Joly Appreciation Week January 30th - February 5th

Joly Week 2022 - Day 7

Story | Endings

[ID: A black and white digital drawing of Joly and Courfeyrac from les miserables in canon era clothes. They're both holding muskets and looking ahead. Courfeyrac is aiming and Joly is standing down but focused. End ID]

Joly Week 2022 - Day 6

Dancing | Missing

[ID: A black and white digital drawing of Joly and Bahorel from les miserables in canon era clothes. They're dancing a waltz together in a crowded room. End ID]

1830.

Bodies heal remarkably fast, Combeferre thinks. It’s early September, and Joly is sat on a chair beside their patient, head tipped back against the wall and snoring lightly. Combeferre feels just as tired, blood turned to lead in all his arteries, all his veins. But they’ve done well, the two of them; in the past six weeks, since the revolution, they’ve saved this man from near certain death. And tonight, Courfeyrac’s hosting a party. And they’ve found time off, so they’re both going to go.

He rubs a hand over his eyes and reaches out, jostling Joly’s shoulder slightly. “Time to go,” he mumbles.

Joly blinks up at him, bleary. “Time?”

“Seven.”

“Right,” Joly says, exhaling into a groan. He drags himself off the chair, glancing down at the man in the bed. He’s sleeping, resting; for a moment, Joly almost envies him. Combeferre hands him his cane — their patient wasn’t the only one injured in July — and they leave the hospital, exchanging the effluvium of decay for the reek of the streets on a warm Paris evening. God, Joly misses the countryside sometimes.

“You ready?” he asks, feeling as if there are little weights tied to every single one of his eyelashes.

Combeferre laughs. “Not in the slightest. But I doubt we’ll survive the night if we don’t turn up.”

“Courf’ll send someone to kill us.”

“They’ll find us tomorrow, smiling in the sweet release of death.”

“Would be a sweet release alright right now,” Joly sighs, and laughs — at the singsong of the words as much as at the feeble joke within them. “I don’t remember the last time I was this tired.”

Combeferre giggles, then giggles at his giggling. He’s not sure a giggle is a sound that’s ever escaped his mouth before. “God, no. Me neither.”

“Well, we’ll be able to get sleep. Later. It won’t kill us, a few days without.” Joly pauses. “Right?”

“Right.” Combeferre’s not sure what the question was.

It doesn’t matter. They’re at the door of Courfeyrac and Marius’ apartment; gratefully, they fall inside.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Joly/Bossuet Laigle/Musichetta, Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship Characters: Joly (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle, Musichetta (Les Misérables) Additional Tags: Canon Era, Dancing, Fluff Summary:

@jolyweek

[Preview of my upcoming fanfic "Court Dismissed" over on AO3. I'm Multicryptid over there.]

“Silence in the room!” the judge commanded as he sat, facing the assembly. “The court presents its most sincere apologies, Mesdames et Messieurs, as well as its condolences. Today’s session will not take place, for we have been made aware this very morning of the defendant’s much regretted passing in prison, during the last night. May God judge his soul with mercy upon his departure from this world.”

The room remained silent for a moment. All were waiting for the judge to tell them more, to give them orders. Instead, he merely put away the papers concerning the case, and readjusted his tie before leaving his seat. Only one remained paralyzed, baffled, unable to speak, to cry, to shout, or to even stand up. This one, was Musichetta. From the defendant’s table where she was now frozen, she glanced at the young lawyer whom she and Joly had chosen to trust with their defense. Without a word, he bowed his head, seemingly as aghast as the now only remaining defendant.

“Court dismissed, good day to all,” the judge declared.

“Not so fast, Your Honor…” Maître Pontmercy protested to himself under his breath. The young lawyer walked up to the judge, blocking his way out of the courtroom. “What is this about, Your Honor?”

“Well, Maître Pontmercy, you must certainly have heard my statement. The defendant is dead, there is no point in continuing the trial.”

“Yes, the defendant is dead. I did hear you very well, indeed. The defendant, my client, M. Joly, was awaiting a fair trial, and the occasion to defend his case in front of the court, and now what?” Marius asked, revolted. “Justice was taken from him by his passing. May I ask, Your Honor, how he passed?”

“Well, the doctor attributes it to the defendant’s pre-existing illness, and the general weakness of his disposition.”

“Your Honor, let me rephrase it so; your prison kept an ill, wounded man inside a cell for months, and moments before justice could be done to his case, you let him pass away alone and untended to. One would not call that fair treatment of a prisoner, for sure. What does the prison’s doctor do, anyway? I can’t imagine he spends much of his time treating the sick, no, he must have plenty of work already on hand with the piles of corpses you stack inside that jail of yours. Perhaps the prison’s doctor has forgotten Hippocrates, after all, just as you have forsaken Themis.”

