t loves Deena
'Shindig'
Buffista Fic: It Could Be Plot Bunnies
Where the Buffistas let their fanfic creative juices flow. May contain erotica.
Elena - it works fine for me and is now bookmarked. Assuming I don't go have a baby tomorrow, I'll read it soonest. If I do, then I'll read it after I get home.
Assuming I don't go have a baby tomorrow,
This is the best. excuse. ever.
I don't think so... If she gets a laptop in the labour room I expect her to read the fic and send immediate feedback.
They have Rules. No food, drink or electronic equipment. Bastards!
Bastards indeed. I was looking for comments such as 'Spike's pain over Buffy's death was not unlike the pain of pushing a nine-pound baby through your cervix SOMEONE GET ME SOME FUCKING MORPHINE!!!'
Greg got up because he was worried about me. We are now giggling hysterically at the morphine.
Morphine is a good thing.
Okay. I have no idea where I'm going exactly. This won't make it out to the lists. When I'm done, I will post it to the website, and maybe LJ. Makes no sense unless you've read at least Absolution: Part I, makes the most sense if you've read I and II.
Because any possible reunion was nagging at me.
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She told herself it would get easier as time passed, and she was at least partially right. The first couple of years were the worst--it seemed like everywhere she went, there were babies in strollers and backpacks, or rack after rack of the fanciful seasonal outfits department stores set out to tempt parents into playing dress-up. If she was feeling really low but wanted to feel even lower (which happened more often than she liked to admit), she'd go and sort through the selection and try to guess which size Tara might be wearing, which dress would look the best with her coloring (then she'd start wondering if her hair was still dark brown, and her eyes still blue like her father's, because she knew that both those things could change with time). Then she'd go and find something to fight, to kill, to remind her just why it was she'd walked away from a last chance at something normal.
A handful of Mother's Days spent off on retreat or whatever excuse was handy, a few Decembers where she had to be reminded about the holidays, a few well-placed glares at well-intentioned questions--that was really all it took to pretty much reclaim her life and push the what-ifs back. Eventually, when things were quiet and the world was less inclined to ending, she finished up her degree and actually managed to find a day job.
Xander and Anya kept trying to set her up with their friends. She wasn't sure if she was flattered or insulted, but as it never really worked out, it didn't really matter. Every so often, there'd be a blow up where Xander'd accuse her of shutting them all out. He was right and wrong at the same time. There were just some things he didn't understand, things she hoped he'd never be in a position to understand.
Dawn grew up, went to college, got engaged, got married. Aunthood followed, not without the uncomfortable pauses where Buffy felt the urge to advise and then thought the better of opening cans of well-sealed worms.
By her mid-thirties, if she wasn't happy-happy, at least she wasn't unhappy. Older, maybe a little wiser, but not unhappy. A few nagging regrets, but they were pretty much standard-issue.
"Dawnie, I'm fine."
"You keep saying that, but I don't see how you can be." Dawn had a kind of martyred look on her face that went hand in hand with her role as the little sister.
"It's called years of practice. I'm pretty certain I could be fine in my sleep at this point."
"It's not like you'd tell me if you weren't."
Buffy cast a quizzical glance at her sister. "You do realize that when you say that, you sound like you're about fifteen, instead of just past thirty?"
"You'll pull away from me again, like you did last time." No escaping the hurt and accusation in the tone. Maybe Buffy hadn't been as good at hiding her resentments as she'd thought.
"I'm happy for you, Dawn. And yeah, sure, it's a little hard on me, but it's not your fault."
Another niece or nephew was good news, she told herself. Good news that felt like a gut punch, but still good news.