal of winged consonants, called Jolllly. “You may fly away on the four L’s,” Jean Prouvaire said to him.

Les Miserables, Victor Hugo, 3.4.1

Face Claim: Aldis Hodge

Waiting on the Dawn


This was made very quickly, because what is Time and Time Management, but I wanted to do something for this Barricade Day.  In the days following the barricade’s fall, Musichetta takes care of some final requests for the Amis.

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Small things I write at work, a panel in three snippets: 

“Have you really sent a note for me when you were just two streets away from law school?” Bossuet asked quite rhetorically to Grantaire who was laying on a bench under the sun. 

“Surely you mean to applaud me,” answered Grantaire, “since I’ve made one gamin richer and less idle thanks to that. Now, come on, we have a big day in front of us.“ 

“I have classes,” Bossuet remarked. 

Grantaire blinked, and waggled his eyebrows. “I have money and a new address,” he said, and Bossuet grinned.

“Bossuet,” said Grantaire, “the gentleman is still standing.“ 

Bossuet grinned widely at Joly. “I do believe he is,” he replied.

“Well this is it then; the war is won; the king has fallen, and by that I mean that my head will be on the floor tomorrow. L’aigle de Mots, I will never doubt your words ever again. You said ’this man is a trusty fellow, R’ and i scoffed. Now here I am, defeated, corrected, in awe. Monsieur Joly, you have my approval.” Grantaire said. 

Joly beamed. “Another drink?” he asked.

Bossuet was languid in the bed, laying sensually on the side, the white sheets covering so little that Musichetta didn’t have anything left to imagine, apart what it would be like, to run her fingers on this fine, lean body. And even that…

 "My dear,“ said Joly behind her, his breath tickling her neck, his hands on her hips. "What do you say?" 

Musichetta said exactly nothing, but reached for the buttons of her dress. There goes my reputation, she thought. She couldn’t remember to mind for now.


Since the Miserable Holidays gifts are up, I thought I’d also archive mine here. This is the full, uncropped version of Teatime at the Musain for lovely_narcissa (montparsnips); I ultimately decided there was too much ceiling in the picture and snipped out the top bit for the actual post, but I figured I’d put this here in case anyone who’d seen it was wondering what the strange white bit above the menu board was…

[Not really familiar with AU settings, but I thought it would be fun to try. (And had a ball of a time with the cake display!) The straight lines just about killed me though because (1) I obstinately refused to use the line tool in spite of the fact that (2) I can’t freehand straight lines worth squat. LOL.]