#...shit I can finally close the google search tab since I no longer need a referance. I'm FREE!!!

[leothetraveler]

so I doubt anyone cares, but

I HAVE COMPLETED MY PROTOGEN ORIGIN SERIES! basically I decided to make myself suffer by drawing three images about an OC that I have barely shared with anyone and will probably not be used much since I'm not in any furry heavy circles (not counting COTL).

in either case: enjoy my bullshit.

[god-of-identity]

i’ve been listening to way too many creepypastas.

@irrelevant-proxy-bitch as promised, my creepypasta sona/oc origin story. hopefully it meets the standards, heh

Genesis Caveat Origin

or, How I Became a Proxy

That thing is watching me again.

I first noticed it after a particularly boring day of school. I hadn’t paid attention in most of my classes, instead opting to scroll through Tumblr, mess around on Discord, and listen to Creepypasta readings on Youtube. I’m probably failing most of my classes at this point. I can’t bring myself to care. I can’t bring myself to care about much of anything these days. Fiction is the only thing that piques my interest, those made-up worlds are so much more entertaining than the boring one I’m stuck living in. That’s probably why I like writing so much, I can create and destroy whole worlds with no consequence to me, I can control everything and nothing, and it can be as entertaining as I want it to be.

I’m getting off-track. Sorry.

I’d been ignored all day, as per usual, so when I was walking home and felt someone watching me, I was confused and more than a little curious. I normally walk at a fairly quick pace, but I slowed my steps a little when I felt I was being watched. I turned to look behind me, but no one was there. The sidewalk was empty. Actually, the whole street was empty, which is what caused my anxiety to spike. There were no people, no cars, even the storefronts looked empty. I turned back forward and picked up my pace again, walking quickly all the way home. It wasn’t until I’d reached my front door that I realized the feeling of that stare had vanished the instant I’d turned around.

Since then, I’ve felt that stare every time I walk home from school.

After the first day, I didn’t bother looking back. Something told me I wouldn’t be able to see anyone if I did. I was more than a bit creeped out by the whole thing. Why was someone spying on me? How long had they been watching me before I noticed? I was half-convinced I’d been singled out because I’m a textbook wallflower- no one at school would know if I went missing, and they definitely wouldn’t care. If someone snatched me while I was on my way to school, my parents wouldn’t find out until I was late getting home, and by then their frantic calls to the school and police wouldn’t do a thing- I’d probably be long gone.

I guess I was right about that part, heh. Just not for the reasons I thought.

. . .

I’m getting ahead of myself. Where were we? Ah, right.

It’s the seventh day of me being stared at as I’m walking home from school. For the past week, caution won out over curiosity, and instead of trying to spot whoever’s stalking me, I’ve just gotten home as fast as I can. I also made a habit of texting my parents when I leave school- they know how long it’s supposed to take me to get home, so if I get kidnapped they’ll know sooner. Same as when I head to school in the mornings, because I’ve been feeling the gaze on me then too.

I think part of me always knew it wasn’t human.

Shit, sorry. Focus.

Anyway, walking home. Seventh day in a row. Blah blah blah. Only this time, my curiosity outweighed my caution. Maybe I was just so damn bored of the life I had, that I’d do anything to mix things up. Actually, I’m sure that’s what it was. Suffice to say, as I walked down the eerily empty street, this time I slowed my steps instead of speeding them up. Then I slowly turned my head to look behind me. And saw it. The thing that was stalking me. I only caught half a second’s glance before it vanished, but that was enough. The details flashed in my mind. Tall, freakishly so. Black suit, torn sleeves. Something like tentacles raised up behind it. And the face- no face. At least not that my mind allowed me to see.

Then it vanished.

I spun back forwards and sprinted the rest of the way home.

The minute I got home I locked myself in my bedroom, drawing the curtains closed and booting up my laptop. A barely comprehensible entry in the Google search bar was autocorrected in seconds, and with a shaking hand, I moved the mouse to click on the images tab. Photoshopped pictures, fanart, and blurry photos stared back at me.

“I knew it.”

Like I mentioned at the start of this narration, I listen to a lot of creepypasta readings on Youtube. So I’m familiar with some of the stories. Laughing Jack. Jeff the Killer. Lost Silver. So many others. And of course, the one that started it all.

Slenderman.

“Holy fuck.”

I was being stalked by Slenderman. Why? And why hadn’t he killed me? I needed answers. Luckily, the internet is a magnificent place. I curled up in my swivel chair and started typing away, searching up everything I could about Slenderman and his proxies. Even the stuff I already knew, I read or listened to again. I took in as much information as possible. It’s said that knowledge is power, and for some things, the more you know, the more danger you’re in. But in this case, well. I’d seen him. He knew I’d seen him. What did I have to lose?

The next time I look at my clock, it’s nearly five in the morning. I’d done about all the research my brain could handle, even with my hyperfixations running at full throttle. More info probably wouldn’t matter anyway.

I’d made my decision, my plan.

Now, to execute it.

I empty my backpack of school supplies and pulled out a Sharpie. Lowering the felt tip to the fabric on the inside of the backpack, I let out a slow breath. With things like this, power always came from belief, at least that’s what the stories told me. I’d seen him, I knew it was real, it was all real. Now that I knew that, anything was possible. The line between fiction and reality is blurring.

As an author, it’s my job to break it.

I scribble a phrase on the inside of the backpack and capped the sharpie. Then I reach over to one of the books I’d stacked in the ‘bring with’ pile and drop it in.

The book hit the bottom of the bag and vanished.

I grin and reach in, hand passing through a cool sort of veil. I feel around, grabbing the book, and pull it out. It worked. It worked! I giggle, flapping my free hand in excitement. Pocket dimension backpack, success!! I start piling the books into it, all the stories I will carry with me. Then my sketchbooks and drawing supplies. My laptop, chargers, wallet, phone, anything I think I might potentially need. Even some of the food and drinks I’d snuck into my room. My blankets and pillow. Some clothes I’d grown attached too. Hell, let’s bring my stuffed animals and collection of keepsakes too, why not? It can all fit! I empty my shelf of little knick-knacks into the backpack. Nearly everything that I can lift in my room has gone into that pack.

Now… to wait.

7am. I make my move.

I stand in front of the mirror in my room, looking myself over. I’m wearing an outfit I wear almost every day. Grey jacket with a red upside-down heart on the chest, grey shorts with red on the edges, boots, a long red scarf, and a pair of fingerless gloves. The only difference is that now, all my clothes have been altered by my newly discovered ability. I’m calling it “author powers” because that’s the closest I can get to properly explaining it. Now, my entire ensemble is fireproof, waterproof, and much harder to cut through that ordinary cloth. My boots are much more comfortable and molded to my feet. Everything fits just right.

