bubosquared | The first thing I finish in like two years, and THIS is it?

Title: Wait, What?
Author: Sofie K Werkers
Fandom: ThatGuyWithTheGlasses.com/Angry Video Game Nerd
Pairing: Nostalgia Critic/Angry Video Game Nerd
Warnings et. al.: Contains smut of the straight variety, rather a lot of foul language, probably more Britishisms than is technically healthy, and several times your Recommended Daily Allowance of injokes. Also a complete lack of beta reader.

Summary: "I AM A WOMAN— wait, that's not right."
Date: 21 - 29 June 2009
Archive: Please ask.
Email: femgeek@gmail.com
Feedback: If you like this story, please let me know. If you don't, please let me know why not.

Disclaimer: These guys/characters do not belong to me, and also, this is fiction. You know, that thing where I make things up out of whole cloth? Yeah, that. Also, please don't kill me.

Dedication: To aunt_zelda and emeriin. And by "dedication" I mean "blame". And by "blame" I mean "A plague on both your houses! Sob."
Author's Notes: So the thing about being in a fandom of three is, if the other two have posted fic, you're kind of obliged to take a turn. (That's my story and I'm sticking to it, dammit!) And then you have to join the Fannish protection Programme, change your name, and live out the rest of your sad little life hiding from the mob.

Wait, What?

It started, as such things do, with a scream. It wasn't quite a scream of ultimate suffering, but it was close, and if you listened very carefully, you could just about make out the words.

"Noooo! I am a man! A man, I tell you! A man!"

The Nostalgia Critic grunted sleepily, looked around for whatever had woken him up. When he found nothing, he shrugged and turned over to go back to sleep.

At least, that was the plan. Unfortunately, something seemed to be preventing him from getting comfortable. After several moments, he sighed in annoyance, sat up, and switched on the bedside light.

And screamed a high-pitched scream.

It was supposed to be a nice, leisurely weekend for the Nerd. Some great games to cleanse his brain from the latest abomination he'd reviewed, several six-packs of Rolling Rock, and no one bothering him for the next two days at least. He was barely halfway through his first bottle when the knock at the door came. He groaned, took another swig, and tried to ignore the sound, but whoever it was, they weren't taking no for an answer. "All right, all right, keep your pants on," he snarled at the door as the mystery visitor knocked -- more like hammered, really -- for the third time.

Hand on the doorknob, he hesitated for a moment. This seemed weirdly familiar, somehow, and he didn't like the idea of getting punched in the face again. Sure, he and the Nostalgia Critic had buried the hatchet, but that didn't mean they got along now. Hell, it didn't even mean they'd stopped fighting, as such.

He took a step aside, then opened the door, smirking to himself as the Critic sprawled through and stumbled headfirst into a convenient pile of boxes. He shook his head. So predictable. It was sad, really.

He could hear angry, muffled yelling coming from the crumpled form in the corner. "Are you dissing my boxes again?"

The Critic finally freed himself. "No, you freak. I wasn't dissing your fucking boxes, I was calling you a dirty rotten cheater and you will pay for this!"

He watched the Critic struggle to his feet. "Pay for what, you bucket of elephant pi-- Holy shit what the fuck."

"Oh, don't try and play innocent with me, you piece of shit. I know you did this somehow, now undo it!"

Under different circumstances, the Nerd would've had a field day mocking the Critic for the high-pitched squeal his voice had ascended into. As it was, however, he was far too distracted.

"Look, I'm telling you, I had nothing to do with ..." He waved his hand in the general direction of the Critic's chest. "This. What the hell kind of pervert do you think I am, anyway?"

The Critic shot him a look that implied the answer to that should be obvious, but, thankfully, before he could launch into another tirade, his cell phone rang.

"Hello."

"Don't take that tone of voice with me, mister." The Critic blinked in confusion. The voice sounded familiar, but it didn't sound like any of the guys he knew. "I swear, Critic, if I find out your stupid feud with the Nerd is somehow responsible for this, I am going to kill you slowly, desecrate your body, and then reanimate you so I can kill you again."

"... Nostalgia Chick?"

"Not exactly."

"You too? Well, fuck."

"Very eloquent of you. Wait, why does your voice sound all weird?"

He let out a short, harsh laugh. "Guess. Look, I'm trying to figure out what's going on here, I'll call you back." He hung up without waiting for an answer and turned towards the Nerd, who was being uncharacteristically quiet suddenly. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay. I believe you didn't do this. You wouldn't have changed the Nostalgia Chick as well, you're too much of a perv."

"I'm touched by your faith in me," the Nerd replied dryly. "Now do I get an explanation for this bullshit? And by the way, could you do please fix that? It's really fucking distracting."

