#i can definitely work with something inspired by tma and the eye

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 152

Adjective: Infinite

Noun: Eye

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Infinite: limitless or endless in space, extent, or size, or impossible to measure or calculate; very great in amount or degree; (mathematics) greater than any assignable quantity or countable number; (mathematics) (of a series) able to be continued indefinitely; (grammar) another term for nonfinite

Eye: each of a pair of globular organs in the head through which people and vertebrate animals see, the visible part typically appearing almond-shaped in animals with eyelids; the corresponding visual or light-detecting organ of many invertebrate animals; the region of the face surrounding the eyes; used to refer to someone's power of vision and in descriptions of the manner or direction of someone's gaze; used to refer to someone's opinion or attitude toward something; a thing resembling an eye in appearance, shape, or relative position; a rounded eye-like marking on an animal, such as those on the tail of a peacock, or an eyespot; a round, dark spot on a potato from which a new shoot can grow; (US) a center cut of meat; the center of a flower, especially when distinctively colored; the calm region at the center of a storm or hurricane; (nautical) the extreme forward part of a ship; the small hole in a needle through which the thread is passed; a small metal loop into which a hook is fitted as a fastener on a garment; (nautical) a loop at the end of a rope, especially one at the top end of a shroud or stay

[isa-ghost]

Också! Har The Magnus Archives och rädslorna (eller något annat därifrån) påverkat AMFMN? Typ hur EK väljer att ta över Phil, eller hur det påverkar honom? (Eller kanske något helt annat? Hur du bygger upp världens interna logik?)

(Snälla säg att jag inte blandar ihop med någon annan, och det faktiskt är du som gillar TMA)

Om du skulle klassificera EK’s övertagande av Phil som någon av rädslorna från TMA, vilken skulle det vara?

OHOHOHOHO THIS IS SUCH A GOOD FUCKING QUESTION

LIKE OH MY GOD I WANT MORE ASKS LIKE THIS. EXPLODES.

(Yes I like TMA, it's in my pinned message!! :D)

If there's any bits of TMA in AMFMN, it's totally unintentional (for now, but now you've got me thinking). I can definitely sit and stew on this and dissect the story so far and what I have planned but not written in a way that draws parallels.

As for what fear the Ender King falls under? It's obvious isn't it? Corruption. :)

Greed corrupts. Power corrupts. Two things he has in excess. Ender King physically corrupted Phil. Both in canon and here in AMFMN. Wing, skin, eyes, behavior, all of it. He's corrupted him inside and out.

And I can share this because I've touched on it in the headcanons I wrote that inspired AMFMN's existence: Purging EK from Phil's system, be it the doing of the polycule or of Phil himself (spoiler alert: it'll be both) are going to be very sickness coded, something else The Corruption represents.

Not only that, EK's weakness, water, is the antithesis of another thing The Corruption represents: Filth. Just throw some soap in that water bucket, Fit/Etoiles/Missa/Bagi, you'll save Phil right away. 😆

Additionally, let's talk about rot and decay. Phil's body may be immortal, but it's not built to house a god. He's going to be falling apart inside almost literally, to the degree that Ender King, an entity that doesn't have to eat, is going to be relying on chugging golden apples to the point where Phil rekindles his previously kicked addiction to them (bringing in some of that hardcore lore/popular fanon babey!!)

And let's point out the most obvious part of all: toxic relationships and codependency. Ender King needs a vessel. He's dependent on Phil. He's also a toxic presence himself, controlling and possessive, violent, etc. And if we were to look at things in a "Phil work with me, I'll give you everything you've ever wanted" perspective, that's an unhealthy companionship!!

And while it's kind of a reach, Ender King represents the end. Including Endermites. Which are bugs. So there's that too.

Phil is an excellent Avatar of Corruption (perhaps also touched by The Web, bc of his fear of lacking control), because his greatest fear is being corrupted by The Ender King and his own greed.

Now you've got me cooking up a TMA QSMP AU. Definitely stay tuned for that. I'm thinking hella thoughts.

[the-helpless-lemon]

I had some weird ideas and decided to figure out how TMA entities would work out in certain shows/games/other fictional settings. Keep in mind, I’m not very far into the podcast just yet, though I have been looking at fan stuff for a while and wanted to do something with it. So, these are just the entities as I understand them currently.

Now, with that in mind, let’s figure out how well these entities would play out in the world of Fallout.

The Buried: I think this entity would have a very easy time thriving in the various Wastelands, especially in places where the ruins still stand and the world is still falling apart. Where the old world can still kill you and crush you under its weight, both literally and not. The Vaults would also be a good breeding ground, especially if they’re the ones that never got opened up for the longest times.