Oh, one more thing. I pick up the blue-light glasses I’d left on my desk. I don’t even have to write on them to alter them, but it’s a fun little gimmick so I might just keep doing it. A couple lines on the glasses, and they’re suddenly much more useful. They’ll function as sunglasses now too, as well as a night vision and heat-seeking mode. And they’ll stay on my face without falling off. I push the glasses up my nose and look back into the mirror.

I guess the function wasn’t the only thing I altered. My ability has a lot to do with intentions.

Instead of glasses, I’m wearing a black mask with turquoise lenses. The mask only covers the upper half of my face. But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. Instead of my hair being the usual dirty-blonde and down to my shoulders, it’s pink, shorter and sorta spiked up- at least that’s the best way to describe it. Not spiked, that’s too sharp. But I can’t find another word right now, so we’ll stick with it. It was a transformation I hadn’t anticipated, but one that I’m sure to keep. I grin, showing teeth sharper than normal.

“This is gonna be fun.”

I hear someone in the kitchen. My dad, getting ready for the day. It’s Saturday, so he doesn’t have work. We don’t have a foster kid at the moment, so mom will be sleeping in. And my sister is still asleep in her bedroom. Perfect.

I raise a hand, seeing the black claws that now extend from the ends of my gloves. I’d been wondering how I’d get to a knife, but I guess now I won’t need one. I tighten the straps of my backpack and step out of my bedroom.

“Heh. Time to raise hell.”

~

Six days later. Thirteen days since this all started.

It took me for-fucking-ever to find the mansion. Even longer to get there with the burden I’m dragging along. But here I am. It looms over me, giving off the same creepy vibe I got from my stalker. I know he’s there, and he knows I’m here. Someone will answer the door soon, I don’t even have to knock.

The smell of blood isn’t as bad as I thought. I’m glad I made my clothes stain-proof, I’d hate to have to throw away my gloves. As I’m waiting, I tap my foot idly and inspect my fingers. I have a nasty habit of biting the skin around my fingernails, which shows even with my claws. Oh, there’s blood on my claws. Not quite dry, so I just lick it off. Huh, doesn’t taste that bad either.

Someone’s moving inside. I straighten up slightly, hand dropping to my side. I nudge one of the bodies next to me with a foot, then take a half-step away when an arm flops to the ground. I look back to the door, arms crossed (carefully, to avoid cutting myself) as I wait. The door finally creaks open, revealing someone I don’t recognize. I assume it’s one of the proxies, but it’s not one that I’ve read anything about. Only one way to find out.

“You’re one of his proxies, I assume?” Even my voice is different, with the mask. I like it.

The proxy laughs. “Fuck yeah, I’m the number one proxy bitch. But you can call me Irre.” She pronounced it like ‘eerie��, which I thought was fitting.

I snort with amusement and take a moment to look the proxy up and down. She has pale blue skin, long hair that faded from black into red, and silver eyes. She’s about my height, maybe an inch shorter, with a healthier-looking build than the almost-too-skinny twig stature I see every time I look in the mirror. She even looks to be about my age too, give or take a year. She gives off a chaotic sort of presence, but in a way that’s almost difficult to perceive. I’m reminded of my school days, blending into the background. After a few people told me my stare was creepy, even though I’d just been looking at them, I didn’t meet anyone’s gaze. Apparently I had an intensity others found unsettling, but only if they noticed me. I’m reminded of that with this proxy, only with chaotic energy instead. I smile slightly. We might just get along.

“Well, nice to meet you, number one proxy bitch,” I respond with a chuckle. “Speaking of proxies. Where do I sign up? I brought a peace offering.” An idle hand gesture draws her attention to the bodies sprawled next to me. Two bodies, carved up with precise markings, and very much dead. What remains of my parents. My claws had marked them, turned their corpses into a work of art. I’d saved the blood, bagged it and put it in my backpack. I might need it later.

Irre looks the bodies over and grins. “I think you’ll fit in just fine here. Course, that’s not my decision.” She glances back at the house. “The others will get curious soon. Last chance to turn back.”

“I’m not going back. Besides, he sought me out first,” I admit. “Took me awhile to figure it out. But I’m here now.”

She nod in understanding. “In that case… what’s your name?”

I grin, showing sharp teeth. “I am Genesis Caveat.”

[air-bison-yip-yip]

How about a crisana fic where joana is the new girl that moves in next door. Kind of like the girl next door and shes a complete badass. Cris finds her unbearable only to mask her infatuation with her. Joana finds it funny and likes to give Cris shit. Either they have windows from across each other or they run into each other at school a lot and Cris always notices her arriving home.

Oof!!! I promise I hadn’t forgotten about this! I hope you enjoy. This was fun to write. It is definitely a little less fun + cute like you requested and a bit more angst, but I hope that’s okay! Thanks for the askkkk!

Also on ao3

Cris is twelve when the new girl moves in with her family across the hall. Dani and her press their faces to the door, taking turns looking out the peephole and listening, attempting to guess who the new family is. So far they’ve seen two parental looking figures, before Dani, who’s currently standing looking out their peephole, while Cris’ ear is pressed against the door, says, “bingo.”

Cris perks up and looks at Dani. “What?” She asks him, pushing him slightly so she can look at what he sees.

“A girl. Around our age,” he replies, refusing to budge even a little. “She looks badass,” he continues. Cris tries to shove him aside, but he towers over her and weighs probably double.

“Move over! Let me see,” she demands, but Dani refuses.

“Hey!” Dani and Cris freeze as their mom yells at them from the living room. “What do you two think you are doing?” She questions and glances between the two. Cris wills her brother to keep his mouth shut.

She should’ve known better.

“We were just looking at the new family moving in across the hall,” he spills, and Cris strikes him in the stomach with her elbow. He looks down at her grimacing in pain, but with apologetic eyes.

“If you have time to spy on our neighbors you have time to help your father clean up or to help me cook, let’s go,” their mom tells them and Dani and Cris both murmur a be right there. Their mom gives them one more meaningful look before walking back to the kitchen. Cris jumps to the door and looks out, but sees nothing.

“Why did you say she looks like a badass?” She asks Dani.

“She had green hair,” he says, and Cris’ eyebrows raise at that information. “And a leather jacket,” at that, Cris turns to eye the door again, before she hears her mother yell her name and turns away from the entrance to go towards the kitchen. Her thoughts drift to the cool new girl across the hall for the rest of the night.

