Drabble for Open on Sundays; theme: doorways.

Measurements

As the bus carries them farther and farther away from the sinkhole that was Sunnydale, Dawn thinks about her house. Well, a specific part of the house -- the doorframe of her bedroom closet, on which, after much begging, she was allowed to mark her height each month. (In pencil, Joyce stipulated.) Dawn even convinced Buffy to mark her height on the opposite side of the doorframe (although Buffy stopped when she became the shorter sister).

Seven years' worth of proof, marked inch by inch, that she was really there. Really real. Now those marks are gone forever. Anti-graffiti: Dawn wasn't here.

Oooh, Teppy, that's lovely. See, fic is easy. Now that you've done it, the next one is even easier. t fic pimp, fic pimp

You've done this before, haven't you.

Teppy!

I love that, Buffy stopping when Dawn outgrew her. As the tallest of three sisters, and also the youngest? That's so spot-on.

Lurvely fic. More, please.

You've done this before, haven't you.

Silly Connie! It's just been quite a while, is all.

I have a random Gunnfic in my head, and really want to write Gwendolyn Post/Xander.

really want to write Gwendolyn Post/Xander.

  He does like his women authoritative. I could see it.

really want to write Gwendolyn Post/Xander.

He does like his women authoritative. I could see it.

I really just want to hurt Xander. Don't get me wrong; I love Xander. But I want to hurt him.

I love Xander. But I want to hurt him.

Some fic writer whose name I'm blanking on at the moment described Xander as the man with the hurt-me eyes.

ETA: Clearly this was before the last season of Buffy.

Right. Now it's the hurt-me eye.

Xander in pain. A happy place.

Steph, that was wonderful.