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Another! Shortfic!

in space verse
This one...not so sexy. Or funny. Rather depressing, in fact.

Sorry.

Title: Till The Sun Breaks Down
Word Count: 484
Pairing: Ask That Guy/Nostalgia Critic
Warnings: Slash, RPF, SO DUBCON IT BORDERS ON RAPE, gunplay. SPOILERS for ‘TGWTG In Space’.
A/N: This is, like, the third PWP I have written…across, I dunno. Two days. I, I, I think I’m going slightly crazy. Someone slap me before I lose it. Set during ‘In Space’.

- - -

Critic blearily opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t.

‘Oh, God. It wasn’t a dream. I’m still here. I’m still in this…nightmare. I just…I want to go home, I want to see the Critic Faction again, I want to dieoh, god, please let me die.


“Nobody can help you, you know.”

There it was. He hated that voice. He loathed it. It rang through his nightmares, echoed in his ears and made him want to be sick.

The worst part was, Ask That Guy knew the effect it had.

“They’ll find me,” said Critic, although even to him it sounded weak. But he couldn’t give it up. He couldn’t give the hope that they would find him. He couldn’t give up the hope that they were still looking for him. If he gave up that hope, he just knew he’d lose it. He just knew he’d go insane.

“If you insist.”

Nostalgia Critic shuddered. Hearing Ask That Guy say that felt almost repulsive, as if he was defacing the one thing that kept him going all these years.

Ask That Guy made a motion and, hating his body every step of the way, Critic felt his body respond and walk toward him.
“Now be a good boy,” said Ask That Guy, “And have a little lie down.”

Critic swallowed. It was never a good thing when Ask That Guy told him to lie down.

He lay face up on the bed, dreading what would come next, what new scars he would gain, what horror he would face.
Something cold and metal pressed itself against his side and he felt himself shiver.

The gun barrel slowly slid up his body, the hard edges scraping against his skin and leaving long, ugly red scratches.

Along his chest, the metal slowly warming against skin that still felt so, so cold.

Up his neck, along his jaw, tracing the path of his cheekbone, to his temple, then sliding across his forehead and down his nose before softly tracing the edges of his lips. Then it scratch patterns around his navel, left red, scarred flesh in the dip of his collarbones, slashed so deep into his skin he almost bled. The soft skin under his ear was cut open by the hard line of the barrel; the rough harshness of the grip left patterns down his chest.

He was soon a meshwork of scratches of cuts and blood and red, and Ask That Guy carefully loaded the gun, pressed it against his temple, pulled the trigger…



(Critic awoke with a sob.


How many times would he dream of sex and death? Of scratched open skin and pain?


Even though sometimes weeks would pass without Ask That Guy even looking at him, Critic still had nightmares of Ask That Guy hurting him, and always he awoke just as the dream reached the good bit.


Just before he died, he awoke.)

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Comments

( 12 comments — Leave a comment )
aunt_zelda
Sep. 26th, 2009 10:57 pm (UTC)
This is, like, the third PWP I have written…across, I dunno. Two days. I, I, I think I’m going slightly crazy. Someone slap me before I lose it.
*slaps you* This is amazing! In a disturbing, incredibly hot, really depressing kind of way!

“They’ll find me,” said Critic, although even to him it sounded weak. But he couldn’t give it up. He couldn’t give the hope that they would find him. He couldn’t give up the hope that they were still looking for him. If he gave up that hope, he just knew he’d lose it. He just knew he’d go insane.
*wibbles* God, why do we love torturing the Nostalgia Critic?

Ask That Guy made a motion and, hating his body every step of the way, Critic felt his body respond and walk toward him.
Oh GOD ... he's conditioned him?! That is ... so something Ask That Guy would do.

Something cold and metal pressed itself against his side and he felt himself shiver.
The gun barrel slowly slid up his body, the hard edges scraping against his skin and leaving long, ugly red scratches.
Along his chest, the metal slowly warming against skin that still felt so, so cold.
Up his neck, along his jaw, tracing the path of his cheekbone, to his temple, then sliding across his forehead and down his nose before softly tracing the edges of his lips. Then it scratch patterns around his navel, left red, scarred flesh in the dip of his collarbones, slashed so deep into his skin he almost bled. The soft skin under his ear was cut open by the hard line of the barrel; the rough harshness of the grip left patterns down his chest.

*pants* Ohsweetlordthatishot. I mean wrong. Wrong and hot and *fans self* Oh dear ... *slides under the desk*

He was soon a meshwork of scratches of cuts and blood and red, and Ask That Guy carefully loaded the gun, pressed it against his temple, pulled the trigger…
Yeek! *leaps back in alarm* I can PICTURE that!