--Despite her best efforts, Cris cannot get a peek at the new girl in the last two weeks since she moved in. She practically lives at their front door, and anytime there is a sound she runs to see if it’s her. Her mom practically forces her to go over and deliver brownies, which she does somewhat happily at a chance to see her, but their daughter, Joana is her name, isn’t at home when she does.

So, while she has a name, she still doesn’t know who this new girl is or what she looks like. She’s impatient. It’s not as if she thinks that they will immediately be best friends, although Cris is desperate for a female friend closer to home. She’s surrounded by brothers all the time, and Amira often has her own family obligations. But she’s curious about the type of girl around her age who has convinced her parents to not only get her a leather jacket but dye her hair a fun color. Cris could never get away with that. Cris could hardly talk her mom into letting her get a professional manicure three weeks ago, let alone dye her hair a non-natural color.  

When Cris delivered the brownies, she checked to see if her parents were some sort of hippies or something, but they looked pretty normal, much like her own parents. It didn’t add up to her.  So, she tries to spy the girl with the green hair next door. It hasn’t happened yet, but Cris is determined.

It’s another two weeks before she finally gets her first glimpse of Joana. She’s on her way out of the apartment and in a hurry to catch the bus to school. She races down the stairs hitting the second floor when she bumps into something. Cris looks up from the stairs and takes in a girl around her age with chipped black nail polish, a leather jacket that has been modified with pins, and paint, and a low messy bun with streaks of green coming out of it. Cris stares at her.

“Uh, sorry,” Cris stammers, trying not to stare at her. It’s not like she’s special, but she’s been waiting so long to catch a glimpse. It’s like finally witnessing the loch ness monster. Dani is right, though, she does look badass. Cris looks down at her own oversized workout pants and long sleeve shirt and looks woefully childish in comparison.

“No problem,” Joana says. Cris should take the answer and continue on her way, so she doesn’t miss the bus, but instead, she holds out her hand.

“I’m Cris, I think you moved in across the hall from me, the third floor.” She gestures to the floor above them.

“Joana,” she replies easy, they break their hands away from each other. They stand on the stairs for a beat looking at each other before Cris realizes her mom will have her ass if she doesn’t catch the bus.

“Gotta run! Nice to meet you,” Cris shouts out as she continues her mad descent down the stairs and out of their apartment building. She doesn’t look back, and she doesn’t think anything particularly earth-shattering changes from finally meeting Joana, but there had been something in her eyes when they met that made Cris curious to get to know the cool girl, Joana, with the striking green hair.

 A little over two years later:

Cris looks at her agenda and notes that it’s been officially seven weeks since she has seen Joana, it’s the longest she has gone. After their initial meeting, they were friendly neighbors, but that’s all. They shared small smiles in the hallway, pleasantries, nothing more. But there was a comfort in that, and she never stopped to realize how much she relied on seeing Joana.

But it’s seven weeks, and the smiles are gone. No sightings of green hair. No leather jackets. No bracelets or shared looks that offered comfort and familiarity. Cris is officially worried. Actually, Cris has been worried for six weeks, but she’s not sure what to do. She isn’t the responsible one, the planner, or the one who people look up to. She’s not a leader. And she’s always been okay with that, but now she thinks about the fact that seven weeks ago was the last time she saw Joana, who was a constant in her life for two years. She feels wildly inadequate. But she also knows she has to do something. Because even though they aren’t friends, and even though Cris really doesn’t know Joana, she still misses her. It’s something she should think about later, why this matters so much, but that’s for future Cris to figure out. Now, she just needs to woman up and figure out what’s going on.

She puts down her school books on the side of her bed and gets up to throw on leggings. She makes sure her she has her phone before walking out of her room into the kitchen through the living room and past her front door towards the door across the hall. She rolls onto her heels and raises her hand to knock before she lowers it again. She shifts her weight and glances behind her at her door before moving to knock.

“Fuck it,” she thinks and knocks on the door.

Joana’s mom, a slender kind woman dressed in a suit with straight dark hair pulled halfway up, opens the door and Cris feels infinitely stupid for being here, but now it’s too late.

“Uh, hi, I’m sorry to bother you,” Crist starts and resists the urge to roll her eyes at herself. “But I’m Cris, I live across the hall,” she stupidly explains.

“Yes, dear. I know who you are,” Joana’s mom smiles kindly. Cris feels less on edge.

“Right, but, uh, I was just wondering if Joana was okay. I haven’t seen her in a while,” It was longer than a while, Cris thinks, but she’s really committed to this nonchalance act. Joana’s mom freezes in the doorway, Cris waits but gets no reply, no anything.

Okay. Weird.

“So, is she okay...or?” Cris questions again. This seems to snap Joana’s mom out of whatever freeze she was in. Her smile that had been pasted on during the beginning of their encounter dims, and Cris feels a weight land in the pit of her stomach.

“That’s very kind of you, Cris,” Cris notes that while she finally answered, it wasn’t any of the information that Cris had asked for. She waits.

This is super fucking weird, Cris thinks.

“She’s okay, relatively. She’s had a few health problems and is in the hospital, but she’ll be coming home within the week.” Cris feels the pit in her stomach grow. She’s not sure what to say. She wants to push for more information, but the tension is palpable, and even if she had more information, she wouldn’t know what to do with it.

“Oh, okay. Well, thanks. I’m glad she’s okay,” Cris finally replies, taking a step back to make a quick exit back to her apartment.

“I’ll let her know you were asking about her,” Joana’s mom says, pulling the door so it is almost closed.

“Oh, well that's-- you don’t have to do that,” Cris says, feeling infinitely stupid for coming over here. “Thanks, I’ll see you around.” Cris waves awkwardly before turning around and ducking back into the comfort of her own home.

Cris grabs a drink from the fridge, a wrinkle in her forehead as she moves back to her room, she sits on her bed and pulls her computer onto her lap. She takes a drink before putting the bottle on the side table and opens a tab on her computer, her agenda and school books still surrounding her spot on the bed. The tab is empty, and Cris’ hands hover over the keyboard.

She presses her fingers into the keys and types into the Google search bar, “why would someone stay in a hospital for 2 months.”

Oh good, Cris notes sarcastically, only 244,000 results. Easy.

She looks through the first two and notices words like compromised immune system, cancer, schizophrenia before she closes her laptop and leans her head back against the wall.

Helpless is not a feeling Cris enjoys. She turns on her music and gets back to studying. There’s nothing else she can do.

Cris sees Joana for the first time in almost eight weeks as she arrives back from school. She’s walking up the stairs and hears yelling coming from her floor. Cris walks more slowly, hoping to give whoever is yelling space. The last thing she wants is to become an unwanted participant in the yelling match. She can’t quite hear what they are fighting about, but she continues to slow on the stairs until she hears the slamming of a door.

