Author's Note: A set of five stand-alone 100-word drabbles all inspired by the word for which they are titled. Told from various viewpoints.


Simulacrum

The bitter words soaked his torn skin, bathing him in hatred.

"There is nothing good or clean in you"

"I could never be your girl!"

Over and over again the mantra continued and Spike's aching soul cried out at the pain they inflicted.

But his mind knew despite the perfect inflections in the voice, the exquisite shape of the mouth, that this was but a poor representation of his Buffy.

He knew because the memory of her last words to him was still so strong.

"I believe in you, Spike."

He withstood the torture, because he knew it was true.


Machination

He breathed a sigh of relief when the lock finally gave, excited that watching so much McGuyver had come in handy.

He couldn't believe it had been that easy to get them out of the building. He smiled to himself. Yep, still got it…

He reached for his prize, eyes twinkling as he caressed the binding.

"XANDER! What are doing in my room!"

He turned around quickly, meekly meeting Willow's gaze.

She looked at her friend, hands on hips: "Love spells, Xander? I thought you learned your lesson the first time."

Her only reply was the pinking of his cheeks.


Gregarious

He had little experience with parties.

His father had never really approved. Believed it detracted from the mission.

He wanted to make his father proud, but he longed to go out with the other boys. See what made the gatherings draw them in like moths.

They returned, hours past curfew, faces flushed, sweat stained clothes, with self-satisfied smiles.

No one bothered asking him along. No one wanted the Head Boy to spoil the fun.

So he was rather surprised when Cordelia had shown up at his desk:

"Wes, I'm having a party. You're coming."

Wesley's face warmed with a smile.


Torpid

Buffy felt like she was freezing and burning up all at once every time her fingers glided over his skin or his lips pressed down on hers. The feeling was exquisite pain.

Now as her fists pounded on him, she felt justified. She knew she was hurting him. But she couldn't get the thought out of her mind that he deserved it. Deserved every hurtful thing she said, every bruise she left behind.

Because while her friends were responsible for ripping her out of heaven. He was responsible for making her live, feel again.

When she wanted to be numb.


Plethora

Closing the door behind her, Dawn made her way to her desk. Setting her bag down, she began to dig through it until she got the ring she had snagged from the mall.

She turned the silver and gold piece over in her hands, before she slipped it on, admiring how it looked on her slender finger.

She opened her drawer and placed the ring inside. Amazed at how much she had collected. Sure, there was more jewelry in their then she could ever need. Some of it she didn't even like, but it was hers. When nothing else was.