palomina: (film)
[personal profile] palomina
I've been wanting to rec this for quite a few days now.

Zen and the Art of, by Bonny Lou: a WAP AU/BtVS crossover. It's all about the layers, man. Although they don't really matter here.

It's not so much about the fic as it is about the... inevitability of it all. Like yes, of course, how did I manage not to see that?


He won't run ever, but he doesn't mind it when she does.

She cuts across the fields, through the woods, steers clear of the packs. Rabbits smell like dinner but she'd decided a long time ago she'd only eat things that stand still when you put a fork in them. Not so much the thin line between dead bodies as just her all-American squick factor.

Loops around and back and he's still there, sitting by the fire, looking out. Endless patience and it's never like he waits for her, just like he's there. Counting stars or the leaves on a tree, digging the secrets of the universe out of the fine dust of the ground and he smiles when she comes near enough for sight, never surprised, of course never surprised. The wolf form can smile back in a way humans can see, too.

It takes her by surprise, the *pleasure* of this form. She doesn't usually stay long in larger shapes, doesn't usually even go into shapes that aren't city-able in the first place. Jana's a city girl at heart, but the way the wolf shape loves the open fields is new and intense, and she likes it. Running is natural in so many forms but this one, this one was born to just what she's doing and -- it's not quite the same, city streets.

His scent is just slightly on the side of wrong, and she never asks why, imagines this is probably the way animals feel about her scent and he must feel the difference, too. He never asks, either. Something not-her, entirely and utterly not-her in a way she knows nothing about.

He won't run, but he knows more than she will for a long time. Not just the wolf. The music feels like just one more common ground and she dances, once, still in wolf form, the moon bone-white above and the wind ruffling her fur and the counted leaves. He smiles, quietly, and plays faster then slower, and singing is so easy like this, no thought given to fitting the melody. You just are she just is.

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palomina: (Default)

August 2003

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