#title from silver platters by les gold btw. fits the vibes of this au really well

[starstruckodysseys]

step through the portal (could you take the risk?) —

completed, microfic/drabble/whatever

everything is as it was, as it has always been, as it will always be.

why, then, is there a pit in your stomach telling you otherwise?

(or: lanie (you’re still you, right?) gets a little more than she bargained for upon walking into work. mostly in the form of heart wrenching anxiety and weird televisions)

(or or: the beginnings of the reverse!nsbu au <3)

read right here :]

it’s a beautiful day in lake elsinore — just as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and all the days before that, and all of the days to follow. you pull into the parking lot of the strip mall, gravel crunching under the tires of your bright red convertible. you park in your usual spot, lean up to check your reflection in the rear view mirror — jet black hair, cream colored cardigan, thick black-framed glasses over gray eyes. everything is as it was, as it has always been, as it will always be.

there’s a thought, as inconspicuous as it is unrelenting, in the back of your mind, whispering that something is wrong. you shake it off as you climb out of the car — you probably just forgot to take your medication again. you decide not to tell jenna her reminders are hardly working. she doesn’t need the stress with her wedding so close.

your phone buzzes with a text, which is a little strange, but nothing really out of the ordinary. alyssa’s sent you a good morning text, even though it’s nearing noon already, and you laugh fondly as you respond.

the tape over dave’s name on the video store’s sign is peeling. you make a mental note to tell russell about it later, as well as letting anyone but dang write the the on the makeshift sign. it’s three letters. how do you write it that poorly.

no matter. you push the door open, but your greeting to your coworkers dies on your lips, your smile fading as you look around. the doorbell rings throughout the tiny building, your converse echoing against the tile as you search for any sign of anyone. you’re a little early, sure, but you’re not often the first person to show up.

“wendell?” you call, voice sounding embarrassingly anxious to your own ears. “dang? liv? usha?”

you’re running out of names. the others don’t even work here full time. “paula?” you try anyway. “russell?”

one of the televisions around the store flickers to life — odd, you thought they were already on? — as you call out. your heart leaps into your throat, blood crashing like ocean waves in your ears, and you wipe your suddenly sweaty palms on your light-wash jeans. the tv shows only static, black-white-gray grains on the old fashioned screen, but it stays, and it stays, and it stays.

you bite your lip. glance around the space. take a breath, and then a step toward the television, peering closer. your reflection in the glass seems distorted, almost, colors filling out your frame you’ve never seen, reds and greens you don’t recognize on yourself. there’s a pull that feels magnetic dragging you closer, and closer, and closer, until you’re nearly pressed up against the screen, ready to fall—

the door swings open, the shrill doorbell breaking the silence, and you pull back. your heart races in your chest like a stampede of wildebeests, your breathing shallow as you turn to face wendell, who looks for all the world like the kind of jock that would have peaked in high school, and yet somehow it works for him. you’re biased, of course, but still. he looks at you with something like amusement, or concern, or some combination of the two, like he’s worried but also trying not to laugh at you.

“lanie?” he asks, like he’s not quite sure it’s you.

you sigh. “just, uh. checking the tvs. y’know, they’re probably due for an inspection and all. who knows how old they are.”

he raises an eyebrow. “what’s the verdict?”

“pretty fuckin’ bad, actually,” you say, and grin when he laughs properly.

you’re about to ask if he’s seen any of your other coworkers when he sobers up, gives you another look that nearly pierces your soul, a weight to it that makes you want to shrink away. you don’t.

“for real, though,” he says, “are you good?”

it takes all your willpower to not glance back at the tv.

“yeah,” you say, and hope you don’t sound as haunted as you feel. “just, y’know. tired.”

you slept fine. you always do. why does it feel wrong to say so?

wendell gives you another look, like he’s searching for something in your face, but only sighs. “right. uh, i’m gonna go… clock in, then?”

you nod. if you speak, your voice is going to break, splintering into shards of glass on the floor. you don’t know how you know this, but you know it to be true.

as soon as he turns away from you, you stare back into the television. your own reflection looks back, just as you remember it. just as it always has been. just as it always will be.

static fills your ears. you shake your head — you do feel tired, suddenly — and go to follow wendell. you still have to clock into work, after all.