[canon era] Right before Combeferre leaves to visit his family for the holidays, Feuilly and him have a small conversation.

Feuilly owns exactly one piece of jewelry - a plain silver locket, empty, worn and dirtied by time. As far as he knows, the locket is the only thing he has left of his parents. He hasn't dared to touch it since the visions began. (cover art by laughingandlyric!)

Feuilly didn't remember how old he was when he started to draw. He could guess he was around eight, maybe nine years old; a scrawny, underfed little thing, with bony wrists and dust on his nose. And as soon as he started to draw, he made friends.

They lived, fought and died young for a world that was not ready for what they wanted yet. But what if they had survived to live the rest to their lives in peace? A series of drabbles, a peek into the life les Amis de l'ABC could - should, perhaps - have had.

Grantaire is hurting, but he is not asking for anybody's pity, especially not Combeferre's - which is just as well, because Combeferre will not give him any pity. Nor will he judge him. After all, he knows, even if he cannot understand fully, and that might be enough for the night.

[WWI AU] For the most part Courfeyrac lies, bored out of his mind, on the thin hospital mattress. He waits. He hates waiting; it forces him to think. About the war, about what happened to him, about what will happen. Perhaps he could read to the other soldier half-sitting on the bed to his left; he has been watching the letters pile up at the other his bedside for the past week...

She comes in early in the morning and orders a fan with a flippant wave of her hand. Feuilly smiles as he greets her, and though he does not know her, there is something about her that lights a spark in Feuilly's mind, something about the ink stains on her hands and her soft and timid voice. Something familiar.

At the beginning of their friendship, Enjolras pays Feuilly a short visit. [Canon era]

If he were completely honest with himself – and Combeferre took pride in his honesty – he would say he was dreading going to bed. Oh, he would fall asleep in minutes, surely. But he would have preferred tossing and turning for hours, unable to catch any rest, rather than relieve what he knew would happen.

Feuilly is somehow de-aged twenty years, and it falls on Enjolras to take care of the four-year-old.

Their society - a society of two, Feuilly likes the sound of that - has nothing of a society most people would expect – they talk, but don't debate grand ideals and policies. Their meetings, although never quite impromptu, are irregular at best. Still, they share. They share each other's time; they share tips, thoughts, friendship, and a mille-feuille with strawberry filling.

[ace!Enjolras/Combeferre] It was June, a warm, long, full day, the kind of days that happened all too often where they did not see each other until they were both home and exhausted. Enjolras welcomed him home with a kiss on the cheek, which turned into a deeper kiss on the lips, which in turn became a quiet dinner, a bath, and they fell asleep together, warm and clean.

[Modern era, Courfeyrac/ace!Combeferre] Carefully, Courfeyrac opens the door. He's wearing pyjama pants and a light blue t-shirt – too big for him, Combeferre's t-shirt - and holding a mug of hot, sweet-smelling drink. "Hey, sleepyhead," he says, but there's something in his voice and on his face – something strange, thoughtful. Sad, even.

In which Jehan wonders if he should listen to Courfeyrac, and Feuilly decides to listen to Jehan. Because, after all, isn't time, years and age only a human construction?

A collection of shorts and drabbles with Lithuania and Poland. Maybe they're friends, maybe they're not, maybe they're more. Sometimes Prussia butts in, because who will even try to stop him. Newest: LietPol; these nights made for touching and kissing.

A few short, silly, cute, whatever drabbles about Russia and Poland, and sometimes their good friend Lithuania too. To be updated whenever I write new ones or something. Newest: RusPol, Poland is drunk - again? Russia stays polite, which is both cute and no fun (yet).

Ivan had longed for happiness, for bright laughter and warm eyes to chase away the loneliness; but it didn't happen like this, and there are no if's in history. Russia, Lithuania, Poland

Poland hadn't made a move in weeks. Lithuania couldn't quite bring himself to ask, but putting on his trousers in the morning was becoming, well, harder and harder... He needed help, but was he really that desperate?

Considering the weather, Poland has no other choice but to invite himself to spend the night at Lithuania's house, where absolutely no fooling around can happen!

Traduction, par moi-même pour le plaisir de la chose, de certaines de mes petites drabbles. Celles-ci mettent en scènes les bons amis et plus que sont Pologne et Lituanie, et peut-être Prusse de temps en temps, tiens, sait-on jamais avec lui.

Lithuania/femPoland. On the 15th of July, 1410, they fought a important battle, and won. Later that night, in the quiet of their tent, Lithuania is very, very aware of Poland's body against his, in a way he never has been before.

Lithuania and Poland haven't seen each other, haven't held each other, in a very long time. So for now, they can't let go.

Lithuania, Poland, and fifty moments of a friendship - or more. Fifty sentences, set to fifty different themes.