"Fix what?" Looking down, he saw what the nerd meant. One of the buttons had become undone, and it suddenly became very apparent why wearing a white shirt and no bra was a very bad idea. "Argh!" He quickly re-fastened the button and tried to wrap his jacket around himself. Unfortunately, it didn't do much. He glared at the Nerd, who was pointedly not looking at him and scratching the back of his neck. "Look, could you make yourself useful and get me something decent to wear?" He got an eyeroll in response, but at least the Nerd did go off in search of something.

"Why are you wearing a button-down shirt, anyway? That's my thing, don't you usually wear a t-shirt?"

He muttered something about the t-shirt not fitting right.

"Yeah, I can see why." Another pointed glance at the Critic's chest. This was going to get really annoying and possibly embarrassing very soon. "Here, try this," throwing a large t-shirt his way.

"Thanks," he said, grudgingly. Then, pointedly, "Do you mind?" He gestured vaguely for the Nerd to turn around already, which he did, albeit with a long-suffering sigh. The t-shirt, thank god, fit reasonably comfortably, and, with the button-up and his jacket over it, covered everything that needed covering.

"Can I turn around now?"

"If you must." That just got him an eyeroll, and again with the ogling. His glare back had no effect, though.

"So, do I get an actual explanation, now? For, any of this? Like why you're suddenly a chick, and also, why are you here?"

The Critic sank down on the couch, suddenly feeling very deflated. "I ... don't know. I kind of assumed you were involved in this somehow -- oh, don't look at me like that, like you wouldn't -- so I figured I'd come and ... punch you? I don't know, it made sense at the time." Suddenly, inspiration struck. "Oh!" He beamed. "Of course, that's what's going on here! This is just one long Big-Lipped Alligator Moment!"

He ignored the look of annoyed pity the Nerd shot his way, the hopeful grin freezing on his face.

"No? Um. Elephant?" The King stubbornly refused to manifest. The Critic sighed. "Dammit. I need a drink."

Wordlessly, the Nerd handed over one of his precious Rolling Rocks.

The Nerd wouldn't normally give up his booze that easily, but the whole situation was decidedly unsettling. Guys weren't supposed to just turn into chicks like this -- and judging from the earlier conversation, at least some chicks had been turned into guys as well, which was even more wrong -- and they definitely weren't supposed to turn into hot chicks. That was just wrong, is what it was. And unfair. And really, really unsettling and distracting.

He shot the Critic a speculative glance. Really, considering how good the guy'd looked in eyeliner, and how much of a pussy he was, it should've been no surprise he'd make a pretty hot chick. A pretty hot chick who was swigging a beer bottle in a disturbingly suggestive way.

He took a swig from his own bottle to cover up the sudden flush. Dammit, he really needed to get laid, if this was any indication.

"Stop that!" The Critic's voice cut sharply through the silence.

"Stop what?" He blinked, honestly confused.

"Stop staring at my boobs! And wow, there's a sentence I never thought I'd find myself saying."

"I wasn't staring, you fuck! And if I was, it's not my fault. They're kinda ... prominent." And jiggly, he added silently. There they went again, jiggling slightly as the Critic jumped up, beer bottle now empty and discarded.

"You know what? Fuck you. I didn't come here to be ogled and insulted, asswipe." And before the Nerd could ask the very relevant and fair question of why the Critic did come here, then, he found himself dodging a badly aimed punch. What the fuck.

The fight, if it could even be called that, was over embarrassingly quickly. The Critic hadn't counted on the trouble this new body would cause him. The balance was off, for one, and he could barely throw a punch, it seemed. By the time he figured out most of his strength was now in his legs, he was pinned down and unable to kick. Not one of his finest moments.

He scowled at the Nerd, who was smirking down at him, looking smug. "Give up?"

"Fuck you," squirming as best he could, and wow, that was maybe not a very good idea, because fighting always turned him on a little, and now the Nerd's leg was in a really sensitive area, and thank god female bodies weren't as obvious about arousal as male ones, because that would've been awkward. Except it kind of already was, it seemed, because the Nerd was smirking again, looking down at his chest, and--

"Is it cold in here, or are you just happy to see me?"

Fuck. "It's just cold," he muttered, and that didn't even sound convincing to himself. The Nerd moved his leg a little, increasing the pressure just right, and the Critic was pretty sure his eyes just glazed over, but at least he wasn't moaning or whimpering or anything" Still, he'd have really appreciated it if this body would've checked in with him before it went and did things like that.

"Just cold, hm? I knew you got off on this, you masochistic wuss." The Nerd was looking way too self-satisfied, and even the Critic's best glare wasn't helping. "Would you like some alone time, maybe?"

"Wouldn't work. The angle's wrong, I tried." And oh, look, his mouth decided to join the rebellion. Fucking body -- and that might not have been the best choice of words, there.