The Corruption: Honestly, hard to say how well it would fare, but I think it has a niche it can exploit when it comes to the Fallout world. The world itself is dirty, with the last of the old world clinging to it and everyone having to soak in the mess, the filth that was left behind. However, it would probably end up suffering from this later on due to the people getting used to how it is, and becoming mostly used to the filth and what it offers. Ghouls would be common avatars, though, whether they’re feral or not.

The Dark: A strong contender, but probably again stuck in a very niche environment. For anyone that lives underground, this would be a normal thing, but the dark would inspire dread still for vault dwellers from time to time. And considering that monster like Deathclaws and the like are always probably hiding in corners people can’t check, or the raiders who sneak through it, it’ll be present, but not particularly strong.

The Desolation: This entity would be thriving due to the environment it found itself in, no questions asked. With the fact that it’s been destroyed plenty, and that there are still weapons of mass destruction being used, it would be fed for every moment of every day. Avatars are probably constantly carrying mini nukes in order to spread it further, even if it might end up costing the entity later.

The End: I don’t think it would matter to the End whether this world was an apocalypse or not. It seems to win in nearly all scenarios, though death is more common in this world and people are always looking to cheat it. People like Mr. House would keep them fed, and trying to stave it off is nearly impossible. Again, probably connected to Ghouls fairly easily and would cling to them as reminders that humans will rot like them one day.

The Eye: While it wouldn’t be readily apparent, it would definitely be doing well in certain people and organizations within Fallout. Institutions like the Institute, the Big MT crew, and other similar factions would help it learn new knowledge every day. Vault-Tech and its experiments are definite contender as well. And then there are people like Piper, who want to spread the truth whenever possible, and many scientists wanting to experiment no matter the cost.

The Flesh: Quite honestly, it would exist in the Super Mutant population and the various mutated creatures that exist within the various Wastelands without any trouble. The shambling corpses of Feral Ghouls, the peak forms of the Super Mutants, to the two headed brahmin, it would find a place in unsettling people through these avatars. Not to mention the cannibals that are not uncommon in some places of the wasteland, with the White Glove Society probably playing a big part.

The Hunt: Again, probably still there and present, but not too extremely strong. Plenty of people are hunting for ways to get power, and then there are still bounty hunters and killers that end up being a big part of the law system in Fallout. You’d be hard pressed to find someone that isn’t looking or hunting something and someone throughout the wastelands, but hardly on a huge scale.

The Lonely: Probably very pervasive in the groups of paranoid people that isolate themselves from each other, with the Brotherhood of Steel being a surprising source in some cases. Vaults would also suffer from this, seeing how they’re separated from the world entirely. While not a main focus, there are plenty of lonely people who would become quick victims of the entity.

The Slaughter: Oh, yes. This one is thriving at all times. The Slaughter is in every citizen of the wasteland, big or small, and it always creating death or inciting violence at every turn. It’s in the itchy trigger finger of a raider, the bloodlust of a cannibal, and the panic of a villager that just wants to survive another day. It was in the last days of the old world, where wars were fought and lost on all sides when the bombs dropped. War never changes, and The Slaughter wouldn’t need it to.

The Spiral: Pervasive, but less so than certain strong entities. Survival, especially under horrible conditions, can inspire madness of a sort that would be completely understandable in most cases. Probably plays a large role and gets a small cut for a lot of the other entities, getting some of their victims in the end because of how the others play it.

The Stranger: Hard to say how well it’d do here. While the old tricks of taking people and putting a monster in their place would work here, it would probably only have a strong presence in the setting of Fallout 4, with the Intsitute accidentally making a breeding ground for it. Other than that, maybe the Super Mutants would play a minor role, considering of how close they are to being human, while also still being abominations.

The Vast: An interesting one. I can see this being the plague of vault dwellers themselves, who have a hard time adjusting to the world that they’re getting introduced to. Though, it might also be a reason why nobody ever goes in the sea of the Fallout world, considering what could be deep within it. The radiation probably made it worse.

The Web: Quite honestly, it would within the leaders of Fallout and within the choices people make themselves. While there isn’t a distinct fear, per se, but considering how the choices even the most innocuous of people make can change the fate of these wastelands, the Web probably plays a major part in getting these effects active. It makes for a very interesting narrative, especially considering the choices can be forced to only work in one way depending on the story.