Even though sometimes weeks would pass without Ask That Guy even looking at him, Critic still had nightmares of Ask That Guy hurting him, and always he awoke just as the dream reached the good bit.
Just before he died, he awoke.)

*cries* Whyyyyyyy? *huggles the Critic, and then myself, and then you*
Awesome fic, but really depressing. Perfect.
freya_sacksen
Sep. 26th, 2009 11:16 pm (UTC)
*wibbles* God, why do we love torturing the Nostalgia Critic?
Because he looks just so darn cute when he's on the verge of tears.

*pants* Ohsweetlordthatishot. I mean wrong. Wrong and hot and *fans self* Oh dear ... *slides under the desk*
This and the 'Vampire Hunter' fic are the first times I've ever written gunplay, so I had no idea how it would turn out.

*cries* Whyyyyyyy? *huggles the Critic, and then myself, and then you*
D'aww. Thank you for the huggles.


Now I have to get back to writing THE MOST AWESOME FIC IN EXISTENCE. God, I love Fuzzywezzy. She gave me the most awesome prompt. Ever...
aunt_zelda
Sep. 30th, 2009 11:36 pm (UTC)
Because he looks just so darn cute when he's on the verge of tears.
Yeah, that's probably it ... we are all sick, sick people bound for Special Hell.

This and the 'Vampire Hunter' fic are the first times I've ever written gunplay, so I had no idea how it would turn out.
adalfjadljfaljfalfjalfjalf????!?!?!?!!!
Ahem, that is: you should write more gunplay.

D'aww. Thank you for the huggles.
I'd huggle ANYONE after reading this fic, it reduced me to such a state!
pyrocrastinator
Sep. 26th, 2009 11:06 pm (UTC)
pyrocrastinator
Sep. 26th, 2009 11:07 pm (UTC)
Oh shi-

My comment is invisible. O.o

It was this:

*insert generally positive but inarticulate sobbing*
freya_sacksen
Sep. 26th, 2009 11:14 pm (UTC)
Yeah, I kinda was going for that...
pyrocrastinator
Sep. 26th, 2009 11:15 pm (UTC)
*shaky thumbs up, then*
emeriin
Sep. 27th, 2009 02:39 pm (UTC)
Oh my, I know I should probably feel guilty for help creating this bit of depressing, hot-in-a-sick-way fabulousness but I don't. Oh well. ;)

‘Oh, God. It wasn’t a dream. I’m still here. I’m still in this…nightmare. I just…I want to go home, I want to see the Critic Faction again, I want to die…oh, god, please let me die.’

*wibbles* Someone tell me again why he's (and the same goes for Linkara, for that matter) so damn easy to torture and woobify?

Hearing Ask That Guy say that felt almost repulsive, as if he was defacing the one thing that kept him going all these years.

As I've said before, I flove your version of Ask That Guy; so twisted, so evil, so sickeningly charming. :D

Ask That Guy made a motion and, hating his body every step of the way, Critic felt his body respond and walk toward him.

I will not write conditioning fic, I will not write conditioning fic...

He was soon a meshwork of scratches of cuts and blood and red, and Ask That Guy carefully loaded the gun, pressed it against his temple, pulled the trigger…

*yelps* That, and the paragraph before it, was both really terrifying and really hot.

How many times would he dream of sex and death? Of scratched open skin and pain?
Even though sometimes weeks would pass without Ask That Guy even looking at him, Critic still had nightmares of Ask That Guy hurting him, and always he awoke just as the dream reached the good bit.


*wibbles again* I bet Ask That Guy is just loving the fact that the Critic is pretty much torturing himself to breaking point as well as everything he's been treated to in real life.

Innyway, thank you so much for this, I loved it. :D *cuddles the Critic, glomps you and downs a handful of happy pills*
fininevermore
Dec. 8th, 2009 06:23 pm (UTC)
This is quite disturbing, but I'm fascinated. So there must be something wrong with me. I can't imagine NC wanting to die, unless he were in this living hell. I just wanna snuggle him and protect him from that crazy man.
freya_sacksen
Dec. 8th, 2009 09:35 pm (UTC)
And thus you understand the Power Of Woobie.
(Anonymous)
Jan. 16th, 2010 09:15 am (UTC)
... While this was unbelievably horrifying(FFF CRITIC D: *weeps*) there is some small, sadistic part of me that found it kind of hot at the same time. WHAT THE FUCK, SELF.
This was awesomely written :)
dapper_dame
Jan. 16th, 2010 09:15 am (UTC)
... While this was unbelievably horrifying(FFF CRITIC D: *weeps*) there is some small, sadistic part of me that found it kind of hot at the same time. WHAT THE FUCK, SELF.
This was awesomely written :)
( 12 comments — Leave a comment )

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Freya Sacksen: Blonde. Black. Jewish.

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