Cris arrives on her floor and sees Joana leaning against the door of her apartment before she crumples to the ground. Her head is down in her hands, and Cris can see the hospital bracelet on her wrist along with a few of the regular bracelets that Joana wears. Cris pauses between her own apartment and Joana’s folded form, unsure.

She doesn’t know Joana well enough to offer the type of support she might need. Cris feels dumb and helpless--again. But she also knows she needs to do something, anything.

So she shrugs off her backpack and walks over to Joana’s form. She notes that Joana still hasn’t moved, but Cris doesn’t need her to. She sits next to her--close enough that she can feel the warmth from Joana’s body, but not quite touching. She sits with her knees up, her hands resting on the top of them and her back and head leaning against Joana’s door. Cris is not sure how long she sits there before Joana finally lifts her head from her hands. Her face pale, dark circles under her eyes, her eyes are red, but she’s not actively crying, so Cris takes that as a win.

Joana moves her body to mirror how Cris is sitting, and they rest against the door awhile longer. Neither of them speaking. It’s the surest Cris has felt in a while that she is doing the right thing. This moment of silence with this girl who apparently means enough about Cris for her to worry, a lot, but a girl she still doesn’t know.

She wants to know more and isn’t that interesting. And not just because Cris is friends with almost everyone, or easy-going, or the party girl, even at fourteen. But because if she did know more, maybe she could help her in these situations. But for now, she’s content to sit quietly at the door. Even Cris understands how difficult it is to be alone.

Cris assumes it’s about thirty minutes later when she feels soft fingers trailing on her arm. She rolls her head to look at Joana who, Cris is happy to note, looks better. More like the badass girl with the green hair and the leather jacket that she first met. Joana is skimming her fingers down her forearm and stops at her wrist. Cris holds out her hand slightly, unsure. It’s alarming what Joana’s touch does, and she takes a moment to thank whatever god is out there that her arm doesn’t break out in goosebumps.

Joana tangles her fingers in with Cris’ holding their hands and resting them in the space between their bodies. Cris squeezes slightly, again, offering the only support she can think of.

“Thank you,” Joana says, looking at Cris with a weighty gaze. Cris makes herself sit still, but really she feels like squirming. She can’t read the look in Joana’s eyes, but it’s heavy and loaded.

“Girl, It’s nothing,” Cris responds, shrugging her shoulders, their fingers still intertwined between them.

“My mom said you asked about me,” Joana whispers with the smallest smirk. Cris narrows her eyes slightly at the smug tone.

“Don’t be too flattered,” Cris says as she rolls her eyes and turns her head away from Joana to keep her from seeing the small smile Cris fights. “I was worried your hair dye finally caused brain damage and I was hoping to steal your leather jacket.”

Joana’s face lights up. “Oh, so it had nothing to do with my well-being?”

“No,” Cris confirms. “I was only after your jacket. But I couldn’t just tell your mom that.”

Joana chuckles, “Hi, I haven’t seen your daughter lately, and you look sad, can I have her leather jacket?”

“See, that would’ve never worked. I had to be stealthy about it.”

“Well, I’m sorry you went through all that trouble for a jacket just to find out it’s still being used,” Joana teases softly.

“Aye, that’s okay. It looks good on you anyways.”

Joana clears her throat, “It’s too much sometimes--the world. My brain can’t keep quiet,” the words are whispered so softly that Cris wonders if she hears them correctly. God, Cris thinks, she needs Amira for this conversation. Cris has never excelled at comforting someone.

But she tries anyway.

“Yeah,” Cris nods. “I get like that sometimes too.” Cris smiles over at Joana who still looks lost in thought. Like her brain, at this very moment, won’t stop to give her a reprieve. It hurts Cris a little that she can’t do anything about it. “That’s why I always have my music up so loud. Drowns out my brain pretty well,” Cris teases.

Joana smiles at that, coming back to reality a bit, and Cris considers that a positive sign, even as she feels woefully unhelpful.

“That’s good advice,” Joana says.

“Well, I’m very wise, you know.” Cris teases before sobering. “Maybe--,” she starts before swallowing and continuing suddenly very aware of the closeness of their bodies, the hand grasped in hers that feels like a lifeline for both of them. “Maybe it’s not about shutting out the world or drowning out the thoughts though,” Cris confesses. “Maybe it’s just that you find people who can be quiet with you, so the world and the thoughts don’t overwhelm you at the same time.”

“Like now?” Joana questions and Cris' chest warms at the thought that she might be a person who can help Joana when her thoughts overwhelm her.  

“If that’s what happened, then yes. Like now.” Cris confirms.

It’s quiet between them again for a few minutes, but this time, Cris feels comfortable in silence. Like her presence alone are doing more than she thought possible when she first slid down to sit next to Joana. Cris looks across the hall to her door and wonders at the time. She wasn’t exactly interested in her parents catching her sitting outside the apartment holding hands with Joana.

“Better?” Cris asks. Joana nods and gently rubs a few circles on Cris’ hand before releasing it.

“I guess I’ll see you around?” Cris asks as she stands, pulling her bag up with her.

Joana stands as well looking lost for a second before nodding. “Yeah,” she replies as she pulls her thumb near her mouth and starts biting her nails.

Cris gives her one more look before she crosses the hall and enters her own apartment.

Joana’s back.

A little over two years later:

Cris thinks she’s going crazy. She saw a flash of a dark jacket and purple hair, and she could’ve sworn she saw Joana at her school. It took the better part of the break to remind herself that Joana left, she moved to Argentina weeks after they had sat outside Joana’s apartment door together.

It hurt when she left, and it hurt more that she had no way of contacting her. All she was left with was a note that said thank you and goodbye.

It shouldn’t have hurt that badly, but for some reason it did.

You know why Cris’ brain tells her, she was hot and you liked her. But those are thoughts better left untouched.

“Cris? Cris?” Cris snaps out of her daze and looks at Amira standing next to her. “Where’d you go?” She asks.

“Nowhere, girl, sorry. Did everyone else go?” She somehow missed Viri and Nora leaving the courtyard to go back to class.

“Yeah,” Amira tells her, her brows furrowing in concern. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Amira, I’m fine!  I just thought I saw someone I used to know,” Cris says, rolling her eyes and jumping off the top of the table. Cris grabs her backpack and slings it over her shoulders, throwing an arm around Amira as they head back to the front of the school.

They walk into school together talking about birthday gifts for Viri before breaking apart, and Cris walks to English still feeling off. Of course, the universe really loves to fuck with Cris, which is why as she walks into her English classroom, she runs straight into someone. Not someone. Joana. Her Joana.  