The Extinction (maybe not that applicable, but fits here): It can go one of two ways; it thrives in the wastelands without anything to stop it, or it’s struggling to survive in this broken world. While the world did end up destroying itself and many people died a death of their own making, it is also literally after the death of an old world. The people are rebuilding, even after the world should’ve died under the bombs, though there is the threat it could happen again. It’s a coin flip depending on how certain things pan out.

As for how the player character in any game fits into all of this, it really depends on the choices a player makes. High Intelligence might be avatars of The Eye, while Charisma characters could arguably serve The Web. Strength and Endurance work for Flesh, and Agility plays well with The Dark.

However, I can see only one constant; unless you end up not killing a single person somehow, your character will always have a touch of the Slaughter due to the death you bring in every place you go to.

[stellarish]

I couldn’t stop thinking about the hs kids in the TMA universe, so uhh

Rose Lalonde, Avatar of the Eye

Fun details about this au under the cut:

I imagine that, as an Avatar of the Eye, Rose would lean much more heavily towards the “knows your secrets” side of the theming, as opposed to the general thirst for knowledge that drove Jon. He needed to see the answer, but Rose is much more interested in picking apart the question itself, if that makes sense, and she’s also a bit of a gossip. 

I imagine all that means that she’s quite interested in trying to learn about the Fears themselves, trying to unravel how they really work, and what end all the horror is moving toward. She’s curious, and perhaps a bit too willing to let others come to harm to fuel her curiosity. She’s an avatar, after all.

As far as powers go, I think she’d be a bit less visual-focused than Elias’s whole “see out of any eye” shtick, and I also doubt she’d ever reach Jon’s level of casual omnipotence. Rather, at peak power, she’d just be very good at answering her own questions. (I’m thinking of her whole thing in canon with the 8 ball here, for inspiration). She doesn’t tend to passively Know things the way Jon does, but if she puts in the effort to “look” for an answer to something, it’s almost always there for her. This is less powerful than the Archivist, of course, but also far easier to control. There’s less risk of being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of information available to her.

And of course, for work, she’d be a psychic! The Eye can’t see the future, but quite a lot of accurate fortune telling and general seer-ing can be done with just a good view of the present, which she absolutely has. I think it’d be quite fun if she had two tiers of business: regular and deluxe. For regular, you’d pay with regular old cash, and aside from a quick Look at you to help her cold read, she’d mostly do what any scam psychic could tell you. For deluxe, though, there’s one extra form of payment she’d require: your darkest secret (or for repeat customers, perhaps just any new secret each time). You endure that awful moment, spilling the one thing you thought you’d never tell to this odd, haunting woman with the strange eyes, and in return, you get to find out for sure whether your crush loves you back, or if your missing friend is alive, or if your boss is going to give you that big promotion. It’s definitely worth the feeling of someone staring into your soul, and the way her eyes seem to follow you long after you leave her shop, the feeling of a gaze on your neck reminding you that somewhere out there, somebody knows what you did.  Definitely worth the price.

[slightlyloomingone]

Local Cryptid Tries His Best

As previously mentioned, I read a ridiculous number of time travel TMA fics and wrote this as a result. Inspired by lots of things, but especially The Guy Next Door, by pigeonanarchy, which is an amazing fic if you like time travel, Archivist Sasha, Jon being a cryptid and trying his best, jonmartin and the original archives team. Yes, all at once, go read it. This one has s5 Jon going back to pre-canon 2014 and trying to help statement givers, especifically Erin from MAG 63, so spoilers for that, I guess? Also warning for Brazilian writing British people.

At first, Jon thought he could just… scare Erin and her brother-in-law away from the entrance into St. James’ Church underneath St. Paul’s. He was rather scary, after all. He found his way inside the church shortly before midnight (he was getting better at this breaking and entering thing), and waited for them near the spot where he thought he could sense the Dark, assuming that would be the entrance they would take.

When they arrived, Jon would just have to do the Archive thing and drive them away. Easy.

He hadn’t counted on Erin Gallagher-Nelson’s response to his voice saying “you should leave this place” being to brain him with her torch.

“Erin, what the fuck! Did you just kill a guy?” a male voice was almost screaming while Jon lied on the floor, groaning. Not his best moment.

“Well, he shouldn’t have crept up on me like that, if he didn’t want to get hit!” Mrs. Gallagher-Nelson almost screamed back, sounding… halfway between unrepentant and concerned, actually. “Hey? Hey, you alright?”

“Fine…” Jon slurred, pushing himself up and blinking. There were spots on his vision. Concussion? “Mrs. Gallagher-Nelson?” he asked, feeling someone’s hands help him sit up, but then let go again at Erin’s next words:

“I’m sorry? Do I know you?”

