Title: this is the world, which is round
Author:
seraphcelene
Email: seraphcelene at yahoo dot com
Rating: G
A/N: Post-NFA, ignoring all of comics canon. Title from Margaret Atwood's You Begin. Written for the
lynnevitational 2008.
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. Dancy Flammarion belongs to Caitlin R. Kiernan. I'm just taking them out for a little exercise.
Summary: She is neither pink nor pale: three realities Dawn almost remembers.
Dedicated to lostakasha for the beta, the encouragement, and for putting up with my spastic nerves. Thank you!!
One. Happy Christmas (War is Over)
The house is quiet, absent of squealing girl voices squabbling over hot water and missing lip gloss. It's been months since Dawn's had to listen to those sorts of full house, lives intersecting sounds. Since Rome it's just been the two of them: Dawn curled tight against Buffy's back beneath the blankets, resisting the creeping edge of daylight slipping in around the part in the curtains and past her eyelids. The rest of Dawn is folded into the nooks and crannies of Buffy's body: knees tucked into the bend of Buffy's knees, chest pressed against Buffy's back. Dawn is taller and softer but the fit is snug and comfortably familiar.
( Read more... )
Author:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
Email: seraphcelene at yahoo dot com
Rating: G
A/N: Post-NFA, ignoring all of comics canon. Title from Margaret Atwood's You Begin. Written for the
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
Feedback: Yes, please.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. Dancy Flammarion belongs to Caitlin R. Kiernan. I'm just taking them out for a little exercise.
Summary: She is neither pink nor pale: three realities Dawn almost remembers.
Dedicated to lostakasha for the beta, the encouragement, and for putting up with my spastic nerves. Thank you!!
One. Happy Christmas (War is Over)
The house is quiet, absent of squealing girl voices squabbling over hot water and missing lip gloss. It's been months since Dawn's had to listen to those sorts of full house, lives intersecting sounds. Since Rome it's just been the two of them: Dawn curled tight against Buffy's back beneath the blankets, resisting the creeping edge of daylight slipping in around the part in the curtains and past her eyelids. The rest of Dawn is folded into the nooks and crannies of Buffy's body: knees tucked into the bend of Buffy's knees, chest pressed against Buffy's back. Dawn is taller and softer but the fit is snug and comfortably familiar.
( Read more... )