The Nerd just laughed at him. "Wrong angle, right. Need a hand with that?" And before the Critic could even process the question, there was a hand down his pants, and all he could do was hold as still as possible and bite back a whimper because fuck, that felt nice, Just when he was about to just go with it already, the hand stilled.

Clearly, he was going to have to kill the Nerd.

Scraping together all his remaining brain cells, he snarled, "If you're done molesting me?"

That smug grin again. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Well, move your hand, then," and honestly, he'd meant for the Nerd to remove his hand from the Critic's pants, and then to go and take a long, cold shower, but the Nerd just said "Okay," and moved his hand, and the world goes white as the Critic's brain short-circuits.

"Fuck," he gasped, once he remembered how to form words.

"Slut." It almost -- almost -- sounded like a compliment.

"Oh, shut up. Like you're not?" He wriggled his hip upwards as much as he could. It wasn't much, but he was rewarded with a muffled groan anyway. Ha! Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Critic. Another wriggle resulted in a bright red flush, and he would gloat about that, except--

Except there was still a hand down his pants, and he could already feel the heat building again. Huh. This could be interesting.

"So, wanna fuck?" And oh, but this would've been worth it just for the baffled, confused look on the Nerd's face.

"What? Did you hit your head or something?"

"Says the guy with his hands down my pants," he replied cheerfully, grinning up. "Come on, it's not like this is going to get any more awkward."

"Maybe I hit my head. Fine. Bedroom?"

"How very vanilla and boring. Didn't think you were the type." That got him an exasperated, condescending eyeroll.

"Condoms, you fuckhead. I don't know where you've been, and do you really want to risk not using any birth control?"

Oh. He had to admit, that was an excellent point. "Bedroom it is!" He beamed and scrambled to stand. He was going to regret this so very, very much, later on. This had better be worth it.

"Wow. I mean, my god." The Critic was sprawled across most of the bed, dazedly blinking up at the ceiling. The Nerd couldn't help but feel a bit smug. Okay, he felt a lot smug.

"No need to be formal. Ow!" Okay, he probably deserved that kick, but still.

"Douche." But it sounded almost fondly.

"Fuckwit. You're so lucky I can't be assed to move."

"Tired already? I was gonna go for a second round."

Somehow, he found the energy to lift his head and shoot the Critic a disbelieving look, which gets him a snicker in response. "Oh, I see what's going on, now. This is just your latest plan to try and kill me. Death from exhaustion."

"Fine, fine, you can have a nap first, you weakling. I need a shower, anyway. And to call the Nostalgia Chick back, I suppose."

He barely heard the last part, busy trying to fall asleep. He had a feeling he'd need all the rest he could get.

One shower later, and wrapped in a bathrobe, the Critic nosed around the Nerd's kitchen looking for something vaguely resembling food, and waiting for the Nostalgia Chick to pick up the phone.

"'I'm trying to figure out what's going on here,' he says. 'I'll call you back.' Well, we've figured out what's going on by now, and where the hell have you been, anyway?"

He was spared the need to answer by a sudden noise in the background. "I am a man!" It was followed by a thudding sound.

"Was that Linkara?"

"Yep."

"Did he just punch someone?"

"Nope. He's been trying to since the beginning, so Marzgurl just knocked him out. Finally." And wow, somehow the Nostalgia Chick managed to project pinching-the-bridge-of-her-nose even without visual contact.

"Wow. Not taking it too well, then?"

"You could say that, yeah. Which is probably what Dr Insano was counting on."

"Dr. Insano? Of course!" Reflexively, he ducked out of the way of the joke. Like the Big Lipped Alligator Moment and the King earlier, it failed to appear. Huh. "Who else did this hit?"

"Well, there's you, me, Linkara, Marzgurl -- oh, and Spoony, who's kind of weirdly calm about this whole thing."

In the background, he could hear Spoony protest, "Hey, Linkara's panicking enough for both of us!" Which, the Critic had to admit, was probably true, if not a legitimate excuse.

"So. Now what?" He went back to looking for food. Ah, there was milk in the fridge, and cereal in the cupboard, at least.

"I have no idea. The good news is, we've received a transmission from him claiming it'll wear off in about twenty-four hours."

"So we just wait this out?"

"Well, I'm certainly not wasting time tracking down a pathetic failure of a mad scientist. You can do what you want, wherever the hell you are, but I'm going to find some snow to write my name in."

"Charming. I'll leave you to it, then."

"Oh, fuck off." This time, she was the one hanging up without waiting for a reply.

He pondered the situation in between spoonfuls of cereal. Twenty-four hours. It wasn't all that long, and he intended to take full advantage of it. Half an hour should be enough of a nap to be recharged for a second round, right?

END

Current Mood: indescribable

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Date: 2009-06-30 02:50 pm (UTC)

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Insomnia, work angst, and fangirl squee

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