(no subject)
Last month when we were all hanging out in Kovksy's basement, we got it into our heads to do a remixathon. I drew ros_fod's name from the sorting hat; this is the result, though it's more of a prequel than a remix. :)
Music to Watch Dead Girls By
BtVS, PG-13, post-Chosen
Remixed from ros_fod's Sky From Ground for the randomerfest remix challenge.
As far as being dead went, Anya missed orgasms the most. She also missed money, microwave popcorn, and expensive personal care products, but she'd lived for hundreds of years before microwaves or foundation were invented and her love affair with cash was even more recently acquired, so it wasn't too hard to give those up. Orgasms, though, had been a pleasant constant in her life for a thousand years. She liked them and was used to getting them on a regular basis and it had been a very long time now and there was no one around to give them to her. Even self-pleasure, while apparently not meriting a one-way ticket to a hell dimension, wasn't exactly possible when one was lacking fingers. Or ... other parts. Or the rest of her body.
It was really irritating.
She knew she should be grateful that she wasn't enduring an eternity of torture for her sins as a vengeance demon, but boredom and loneliness sucked the gratitude right out of her. At least torture would be interesting. It wouldn't be infinite black nothingness.
The longer she stayed wherever this was, the more annoying the whole death thing became. Those sentimental midafternoon movies on television had told her that having children would have given her comfort because part of her was living on. But she didn't have children and those movies were stupid anyway and after a thousand years of being alive she was stuck in this dark and floaty place without a body or interesting company or even the ability to entertain herself and she wished Xander were here because he'd say stupid and amusing things and make her laugh, and she missed laughing almost as much as she missed orgasms. But if he were here that would mean that he was dead too and somehow that would be worse, because Xander shouldn't be dead, he should be very alive and making lame jokes about fixing the Summers' front window for the sixteenth time.
Missing him was the most irritating thing of all.
Sometimes she'd wonder what he was doing now or if he'd met anyone, but mostly she remembered the past: evenings spent curled up against him on the couch watching inaccurate movies about demons while he played with her hair -- lazy Sunday breakfasts with pancakes in the shape of that cartoon mouse -- afternoons when they'd return from the beach and make love and his skin would smell like sunshine. If she concentrated really hard, she could almost picture how the apartment looked on the afternoon that she tried to bake cookies and confused the teaspoons and tablespoons again, and Xander came home to find flour all over the kitchen and goopy piles of burned stuff all over the cookie sheets and he had pulled her close and kissed her and
...and then she was there, standing in the living room wearing that evil pink bunny costume as sunlight streamed in through the windows and Xander stopped putting bars of soap in the refrigerator and turned to smile at her.
"What time did you get home?" He sounded like nothing was out of the ordinary, which was of course wrong because if she had suddenly reappeared from the dead she expected a certain amount of tearful disbelief and she certainly wouldn't be wearing this terrifying costume (and if she was wearing it because they buried her in it, the dark and floaty place would be getting some new residents) and that could only mean that she wasn't really alive which meant that Xander was--
"Xander? Are you dead? You don't look dead." She marched over to him and poked him in the shoulder.
"Owww! What was that for?"
"You seem solid enough," she said. "Can we have sex now? Please?"
Xander closed the refrigerator door. "Could you please tell me what's going on?"
The pink octopus sprawling across the dining room table looked up inquisitively and then returned to its game of parcheesi with the fruit bowl.
"I haven't had an orgasm in a very long time and I want us to have sex right now so you can give me one. Okay?" She looked up at him through lowered lashes. That had always done the trick when she was alive.
He smiled again and his eyes crinkled and the bars of soap clunked to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers and for a brief moment she melted against him, his warmth seeping into her body and then she was being shoved away and her back hit the kitchen island and it hurt.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded. "That hurt, Xander!"
"Anya, you're dead," Xander whispered, his arms falling to his side. "You're dead and I'm dreaming and none of this is real."
"I don't know what that has to do with anyth--"
And then she was standing in the high school with the stench of blood and desperation around her. She could hear the bringers behind her. "This isn't fair," she wailed. "You didn't even see this! And if you're dreaming, then why can't we just go back to the apartment and have lots of sex?" But she felt the first spurt of pain as the knife cut through her shoulder and Xander just stood there and murmured I'm sorry as if his heart was breaking and
...she was back in the dark and floaty place.
The nothingness hit her like a physical blow. She cried out and doubled over from the wrenching pain of it - or she would have, if she had still been in her body. Instead, whatever-she-was-now cried non-tears into the darkness and wondered if this was hell after all.