@jolyweek

[Canon era one shot, I might eventually turn it into a full story but nothing is for sure. Contains: Joly/Bossuet, foreshadowing for Joly/Musichetta, non binary they/them Jehan Prouvaire]

Through the narrow window, Joly recognized the head full of copper-tinted curls that belonged to Jehan Prouvaire. Somewhat reluctantly – and painfully – he stood up and walked to the door, climbed the three steps, and opened the door to his childhood best-friend. Jehan was the first person to go through that door, besides Joly himself, since Lesgle had left for Meaux no more than three days prior. As was common knowledge, they had taken the habit of living together for a few months now, and so the absence of his dear friend had submerged Joly in a sort of melancholy, a state of loneliness that Prouvaire, with their visit, hoped to end.

“I have told you a hundred times, I do not want to go out tonight,” Joly said before Jehan could even greet him. Had they come on any other day, Joly would have offered Prouvaire a seat and a drink. Not on this day, However. The two friends remained standing by the door.

“Have you lost your sense of amusement?” Prouvaire retorted, ‘Bossuet hasn’t been gone for three days, and there you are, a hermit among men! Come on, Jolllly, there was a time you would have never said no to a bit of adventure,” they sighed, desperate to drag their dear friend out of his lethargy.

“Well now is not that time. I am absolutely fine on my own, Jehan, I don’t want you to feel obliged to keep me company.” Joly looked away, embarrassed, then walked back a few steps and sat in the old armchair by the fireplace. In a sense, he did not want to be comforted by anything that was not Bossuet’s return. He had found safety, stability, tranquility, even, in his retreat from the world.

“I do not feel like that. My friend, you would be a fool to believe I am offering you my time and attention under any feeling of obligation. I want my friend to come to the opera with me tonight, and for the sake of it, have a jolly good time,” Prouvaire joked, finally getting the tiniest peal of laughter out of Joly. They took it as an encouragement, pulled a chair to the fireplace and sat facing their friend. “Need I mention that Courfeyrac will be there as well?” they tried.

“How did you convince him to come? He doesn’t strike me as the type of lad to go to the opera…” Joly remarked limply.

“He doesn’t, usually. But I offered him, as my friend, to come with me, and he wholeheartedly accepted my invitation. His agreement may, or may not, have hung on the promise of your attendance…” Jehan admitted, with an impish smile.

“Jehan, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t go… Walking all the way to the theater is unthinkable -” Joly protested “- not with my back aching already.”

“No worries, we’ll take a coach!” Prouvaire exclaimed, determined to get the young man out of his apartment and in a lighter mood.

“Do you think I can afford a ticket to the opera and a coach ride? Go with Courfeyrac, I’ll see you tomorrow at the Musain,” Joly sighed, more resigned than ever.

“Don’t fret, Joly, I am paying for everything.” Jehan shrugged, laying their last good card on the table.

“Pardon?”

“I am paying for everything. The coach, the seats, the drinks after the show, all of it. I am inviting you,” they explained.

“Is the performance even worth all the fuss?” Joly asked, with a newly formed light in his eyes. Perhaps Prouvaire was, at long last, getting through to him.

“Oh, please, you don’t think I would take you to some cheap vaudeville, do you?” they exclaimed, falsely offended. “We are seeing Le Nozze Di Figaro, I don't know whether you're familiar with the source material, it's quite an amusing story, in my opinion. And the music, my friend... Mozart never fails. I know the lady who plays Susanna, she is Italian, and I promise you, Joly, you won’t have the words to praise her after you hear her sing,” Jehan assured.

“Alright, alright, fine,” Joly finally accepted, “I’m coming. Jesus, I hope you’re right, otherwise it’ll all be your fault.”

“Trust me, you will thank me when you meet Musichetta…”

Joly Week 2022 - Day 5

Trust | Sharing

talking about Romanticism I guess

[ID: A black and white digital drawing of Joly and Jehan from les miserables in canon era clothes. Joly is holding up a skull and pointing at a detail of it, Jehan in leaning on their hand and listening. End ID]

@jolyweek

[Canon era one shot about sharing a bed. Contains Joly/Musichetta and Joly/Bossuet mutual pining. Angsty, perhaps? Some implications of sex (but no description), I really hope this fits the SFW guidelines.]

‘There is no room in the bed tonight. There’s always been room. There was room last night, and all the nights before. But not tonight. Tonight, the bed is full,’ Bossuet thought as he entered the bedroom Joly and he had been sharing, until then. He could not exactly discern the figures of the couple lying beneath the sheets, but he knew. He knew why Joly had encouraged him to spend the evening out; so he could spend the evening here, so they could spend the evening together. Well, from the looks of them, it had been an evening well spent.