Oh fuck.

Cris's eyebrows raise slightly and a blush forms on her cheeks.

“Hi,” Joana says as she shifts her feet from side to side.

Cris is still frozen in the doorway. Unseeing. Because if she was actually seeing correctly that would mean Joana - girl next door Joana - was in her English class.

“Ah, good,” Pedro says, coming to the doorway next to Cris and Joana which effectively confirms that Cris is in fact still in touch with reality. “I see you have met each other, but just in case. Joana, this is Cris. Cris, Joana.” Pedro reaches out to them as if Cris is supposed to immediately know what’s going on.

“What?” Cris says stupidly. Joana looks...nervous, and Cris can’t help but note the changes in her. Her hair is longer and no longer a bright green, but rather a purple color that goes well with her complexion. Her leather jacket is gone and in its place is a dark denim jacket. The bracelets are still in place, and so is Joana’s nervous habits, Cris notes. But, she’s grown up, in much the same way Cris herself has.

Pedro waits a beat as both Joana and Cris stare dumbly at each other. “Okay, well, the class is starting, ladies. So go take your seats,” he tells them ushering them out of the door.

Cris sits in her usual spot, and Joana sits down next to her, the only empty spot available. Ah, so that’s why Pedro introduced them specifically. Great, not only is Joana suddenly in her life again, but they were now paired together in Pedro’s class and for their English assignment.

Fuck, Cris thinks.

Cris pretends to listen to Pedro, in fact, she looks more invested in this class period than any other time in English, but she doesn’t actually hear a word Pedro, or the class says. Instead, she thinks back to the last time she sat in silence next to Joana. How different they both were, and yet, Cris feels much the same as she had at 14--unsure, helpless, confused, and nervous. But the anticipation kind of nerves, those damn butterflies that come out whenever Cris saw Joana growing up.

There are differences, though. Now she’s mad. Mad that Joana just left without letting her know what happened. Mad that Joana didn’t find her to tell her she’s back. She’s mad that any of that makes her mad. It’s not like they were anything before she left. Joana did not owe her anything then or now.

Cris is about ready to ask to go to the bathroom to have five minutes to freak out when she notices Joana slide a paper towards her on the desk.

She looks at it, pulling it closer to her.

It’s a drawing of her and Joana sitting next to each other against Joana’s old apartment door. Joana’s drawn them as little cartoons. It’s remarkably well done, and Cris hates Joana just a little for making her heart race at the cartoon past versions of them and the little hearts she’s put in Joana’s eyes. Cris looks at the bottom of the page and sees a cursive scribble underneath the drawing: I’ve missed you.

Cris toys with either tearing up the paper that made her traitorous heart beat faster or asking Joana to sign it so she can frame it. She captured so much in so little time, and she’s wowed by Joana’s talent.

She’s always been wowed by Joana ever since she first caught sight of her on the stairs four years ago.

Instead, she folds the paper carefully and puts it in her journal before taking out a clean sheet of paper. Her pen hovers for a second unsure what to put. Everything seems inadequate.

 I missed you too.

 Where have you been?

 Why did you leave?

 Are you okay?

 What the fuck?

 You look good.

 I can’t believe your back.

 Why do I want you?

Instead, Cris finally writes: Meet up after school?

It might be better, after all, to ask these questions in person, or to give herself some time to think through every thought running through her head.

She slides the paper over to Joana who scribbles back. Cris tries to pay attention to class, she’s gonna regret the lack of notes later, but she can’t focus on anything but Joana, and keeping her cheeks from blushing.

The paper hits her arm, and Cris quickly slides it in front of her looking at the now-familiar script from Joana. It reads: meet me in the courtyard when school lets out?

Cris nods slightly before writing a yes on the paper before sliding it back over.

Relief floods Cris. At least she might not run away again, or rather, at least she’ll get to talk to her a little before Joana runs away.

Cris doesn’t know why Joana left, or why she was in the hospital, or why she’s back. She doesn’t see how this beautiful girl with the tortured eyes and the lovely smile has wormed her way so much under her skin. But, somehow, inexplicably, Cris knows that this time she’ll make sure she has dug into Joana’s skin the same way. She wants to know everything about the girl next to her--the girl who lived next door to her.

Pedro continues on about their assignment in the background. Cris only vaguely listens as she thinks about the enigma that is Joana.

Cris is jolted from her Joana filled thoughts when she feels a spark at her hand that rests on the table near her body. She looks down and sees Joana’s fingertips slowly skimming her hand and forearm--just as she had in the hallway years ago.

And for the first time, Cris realizes maybe she has already gotten under Joana’s skin.

Maybe, for whatever reason, they were meant to orbit each other.

This time goosebumps do arise on Cris’ body, but now she’s not afraid of her reaction.

She’s excited.

[sweetnestor]

12 Days | Chapter 11

Two guys that lowkey hate each other are forced to walk in each other’s shoes in order to learn a lesson.

***in collaboration with @themarkiplierexperience

lmao soz its not actually x reader we’re just desperate for attention haaaa

previous

“Hewwo?” Ethan spoke into the phone.

“You need to stop fucking answering like that, mate,” Tom replied.

“Hey man, don’t tell me how to live my life,” Ethan chuckled to himself as he threw himself onto the bed, exhausted from the long day he’d just had.

“Well, your life is my life now,” Tom sighed, placing his elbows on the desk. He had been unbearably tense all day. “Or… my life is yours. Just never say that again, alright?”

“Fair enough,” Ethan paused. It’d been days since they’d last spoken on the phone, he’d forgotten how odd it was to hear his own voice over the phone. “So uh… how was your day?”

“Ah, you know, made some videos… or a video,” Tom said, rubbing his eye. “Spent some time with my girlfriend. I don’t know what’s making me more tired, Bella or YouTube.” His filter had been disappearing lately, and his patience was running thin, he didn’t realize how he was sounding.

“What do you mean, is Bella stressing you out?” Ethan tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. It was true that Bella could be a lot, but Tom’s not allowed to say that. “And she’s not your girlfriend.”

Tom sat up, quickly retracting. “Right, sorry. You get used to saying ‘my girlfriend…’ I just didn’t realize how much baggage she came with. Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” he quickly added. “I tried to be with her today, but she keeps asking why I’m acting so strange. I don’t know how long more we can keep this up.”

“I hear ya’. If I have to be on a movie set one more day I think my head will explode. Guess acting’s not what as easy as I thought it’d be,” he let out a small sigh. “And don’t worry about it, I only snapped at you because I’ve been really irritable lately. Shooting a movie is no joke.”

“Definitely. And I’m getting really tired of YouTube. How long more do you think we have to be like this?”