Music to Watch Dead Girls By
BtVS, PG-13, post-Chosen
Remixed from ros_fod's Sky From Ground for the randomerfest remix challenge.
As far as being dead went, Anya missed orgasms the most. She also missed money, microwave popcorn, and expensive personal care products, but she'd lived for hundreds of years before microwaves or foundation were invented and her love affair with cash was even more recently acquired, so it wasn't too hard to give those up. Orgasms, though, had been a pleasant constant in her life for a thousand years. She liked them and was used to getting them on a regular basis and it had been a very long time now and there was no one around to give them to her. Even self-pleasure, while apparently not meriting a one-way ticket to a hell dimension, wasn't exactly possible when one was lacking fingers. Or ... other parts. Or the rest of her body.
It was really irritating.
She knew she should be grateful that she wasn't enduring an eternity of torture for her sins as a vengeance demon, but boredom and loneliness sucked the gratitude right out of her. At least torture would be interesting. It wouldn't be infinite black nothingness.
The longer she stayed wherever this was, the more annoying the whole death thing became. Those sentimental midafternoon movies on television had told her that having children would have given her comfort because part of her was living on. But she didn't have children and those movies were stupid anyway and after a thousand years of being alive she was stuck in this dark and floaty place without a body or interesting company or even the ability to entertain herself and she wished Xander were here because he'd say stupid and amusing things and make her laugh, and she missed laughing almost as much as she missed orgasms. But if he were here that would mean that he was dead too and somehow that would be worse, because Xander shouldn't be dead, he should be very alive and making lame jokes about fixing the Summers' front window for the sixteenth time.
Missing him was the most irritating thing of all.
Sometimes she'd wonder what he was doing now or if he'd met anyone, but mostly she remembered the past: evenings spent curled up against him on the couch watching inaccurate movies about demons while he played with her hair -- lazy Sunday breakfasts with pancakes in the shape of that cartoon mouse -- afternoons when they'd return from the beach and make love and his skin would smell like sunshine. If she concentrated really hard, she could almost picture how the apartment looked on the afternoon that she tried to bake cookies and confused the teaspoons and tablespoons again, and Xander came home to find flour all over the kitchen and goopy piles of burned stuff all over the cookie sheets and he had pulled her close and kissed her and
...and then she was there, standing in the living room wearing that evil pink bunny costume as sunlight streamed in through the windows and Xander stopped putting bars of soap in the refrigerator and turned to smile at her.
"What time did you get home?" He sounded like nothing was out of the ordinary, which was of course wrong because if she had suddenly reappeared from the dead she expected a certain amount of tearful disbelief and she certainly wouldn't be wearing this terrifying costume (and if she was wearing it because they buried her in it, the dark and floaty place would be getting some new residents) and that could only mean that she wasn't really alive which meant that Xander was--
"Xander? Are you dead? You don't look dead." She marched over to him and poked him in the shoulder.
"Owww! What was that for?"
"You seem solid enough," she said. "Can we have sex now? Please?"
Xander closed the refrigerator door. "Could you please tell me what's going on?"
The pink octopus sprawling across the dining room table looked up inquisitively and then returned to its game of parcheesi with the fruit bowl.
"I haven't had an orgasm in a very long time and I want us to have sex right now so you can give me one. Okay?" She looked up at him through lowered lashes. That had always done the trick when she was alive.
He smiled again and his eyes crinkled and the bars of soap clunked to the floor as he wrapped his arms around her and pressed his lips to hers and for a brief moment she melted against him, his warmth seeping into her body and then she was being shoved away and her back hit the kitchen island and it hurt.
"Why did you do that?" she demanded. "That hurt, Xander!"
"Anya, you're dead," Xander whispered, his arms falling to his side. "You're dead and I'm dreaming and none of this is real."
"I don't know what that has to do with anyth--"
And then she was standing in the high school with the stench of blood and desperation around her. She could hear the bringers behind her. "This isn't fair," she wailed. "You didn't even see this! And if you're dreaming, then why can't we just go back to the apartment and have lots of sex?" But she felt the first spurt of pain as the knife cut through her shoulder and Xander just stood there and murmured I'm sorry as if his heart was breaking and
...she was back in the dark and floaty place.
The nothingness hit her like a physical blow. She cried out and doubled over from the wrenching pain of it - or she would have, if she had still been in her body. Instead, whatever-she-was-now cried non-tears into the darkness and wondered if this was hell after all.