Unbeknownst to Bossuet, Joly had awoken, though he had remained still. It was better to avoid waking Musichetta. Not that she and Bossuet disliked each other; quite the opposite, but the latter had expressed some for of jealousy as of lately.

‘The bed is sold out, monsieur, and you have been replaced. Not that your sharing of this bed was anything comparable to what it is now, but still. Your understudy went on while you were not looking. Too bad for you, you liked the place you had beside him…’ Bossuet attempted to shake these thoughts away from his mind, when Joly finally addressed him.

“How much longer do you plan on standing over there?” he whispered through a muffled chuckle. “You should go to sleep, it’s getting quite late. Come, I’m sure all three of us can fit in here,” Joly suggested.

“I don’t think…” Bossuet started, staring at the tiny reflection of light in his dear friend’s eyes. “I don’t think this is appropriate. You two stay in here, I’ll let myself out, have a good rest of your night.” As he took a step back towards the door, Bossuet’s eyes wandered on the second figure lying in the bed. From the doorstep, he could only discern the curve of Musichetta’s back, bare against the sheets, and a cascade of black curls running down her side.

Joly sat up on the bed, careful to not wake his mistress up, and planted his eyes in the other man’s eyes. Only then did he realise that perhaps it was indeed odd to invite his best friend to bed with Musichetta and himself. The thought had not occurred to him as he made his offer. It had felt quite natural. Not only had it not felt wrong, it had felt, in some way, right. As things should be, so to speak. Frankly, he could not imagine a more appeasing thought than that of them three, asleep together in this bed, which the two men had shared for countless nights. The appearance of Musichetta into his life – or rather their lives – should not change that, he thought. It did not have to change to such a degree that Bossuet’s presence would be reduced, but merely to accommodate for the presence of Musichetta.

“It’s alright,” Joly argued, “She won’t mind, believe me. I don’t mind either. You do have to sleep, my friend.”

“Not in your bed. I can’t,” he sighed in response, ready to leave the room.

“This is your bed too, you know…”

“Not anymore. Not when she’s in here with you.”

“Where are you going to sleep, then?”

“Anywhere else. Some place she hasn’t changed,” Bossuet declared, in a voice Joly had never heard from him before, turning his back to the room.

“You’re awfully jealous, aren’t you?” he asked, with a concerned sincerity that compelled Bossuet to turn back.

He hesitated for a few instants before speaking again. Was it worth it? Was all the effort he had put into concealing his devouring envy for nothing? Was it to be exposed now, upon walking in on the living justification of his jealousy? Facing him, on the bed, Joly was waiting, immobile in the silence of the night, expecting his answer. When he finally answered, the same sincerity carried Bossuet’s voice.

“I am. I’ve never been more jealous in my life. I’m not even sure of whom I’m more jealous, you or her. But what can I do? She’s your mistress, not mine. And you’re her lover, not…” he did not finish his sentence.

“And not what?,” Joly insisted, “Not your lover? Is that what you want? Do you wish for us to be lovers?”

Bossuet did not answer. He crossed Joly’s gaze one last time, before walking out of the bedroom, without so much as a word. Joly remained immobile, still staring at the door where Bossuet had been standing just a few seconds ago.

“Because it’s what I want,” he whispered to himself, before letting his head flop back onto the pillow. Deep inside, he cultivated the secret hope that maybe, Bossuet had heard him. But what he did not expect was for a hand to slide across his shoulders. Musichetta pulled him closer to her.

Joly Week 2022 - Day 4

Mirror | Change

[ID: A black and white digital drawing of two 'Joly's from les miserables hunched over, looking at their tongues in the mirror. On the left he's a young white man with wavy hair in canon era, on the right he's a young black man in a modern setting. End ID]

the two jollllys

Joly Week 2022 - Day 3

Jokes | Journey

[ID: A black and white drawing of Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire from les miserables in canon era clothes. They're sitting around a table full of empty glasses. Bossuet is chugging a bottle, Grantaire is asleep in the background and Joly is holding an oyster shell and talking enthusiastically. End ID]

It's Joly week ! Happy @jolyweek !

Joly deserves a peaceful breakfast with boyfriend and cats, as a treat.

That one was half of a pain to color ! I was torn between something colorful or an all-white kitchen that's easier to clean. Thanks @mu-mumie for your suggestions ! I'm ssure Bossuet enjoyed painting those chairs with R !

Also I didn't use any of my grey pens :D (those with "grey" in the name : warm grey, blue grey, green grey, cold / ice grey). That was fun !

Joly Week 2022 - Day 2

Medicine | Communication

...and that's how they met!

@jolyweek

For today: med student Joly who clearly should have gone to bed a long time ago :)

(real quick: the paper says "PACES" when it should actually be "PASS", the first year of med school changed its name apparently. while i *am* in fact french, i'm a theater student, so i wouldn't know anything about med school)