Author: Naeryn Stratford
Feedback: Loved, as always.
Distribution: Ask and ye may receive.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and probably a whole bunch of other people do. Me? I've never so much as met one of the actors.
Summary and Notes:
This is a collection of 100-word-or-less drabbles. They all take place between 'Hush' and 'Seeing Red' (before the last five minutes). Expect everything from fluff to angst to smut.
They are not posted in any particular order, as they are not necessarily meant to relate to each other in any way. Each stands alone, though they all fit into the same storyline. I will post them in groups of five, and no, I have absolutely no idea how many of them I'm going to write.

On with the show!





She always drank out of the chipped mug. She had nine other mugs in her cupboard, of varying shapes, sizes and colours, all of which were perfectly whole. Still, she always used the chipped mug. Maybe it was the good handle, big enough that she could fit her whole hand around it and feel secure. Maybe it was the ceramic it was made out of, the way it conducted just enough heat to warm her hands, no matter how hot the coffee inside. Or maybe it was the deep, emerald green colour that reminded her of her lover's eyes.





The words on the page were so blurry, she could barely make them out. What was wrong with her book? She shook her head and blinked hard, trying desperately to focus. So intent on her studying was she, she jumped slightly when two arms snaked over her shoulders from behind.

"Will," Tara's voice purred softly in her ear. A shiver shook her body from somewhere deep in the base of her spine. "You want to come to bed now."

Slowly, deliberately, Willow closed her textbook.





"Look! Look! The sky is falling!" Tara's terrified voice rocked Willow to the core. She sat curled in one corner of their bedroom, spouting apocalyptic nonsense, wide-eyed with abject fear. "They're coming and there's no way out! Up! Up! The dogs are crying!"

Willow wanted to bury her face in the pillows on the bed. She wanted to turn the shower on so hot that it burned and sob out her anguish. Instead, she put on a gentle expression and slowly approached the love of her life.

Tara flinched away.





The darkness was total, but for the just-past-full moon decorating the sky. On a compulsion, Tara pulled her big easy chair just a little closer to the window. She sat and looked tiredly up at the moon. Keeping her company.

Why was she struggling so to accept the truth? She knew how Willow felt about Oz. She had always known, right from the first, that she played second fiddle - and she'd thought she'd be fine with that.

She sighed, dropping her chin to rest against her pulled-up knees.

Someone knocked on her door.





She dumped the last box unceremoniously on the floor. There was another sitting on a chair by the door, and one on it's side on the other side of the bed, spilling it's contents over the carpet. Here it was, her entire life - bereft of love, of friendship. Everything but the candles, pictures, memories in these twelve boxes. She hoped she wasn't missing any really important memories.

With that thought, she fell to her knees and cried.

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Don't you sit upon the shoreline and say you're satisfied, choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides - Garth Brooks, "the River"

Hi,

Interesting . . . definitely touching and lovely and creepy moments, too!

I'm interested to see what your next step is.

Ariel
How I Met Your Mother

Hey Naeryn,

I've recently gotten into the Law and Order: SVU fandom (Alex and Olivia), and it's chock full of these 100 word drabbles. I love the idea, especially when they are seemingly small, inconsequential moments in life that convey so much in so few words. It worked for that fandom, because the show was so bereft of anything resembling a personal life for all the characters, and it was gratifying to get a little insight into their lives besides what we saw on the show.

I wondered if they'd work here, since we already have a solid relationship between our lovable witches. I've thought about writing some myself, but inspiration didn't strike. Yours definitely work. I love how something mundane as a chip on a coffee cup suddenly has so much meaning. I could feel Willow's heartbreak in Tara's nonsensical screams. Though short, they're kind of a fresh break from the epic-ness of some of the fics in Pens, in an instant gratification kinda way.

Thanks for posting.

_________________
Foo

Kisses and Gay Love
"I like my buttons, curvy." - Willow, Neverland, by Easiersaid

It seems to me like Drabbles would be the hardest to write. Its like you have a whole story and take the smallest of moments from it. How do you choose which moment has both the depth and the automity to convey meaning in only 100 words? So kudos to you for this excellent start.

_________________
Did Curiousity kill the cat because Schrodinger opened the box?

My heart and I have wandered aimlessly beneath the Weeping Willows, searching for the sun. - Hayley Westenra, "My heart and I"

Hey, folks! Another set of five drabbles are coming your way, but first, some replies!