“I honestly don’t know dude. What did she say? That she was trying to teach us a lesson? All I’ve learned is that I really don’t want to be an actor. Shit’s a pain in the ass.” Ethan huffed as he walked into his walk in closet. Despite it being almost 1 in the morning and the guys being completely knocked out, he still felt like they might hear him.

“I’ve learned how bloody boring your job is, no offense.” Tom spun in his chair from side to side. “Do you think we could switch back without that woman’s help?”

“Honestly who knows. She’s the one who switched us so I doubt we could switch back on our own.” Ethan paused, choosing his next words wisely, ”But... do you think we could force her?”

Tom’s eyes widened. “Uh… define ‘force.’”

“Like, confront her? I don’t know, just try and convince her that we’ve learned whatever fucking lesson she’s trying to teach us,” Ethan could feel his heart racing. The very prospect of possibly switching back was exciting to him. Being back in his own body would be a dream come true.

“Huh…” Tom put his phone on speaker and set it on the desk. “Let me try something.” He brought the computer to life and opened up Google. Then, he clicked on the search option and typed: ‘sonjisonjisonjisonjisonjisonjisonjisonjisonjiSONJISONJISONJISONJI!!’

Suddenly his words disappeared and were replaced by someone else’s. The message, ‘WHT DO U WANT’ stared back at Tom.

“Aha!” he said in satisfaction. “Have you ever tried Googling her?” he asked Ethan on the other line.

“Like her business? No,” Ethan responded making his way back into his room and grabbing the laptop lying on the ground.

“I mean like, connecting with her in weird ways,” Tom explained. “I tried to research on body switching - or ‘soul swapping’ as it’s called - but it wouldn’t work. Coincidence? She also sent me an email when I spoke about her out loud. She’s got a trail on us.”

“You know, now that you mention it, the same thing happened to me. I was trying to google pictures of your signature for that one day in London that I had to do all those poster signings and I typed something stupid like ‘sonji why have you done this’ or something, and she responded to me in the google search box! She said something like ‘because you haven’t learned your lesson yet’ and then called us twats,” Ethan couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory. It’d only been a few days ago but it felt like it’d been ages since he’d been in London.

“See what I mean? And I just typed to her on Google again and she replied!” Tom said like it was the greatest news ever. “Get online, let’s see if we can persuade her!” He looked at the computer screen again, only to find a new message. ‘Are you wasting my time again or what?’

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on Google right now,” Ethan looked back down at the laptop screen on his lap, “uh, what should I say?”

“I don’t know, just annoy her.”

“Ah yes,” Ethan chuckled as he popped his knuckles, “my best quality.” ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘Sonji’, pause. ‘So-’

‘WHAT’

‘Hey psychic lady person,’ Tom typed. ‘We need help. Please. We know we’re annoying, but seriously.’

Ethan watched as his laptop opened a new tab and opened up a Google doc. He would’ve been freaked out if he didn’t know who he was dealing with. But this is Sonji, psychic lady who has nothing better to do than to fuck with two guys’ lives, so he’ll allow it.

This wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen, watching the computer immediately open up a blank doc. Still, Tom felt a little nervous as he placed his fingers on the keys and typed again.

‘H-hewwo?’

“OH SO YOU CAN SAY IT BUT I CAN’T?” Ethan shouted into the phone, a big smile on his face. Tom’s scream (in his own voice) was worth possibly getting caught by Harrison and Harry, though he can’t imagine they’ll hear him. Once they’re asleep they’re passed out cold.

Tom clutched his chest, his heart pounding. He tried to catch his breath as he looked down at the phone screen. “Shut up… you twat…” He had forgotten that he was on the phone with the man himself. Thank god he was home alone.

‘So what do you guys want’

Ethan read Sonji’s words over a few times, trying to decide how to type what he wanted to say in the nicest way possible. Actually, fuck that, she doesn’t censor herself, why should he?

‘Switch us back cunt’

Tom couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Don’t fucking laugh at me Tom,’ Sonji typed, silencing him immediately. ‘Lmao yeah i hear your phone conversations, i read your text messages to check your progress. I know everything you fucking twinks.’

‘TWINKS?’ Ethan typed feeling more than a little violated.

“Okay, better step in,” Tom mumbled as he typed. ‘We just want our lives back, sonji! We’re losing our fucking minds here!’

‘BUT HAVE YOU LEARNED???’

Ethan looked down at his keyboard and hesitated. She can read their texts, but can she read minds too? ‘Yes.’

‘Of course we have,’ Tom added, ‘there’s really no point for us to stay like this. We’ll go to your shop in San Diego again if we have to.’

‘Why do I, a psychic lady, get the feeling you’re lying?’

Just play it off Ethan, confidence is key. ‘Because you’re a paranoid psychic lady?’

‘Yeah, maybe all the voices and things you hear are mixing together…’

For a moment, Sonji didn’t type anything more. Tom didn’t dare speak to Ethan, now knowing that they were being watched.

‘And how are yall going to get over here?’ she asked. ‘You were in serious trouble when you dropped everything to come find me. If you’re willing to cause more trouble for each other then have you really learned?’

‘Yeah, and that’s why I’ve already talked to the people here about taking a few days off for ‘mental health’ and I’m already cleared.’ There’s no way Sonji can know that Ethan plans to just leave after filming tomorrow, right?

‘I’m taking time off work already,’ Tom wrote. ‘I have the freetime. And honestly, I’m speaking for both of us when I say that I’ll go through all the trouble to get my life back.’

‘I second that,’ Ethan typed back.

‘...........you two have been through quite a bit… it’s been what? Eleven days now?’

Tom nearly hopped out of his seat at the lenience. He frantically sent back, ‘Yeah!! And we’ve learned the woes of each other’s lives, and the longer i stay like this the longer im going to think i’m actually ethan!! Please switch us back, sonji??’

‘Please :(’ Ethan didn’t really know what to reply. How much longer would they have to beg before she gave in?

Sonji finally answered. ‘I’m not promising anything, but if you guys turn up to my shop tomorrow… and maybe actually buy something this time… i may or may not be able to help you…’ She quickly added “twinks” one more time at the end before deleting it immediately after.

‘You mean we just had to buy something the first time aND WE COULD’VE GOTTEN SWITCHED BACK???’ Ethan groaned in frustration as he hoped that her answer was no. She wouldn’t make them suffer all this just because they didn’t buy anything, would she?

“😘” And then the doc closed on itself.

“What the fuck,” Ethan grumbled as he fell back onto the pillow behind him and brought the phone up to his face. “She’s messing with us right?”