Jon chuckled weakly and pressed his palms to his eyes.

“No…” he answered. “But I know you, Erin…” he forced himself to look up at the short-haired woman now glaring at him. “You came here to take pictures, right?”

“Yes,” she bit back. “What about it? Do you work here? Did someone warn you about me?”

“No on both accounts,” Jon tried to stand up, but then sat back down when his vision started spinning. “But I know for a fact you’ll regret going down to St. James’ tonight, if you don’t turn back now.”

He tried to give his best Archive Look, but Erin and Luke, now standing beside her, didn’t look impressed.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Erin asked, sounding incredulous.

“Uh…”

“Because I don’t feel very threatened right now.”

“I mean…”

“No offense, pal, but you look like a strong wind could knock you down,” Luke added, and Jon glared a little at them both.

“This is not a joke,” he snapped. “If you go down there, I can assure you at least one of you won’t come back.”

“What? Are there murderous ghosts down there?” Erin mocked and Jon huffed at her.

“Not exactly ghosts, but definitely murderous,” he finally managed to stagger to his feet, feeling the Eye healing his concussion slowly. “Just go home, there are other places to take pictures of.”

They did not go home. Not even when Jon followed them down the entrance, almost slipping and falling from the ropes they had used in the process, which… didn’t seem to help when it came to convincing them to go home.

“If you fall and crack your head open, I refuse to be held responsible,” Erin warned while Luke placed the lightning rigs along the underground tunnel.

“Would that make you leave?” Jon asked, watching the walls a little nervously. No signs of shadows so far.

“Why would you ask…?” she sighed and shook her head, getting her equipment out. “Never mind, just stay away from the lights, we won’t take long here.”

“You really should leave, Erin,” Jon tried again. “This place isn’t safe.”

“Because of the murderous ghosts,” Erin mocked, preparing her camera as Luke finished setting up the lights.

“They aren’t ghosts.”

“Right, my bad,” she knelt down and adjusted the focus, camera pointed towards the tunnel. “Just stay put, we’ll finish this in a moment…”

This was not good. Jon watched the walls, remembering how the statement described the shadow of a person showing up in the pictures of the far wall. Were they already here? He tried to focus, to See, but the Dark was so antithetical to the Eye that it was hard to do so down here, if only he could find it…

“Luke!” Erin suddenly complained, and Jon realized she was looking at the pictures in the camera. “You’re standing in front of the lights!”

“No, I’m not!”

Jon saw her look back at her brother-in-law, look away from the far wall, and right there, standing in front of it, he saw it.

“Step back,” Jon said, and he was suddenly standing between Erin and the shadow on the wall. “Stay away from them.”

He could see the shadow better the longer he focused on it, and it looked like a person, but in a few moments it wouldn’t be.

“What are you doing?” Erin asked, sounding annoyed. “I said to stay away…”

“Hey, Erin…”

“I said to step back,” Jon blinked and there were two shadows, so he didn’t blink again. “I see you,” he warned.

The lights were flickering. Jon could feel the Dark creeping closer, trying to hide their creatures from his view, and it made him glare at it, furious that these things would try and challenge him.

“Hey, I don’t know what your deal is, but we have work to do here, just get out of the…”

The shadows were wavering. Turning less human-shaped. Turning into something monstrous. Jon glared and opened his eyes wider.

All of them.

“I See You,” he spoke in the static-filled voice of the Archive, and there were gasps of fear behind him, but the shadows were trembling, growling and snapping teeth towards him. “Leave them, or not even the Dark will protect you from me.”

They hissed and growled and the lights flickered and then. Went out.

The moment they did, Jon felt the sharp pain of something piercing his stomach. He cried out and then forced himself to bite down the sound. He wouldn’t give the Dark the satisfaction. There were frantic sounds of fear behind him and then a camera flash, bright and blinding, but still a source of light.

He glared at the shadows again, snarling and calling the Ceaseless Watcher's gaze upon them.

“I See You!" he said one last time, and it was finally enough.

The lights flickered back on with the shadows' retreat and Jon staggered in place with a gasp.

“Oh, my god, you’re bleeding!”

“What the fuck, what the fuck…!”

Jon covered the wound on his stomach with a hand and turned around, stumbling a little. He looked at Erin Gallagher-Nelson and Luke Nelson, feeling exhausted.

“We really should leave now,” he managed to tell them.