Ariel - I'm glad you approve. Stay tuned!

Foomatic - Ah, you've found me out. It was the magical (or, actually, rather mundane) world of SVU fiction that introduced me to the idea. I wasn't sure if it would work here, but it seems to.

I'm glad you're enjoying it. Stick around, there's more!

Promthea128 - It's surprisingly challenging, in a couple of different ways. It can be really difficult to keep to the strict '100-words-or-less' rule, for one. The way I look at it is not so much taking small moments from a story, but telling a whole, different story every time. For example, post number three has a beginning, a middle, and an end. The beginning is Tara's babbling. The middle, is Willow's reaction to Tara, and reaffirming her resolve to take care of her. The end is Tara's unwillingness, or perhaps inability, to accept that help. It is a story about being willing, and even wanting, to take care of someone, even at your own expense.
I just tell the story in a single snapshot - something like a picture being worth a thousand words.
There is a lot more meaning to each story than the words alone express.

_________________
Don't you sit upon the shoreline and say you're satisfied, choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides - Garth Brooks, "the River"

Author: Naeryn Stratford
Feedback: Loved, as always.
Distribution: Ask and ye may receive.
Disclaimer: I don't own it. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and probably a whole bunch of other people do. Me? I've never so much as met one of the actors. Note: I also do not own the song Common Reaction. It's by a really, really awesome band called Uh Huh Her. You should check them out.
Summary and Notes:
This is a collection of 100-word-or-less drabbles. They all take place between 'Hush' and 'Seeing Red' (before the last five minutes). Expect everything from fluff to angst to smut.
They are not posted in any particular order, as they are not necessarily meant to relate to each other in any way. Each stands alone, though they all fit into the same storyline. I will post them in groups of five, and no, I have absolutely no idea how many of them I'm going to write.

On with the show!





Willow wasn't really sure what it was about the shy blonde that caught her attention. Somewhere between her stutter and the way she hid her pretty face behind the bleached ends of her hair, Willow became entranced. The other girl, the one that couldn't stop going on about bake sales and woman-power-shrines, said her name was Tara. Willow couldn't stop glancing at her, and prayed she didn't notice, certain that Tara would think she was a freak.

When their eyes met, Willow felt a shock run through her, shaking her to the core. She passed it off as magic.





Mornings were not her friend.

She used to have a much easier time getting up in the morning, before the world tried to end every day and unnatural creatures occupied her nights. As she cracked open her door and padded gently down the hall, she heard a faint noise coming from her mother's old room.

Buffy smiled at the sound of two of her best friends making love. At least they were having a better morning than she. She went downstairs to make coffee, certain that every last one of them would need it.





Hurricane Willow.

That was really the only way she could think of to put it, as she sat calmly on the end of their bed, watching her lover whirl about the room, sending clothing flying every which way. "What am I gonna do? Tara! I don't HAVE any fancy clothes!"

"Relax, Will." Tara smiled gently. "Wear your red skirt. Add a long-sleeved shirt that has a design, and not words, on it. Like that one."

Willow stopped moving, and breathed. Maybe she'd make it through this stupid dinner with her parents.




"How can you fall from a wound like that, dear? Don't mind, it's a common reaction..."

One delicate hand lifted to cover Tara's mouth and hide her amusement as she leaned against the doorframe. It didn't take long for Willow, somewhere in her spinning and dancing, to notice her lover watching her, an expression of mirth on her fine features for Willow's off-key singing.

Willow swallowed sheepishly, the colour rising behind her freckles. "Um... Hi, Tara."



One finger traced lightly over the large 'D' in the middle of the poster. Some of her friends had asked her if it made her uncomfortable having this poster up in their bedroom. It was, after all, for her lover's ex-boyfriend's band.

It really didn't bother her, though. Oz was a mostly pleasant memory, and Tara was content to let Willow have that. After all, no memory could compare with the way Willow curled herself into Tara's arms when they slept.

She let her hand drop away from the poster with a smile.

_________________
Don't you sit upon the shoreline and say you're satisfied, choose to chance the rapids, and dare to dance the tides - Garth Brooks, "the River"

really interesting drabbles. very fun to read. more please?

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if it's not real, you can't hold it your hands; you can't feel it with your heart, then i won't believe it. but if it's true you can see it with your eyes, even in the dark; and that's where i want to be. 'brick by boring brick' -paramore