Tom sat back and opened his mouth to say something. But now he had to mind his words whenever he talked to Ethan. “I… She’s always messing with us! She’s made us live like this, hasn’t she?”

“Good point.” Ethan opened up another tab and searched through the flights available from Montreal to Los Angeles on the Southwest website. “So, you’ll pick me up from the airport right?”

“Yeah,” Tom replied as he got up and started to pace. “I’ll be driving your car this time.” He chuckled at the memory of them being in the same car for the first time. It felt like years ago.

“Owner of the car gets to pick the music, your rules,” Ethan laughed as he booked a flight. “I was planning on getting a flight towards the end of the day, but then we wouldn’t make it to San Diego in time so I got a flight that lands at 4pm.”

“Alright, mate, sounds good. Hopefully Sonji will wait up for us.”

“Well she’s listening to this conversation isn’t she? She knows so she’ll hopefully wait up for us since she’s so nice and thoughtful,” Ethan did his best to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Hopefully Sonji won’t notice it.

Tom was hoping in the back of his head that Sonji was overhearing, but at the same time he wasn’t sure if she would approve of them taking matters into their own hands. Actually, he knew she wouldn’t approve of this.

“How easy will it be to switch back?” he wondered. “Like, we’ll be back in our bodies, but are we just going to pretend this never happened?” It had been on his mind, given that he had moments where he was almost convinced that Ethan’s life was actually his the whole time.

“I… don’t know? Are we… friends now?” Ethan wasn’t quite sure what to say. On one hand, he’d probably go insane if Tom wasn’t there to confirm that yes, he did in fact switch bodies with Tom Holland for almost two weeks. On the other hand he’d definitely go insane if he had to pretend that none of this ever happened.

“Well, we’re not strangers,” Tom said with a chuckle. “It would be absolutely horrible to talk about this with anyone else when it’s over, but at least we know how the other feels.”

“Yeah, not to mention we’d definitely get thrown into a hospital,” Ethan replied, already imagining the headlines “Newest Addition to Marvel Cinematic Universe Tom Holland Absolutely Fucking Loses His Mind!!!”

“Hey, if we’re next door to each other on the psych ward, then there won’t be much to complain about,” Tom said. Was he hamming this up for Sonji, or did he actually mean it? Who knows?

“Yeah, true! Though we’ll probably never get released at that point,” Ethan laughed. He glanced down at the time on his phone and sighed. “It’s getting late and I gotta hit the hay for filming tomorrow…”

Tom checked the time on the computer. Time had slipped away. “Yeah, Bella’s been texting me, gotta see what she wants. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Click. Just one more day, he could handle one more day.

______

tag list: @beardedsteveslut @ohsnapitzmoony @marie-is-in-the-dark

______

next

[confusedunit]

Universe of Unreality - Chapter One

Chapter 1 -  'oh shit i didn't mean to hit that'

Gordan blinked slowly, as the words that played in his ears faded. He'd...gotten close to these characters, these people. He's not entirely sure if he'd call them- ...No, that'd be lying to himself. He absolutely would call them his friends now. Maybe not Benry, but...No, he thought to himself, even that's not true. If the game was indeed just that, that would mean there were certain bits of code in place, right? It would explain a lot, actually, about Benry as a whole...

He reached out abruptly into the darkness, even though he knew he would find no one there. "...Dr. Coomer? I...don't know if you can hear me. But...I'll get you all out of here." He closed his hand into a fist, pulling it back. "I don't know how, but I'll do it. I'm not leaving you guys trapped here. Never again."

"I hear you, Gordon!" A voice spoke faintly in the distance, with a verbal smile. "We'll wait patiently!"

He smiled too. "I'll be back before you know it."

He pulled off the headset, setting it on his desk as he took a slow breath. He tabbed out of the game, leaving it running, taking a look at the old laptop he was running it on.

He'd been given the laptop by the same friend who gave him the game CD, said something about how half the data was on the laptop and half on the CD? Josh seemed kinda uncomfortable when Gordon asked questions, so he'd just kinda taken him at face value. Some friend of a friend of Josh's said he had to pass along the stuff to Gordon, and that'd led to...the strangest few days of his life.

And now here he was, searching for the game's data files to try to figure out what they programmed the damn game in so he could figure out what he'd have to code their new space in. He wasn't about to just take the files out and have them just sit there. Without another program to run them, they'd be just as stuck as if he turned off the game. No, this would require research, and planning.

He groaned. He hated research and planning. At least he already had experience with coding due to his major back in college. That would make the process easier. But still...the files on the laptop were bizarre, and whatever this beta build used to run the actual thing kept the data scattered everywhere. It looked worse than his coding in college, actually. Even when he was drunk and had to code one handed.

He glanced down at his right arm, rubbing at the part of his lower arm where synthetic met organic. He knew Benry and Bubby couldn't have known he'd actually lost his arm years ago in real life, but having friends cause the loss of a limb again? Especially the same limb? That'd messed him up, and it'd taken until they'd found Bubby again to remember that their scenario was just a game. He stretched out his hand, before he sighed.

He decided to dive right into his work. His brother was asleep still, and it was...He checked the clock with a wince. It was three am. Okay, maybe he'd...google it tomorrow. Look up what the coding language that'd been used in the 90s had been, after he got some sleep. He carefully adjusted the laptop on his desk, before he tilted down the attached screen and moved to leave the room. He smiled faintly, hand resting on the light. "...Goodnight, guys. I'll...see you guys soon."

He shut off the light, left the room, and closed the door.

-

Benrey was somewhere he shouldn't be. He knew that for a fact, glancing around the space that should not make sense to humans. Luckily, he wasn't human, which was pretty fucking poggers if he did say so himself.

He floated closer to the object that had taken his interest, a machine of some kind, outside the bounds of their perceivable reality. What an obvious place to hide something like this. He almost felt annoyed at himself for not having realized it in the first place. How lame. Babygamer needed someone else to help him glitch out of the bounds? Not epic at all. Well, maybe epic in the terms of the company these days, he'd managed to hook up one of Black Mesa's terminals to the computer the User had used, to surf the internet. Apparently they were shit now? Or people thought they were shit. He'd adapt, if the word had changed. He'd done it before.

What was he saying? Right, big fuck off machine he needed to fuck with.

It had to be the thing that was causing all the problems. Or at least, was the connection to the thing that was causing all the problems. Why else hide it out here, where only a nonhuman could find it? They didn't expect anything else to try to look for it. Typical Black Mesa, so smart but so stupid.

He reached out, resting his hand on a panel in the metal, eyes blowing wide at the sudden assault of data on his senses. It was too much to process, but he couldn't stop trying. After a few moments of struggling, he felt some sort of question, and in typical fashion responded before he processed it.

