A drabble is a precisely 100-word (not counting title) short short story. They're sort of like snapshots in words, if done well (I make no guarantee that I do them well). I like them because they provide good practice at paring out unnecessary words and using precise detail, but I don't write them very often.
Tea (Lawrence of Arabia, G, Lawrence/Ali UST)
Saved (Star Wars: Episode I: The Phantom Menace, PG, Darth Maul/Obi-Wan Kenobi, futurefic)
"For what is it to die, but to stand in the sun and melt into the wind?" -Kahlil Gibran (Star Wars: Episode IV: A New Hope, PG, Obi-Wan Kenobi, gen)
Balance (Star Wars Trilogy, post-ROTJ, PG Leia/Han, Han/Luke)
That's Flirtin' Talk (Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl, PG, ew!het!Jack, Elizabeth, gen)
Ever (Six Feet Under, PG, Claire Fisher/Parker McKenna)
Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean/X-Men, Jack-centric, gen)
The first time Ali offers Lawrence tea is in Feisal's camp. It is unsweetened, strong and almost bitter. Lawrence is not so ignorant of Bedu ways that he does not realize when he is not welcome.
At Aqaba, Lawrence accepts the flowers Ali offers. He wears them tucked into his robes, next to his heart, as he travels to Cairo. When he returns, Ali looks at Lawrence's Bedu dress with surprise in his expressive eyes.
Lawrence says nothing, but merely smiles and touches Ali's shoulder briefly.
The second time Ali offers Lawrence tea is in Aqaba, and it is sweet.
Obi-Wan's back is curved against his side, warm and solid, and Maul is so contented he's purring, a quiet rumble in the still air of the room.
Something shifts in the Force and he's suddenly shut out. "Obi-Wan?" he murmurs. "What's wrong?"
"I was just thinking of him," Obi-Wan says.
Maul rolls over and pulls Obi-Wan back against him, rubbing his cheek against Obi-Wan's shoulder. "You can't save everyone. Maybe I filled your quota."
"You're not helping," Obi-Wan says, but his back is less tense and there's a touch of laughter in his voice.
Obi-Wan Kenobi saw his death some years before, staring into a Tatooine sunset, from the Anakin he knew: half-broken but still human, not this thing calling himself Darth Vader.
Anakin, with hate burning in his eyes, raising his lightsabre to strike.
It is not how Obi-Wan wanted to die, in the cold sterility of an Imperial warship, but he is ready to meet his death. He can buy the others an escape; theirs is not a task for old men.
Obi-Wan lowers his lightsabre and sees only the sun as he gives himself to the Force.
Leia knows her husband is sleeping with her brother. It has been almost a year since she gave an answer to HanŐs awkward question. She loves them both--how could she deny them?
The balance of their relationship is delicate and unspoken. Han does not leave her bed for Luke. She is often gone from Coruscant on diplomatic missions.
When Han is offworld, Luke comes over and cooks. He's a bad cook, but a good sport, and Leia values the laughter more than the food.
Leia is not blind: she knows how this will end. They were never truly hers.
When Will died, Elizabeth dressed herself as a boy, wore her cap low, and bought passage to Tortuga.
The smoky miasma inside the tavern she'd been directed to made her eyes water as she scanned the rough crowd.
There. She made her way over, her heart pounding and her hand on the shiv under her coat.
Elizabeth slid onto the bench and a familiar voice slurred, "Well, ain't you the bonny thing."
"Jack, it's me!"
He recoiled, a look of horror on his face. "Elizabeth! I --"
"You'll need more rum before you can talk like that to me?" she asked.
"So, you ever fucked a girl?"
Parker took the joint and inhaled. "Maybe," she said, avoiding Claire's eyes. "You?"
Claire giggled. "No. I, like, practiced kissing with the girl next door when I was ten, though."
Parker laughed. "Yeah," she said. "I have."
"Jesus! Who?"
Parker whispered.
"Isn't she a Fundie?"
Parker shrugged, then said, "She's definitely a dyke."
"Wow."
Pause.
"So, was it...good?"
Parker leaned back, smirked, and closed her eyes. "Yeah."
Pause.
"So, you want to?"
"What?" Claire laughed nervously.
Parker raised an eyebrow.
Claire smiled so widely her face hurt, then leaned over and kissed Parker.
[Blame goes to Adri and Trismegistus, not necessarily in that order.]
The new guy wore frayed bellbottom jeans, a shirt that wouldn't have been out of place at Woodstock, and about half a jewelry store in his hair.
"Who is he?" Logan asked Scott as the man introduced himself to Marie.
"Calls himself Jack Sparrow; Ororo found him in Florida. He seems to be at least three hundred."
Logan frowned. "I thought mutants were more recent than that."
"So did we."
Logan took a drink of his beer. "What's he do?"
"He metabolizes alcohol even faster than you."
Logan peered at Scott suspiciously, then said, "Sounds like my kind of guy."
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