"yeah sure."

The data stopped, and he heard a rumble, yanking back his hand. He glanced around quickly, before the words finally clicked.

"...oh shit. wait. no, no no-"

The entire world seemed to tilt, even as he floated. He flailed as if trying to keep his balance, pressing his hand firmly to the metal again.

"uh, nope. permission revoked. uh, unapproved. totally uncool. uninstall."

He saw a single line of data appear on the panel, before everything went black.

|Reboot Resonance| [Y/N]? [y]

-

Dr. Freeman yawned, stretching out his arms. He felt exhausted, even though he knew he'd gone to sleep at a regular time. He'd...needed to. It'd been a while since he'd been sick, but he still felt that lethargy, and he'd chocked it up to a lack of self care again. He was gonna hear a lecture, if he kept ignoring his needs, he knew it. Another lecture. It wasn't exactly the first time, after all.

He rolled over, curling more into his bedding, before he finally realized what had woken him: there was a muffled buzzing coming from the floor. He ignored it for a moment longer, before he launched across the bed, leaning over to grab the object.

His pager. Why was it on the floor? And why was it screaming at him?

He pulled it back up, reading over the message on the screen.

'Dr. Freeman. Test pushed up. 9:00. Sctr C.'

He read over the text a few times, blinking quickly. What...OH.

"Oh shit-" He looked over to the clock, startling and scrambling out of bed.

8:43.

"Oh shit!"

-

When Dr. Coomer opened his eyes, he was hit with an overwhelming feeling of disappointment. He knew where he was. This was the middle of his tram ride to the Sector C test labs. There was a cup of coffee in his hand, half empty. Other members of the Sector C science team were packed into the tram car, bantering with each other and chuckling.

He glanced out the window, expecting to see his own eyes looking back at him from a tram they passed. He was everywhere, after all. His eyes widened when they did not. There were no eyes to look back at him. The opposite train was empty.

Curious. ...In fact, remembering that he should have seen himself was curious. He hadn't remembered previous times, and he knew it would have had to have been more than once. Why did he remember this time? What had Gordon done? There was something different...

Gordon had said he would get them out of there. But here they still were, becoming aware of their usual work days. Or at least, he hoped the others were as well. ...What a complicated thought, hoping you weren't alone but also hoping your friends didn't have to repeat reality. He decided not to think about it, and push it into his mental box to be dealt with later.

"Repression is the psychological attempt to direct one's own desires and impulses toward pleasurable instincts by excluding them from one's consciousness and holding or subduing them in the unconscious." He mumbled to himself. "According to psychoanalytic theory, repression plays a major role in many mental illnesses, and in the psyche of the average person..."

He checked his watch. And then he checked it again. He looked out the windows, then checked it a third.

8:48.

Well that wasn't right. The last time he had checked his watch, it had been 8:53. The time that he remembered he had woken, at least. And he knew that for a fact, because he remembered sighing to himself over the fact that he was going to be late.

Déjà vu. But wrong, somehow. He couldn't have looked out that tram window and seen his own eyes if last time he woke was at 8:53, five minutes after they passed the tram in question. But he knew, in the back of his mind, that this was correct. If not last time, than it had to be a previous time. But why would a previous time be so different to the last?

"Although some interpret déjà vu in a paranormal context, mainstream scientific approaches reject the explanation of déjà vu as "precognition" or "prophecy". It is an anomaly of memory whereby, despite the strong sense of recollection, the time, place, and practical context of the "previous" experience are uncertain or believed to be impossible."

Well. This was going to be an interesting day.

-

Dr. Bubby blinked back to himself, a very annoyed scientist pressed into his face. What the fuck were they talking about?

"Are you even paying attention? Or do I have to call your minders?"

He grit his teeth, glaring into the eyes of the other scientist. He didn't remember his name, and he didn't care. "I'm fine. Get out of my face before I change my mind." He felt heat ripple across his scalp, reaching up to snuff out the small flames that sparked up at the tips of his hair.

The other scientist backed down, fixing his tie, before he stormed off.

Bubby rolled his eyes. Whatever. He hated that guy anyway, he was pretty sure. And if he didn't before, he certainly did now. What was he doing? He checked his watch. Right, he was heading down for the mass spectrometer test. Of course. How could he forget?

He hopped onto the lift and pressed the button, before the gravity of the situation hit him like a military grade airstrike. He clung to the elevator, trying to catch his breath. What the hell was going on? Last thing he remembered was...being on an alien planet, fighting for his life. Sending a friend, did he really have the right to call Gordon a friend, back across space. Fighting an eldritch being that didn't want to fight. And then a party at Chuck E. Cheese.

Why the fuck was he back at work? Like it was nothing? Like they hadn't earned their happy ending? He'd heard Dr. Coomer's comments of unreality, but that didn't make sense. He remembered reality. And it'd sure looked a lot like this place.

...Maybe he just had to wait for Gordon. Gordon would know what to do. He hated admitting he needed someone else's help, but hey, apparently that was a 'good thing' and 'breaking out of your comfort zone'. He'd give it a try. This time.

He staggered out of the elevator, before he broke into a run.

-

Tommy sighed quietly, resting his head against the vending machine in front of him. Of course. Of course this would happen. Sent back, again. What test this time, Black Mesa? Something new? Or the same old thing?

Though it wasn't Black Mesa that had them, was it. His father had told him that he was working on something, a fix, a plan. He just had to go along with it. 'Such a wonderful son, Tommy. You'll stick with them, won't you?'

Of course he would. His being there in the first place proved that. He knew better than to take it personally, though. He'd grown up around humans, knew their culture more than his own. His father didn't mean sharpness, or questioning, or doubt with his words. He just didn't always know how to emote like a human. He emoted in his own way.

But this? Being back in the facility after a party for his own birthday? What could possibly be the reason? He attempted to focus, see if he could locate his father, but felt nothing in reply. He sighed. Maybe his father was out of range, cleaning up some other mess of Black Mesa's doing. That seemed to be most of what he was doing these days.

He reached out and pressed a button, taking the can of soda when it dropped and cracking it open. Well, he'd just go along with it. It's not like he had much choice in the matter.

-

Benrey startled awake, flailing a bit on the couch he'd dozed off on. A Black Mesa Security break room staple, those uncomfortable couches that he found easy to nap on. He glanced at his hands, before looking across the room at the screens that displayed messages, gave the date and time. He blinked.

"oh, shit." He looked back at his hands. "...that's cringe, bro." He scrambled to his feet, snatching his helmet and shoving it in place before charging out of the room. If he'd really fucked up, he knew exactly where he needed to be.

Maybe together they could un-fuck this whole situation.