“Fuck!” Erin hurriedly put the camera back in her bag and Luke, for some reason, stepped forward and put Jon’s arm over his shoulders. What? “Come on, Luke, just bring him here, we can… we can use the ropes and… and...”

“What are you doing…?” Jon muttered as he was half-dragged, half-carried to the spot where the ropes still dangled from above.

“Just keep putting pressure on the wound or something,” Luke babbled at him as they walked, and Jon kept some eyes open to watch their back just in case, and he knew Luke could see them, he knew he was afraid, but he was still helping him. “Come on, come on, Erin, call an ambulance when you have signal!”

“Yeah, I know!”

“I can’t go to the hospital,” Jon mumbled. Wow, he felt light-headed. His hand was pressed on the wound and it felt sticky with blood. Gross.

“Well, I can’t have you bleed to death right in front of me, so shut up and deal with it!” Erin snapped, untangling the ropes and waving the two of them closer at the same time. “Bring him here, Luke, don’t you stop putting pressure on that, you creep!”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Jon muttered as they started tying him up with the rope, for some reason.

“Just keep pressing that, pal, you’re gonna be alright, yeah?”

“Help me out here, Luke!”

Jon may have passed out for a moment when they started using the ropes to pull him up from the tunnel. In his defense, being stabbed really hurt. He didn’t remember it hurting this much the last time it had happened. Or maybe it was that this wound in particular hurt a lot? Either way, he came back to his senses lying on the floor of St. Paul’s Church with Erin and Luke arguing as they knelt above him, and, oh, no, she was using her phone…

“Please, don’t call an ambulance,” Jon groaned, pushing himself up. The wound was healing, but… very slowly, he thought. Probably because he had used Beholding to deal with the shadows and didn't have enough in him to take care of it. He was still bleeding a lot, although Luke had apparently been putting pressure on it with a jacket.

“What are you doing?” Erin snapped at him, her voice shaking with something that could be anger or fear. Probably both. “Lie back down, do you want to bleed out?”

“Not particularly,” Jon muttered. “But I still can’t go to a hospital. So.”

“We won’t tell anyone about the… the eyes, if that’s the problem,” Luke whispered, his own eyes wide with terror. “You can hide them, can’t you? So just… just…”

Jon looked at him and he flinched. That made him sigh. He really was going to bleed out if he didn’t do anything. Actually. He tried to check on the wound, which made Erin snap at him again to stay put, and it was bleeding a lot, and fast.

“I don’t think I’ll last until the ambulance arrives,” Jon mused, still feeling a little dizzy.

“Well, you won’t if you don’t stop moving…!”

“I really didn’t want to do this, this time…” he mumbled, shoulders sagging. “But…” Jon raised his eyes to them, remorseful. “I’m really sorry, but, please, tell me what you saw in the tunnels.”

He heard the click of a recorder running someehere. Luke was the one who started talking, but Erin picked it up, and soon enough, Jon was lost in the familiar rhythm of a statement. Yes, he had heard this one before, but it was different enough now, and it was… it was still fresh. He breathed in when it was done and let out a quiet sigh that was undeniably satisfied. Then he looked at the two wide-eyed victims in front of him and whispered:

“Thank you,” he gently removed Luke’s hand from his stomach and then the jacket, checking the wound. It was halfway to healed now. “Yes, that’ll do.”

“What happened?” Erin asked quietly, still watching him. Jon sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “Wait, you were… you were just…”

“I’m really sorry,” Jon said again. “I wouldn’t have done this if I had any other choice,” he paused, trying to decide what was the appropriate response. “You should avoid tunnels for a while. Or caves, or… dark places, really. Stock up on torches, and batteries, and stay away from, well, from churches too, probably. Hm.”

“Will they come after us again?” Luke whispered and Jon winced.

“There’s a chance,” he admitted. “I never figured out how to counter it, but…” he frowned. “Actually, maybe you should just leave this church as soon as possible? I don’t think it’s safe here…”

“What?” Erin was starting to glare at him again.

“Well, they stole your camera last time…” Jon muttered and then took a step back at Erin’s look of indignation. “Just avoid churches in general, just in case? Don’t forget the torches… um…” he decided it was time to leave. “And… and I’m really sorry, again,” he said one last time, retreating a few more steps.

“Hey, wait a second…”

“Sorry! I’m really sorry, I have to go…”

He almost ran out of the church, ignoring the two of them calling out behind him.

That. That could have gone better.

Also, being stabbed really hurt.

[haberdashing]

A Rude Awakening

TMA fic. Elias Bouchard has one hell of a time when he wakes up.

Inspired by this art.

on AO3

The first thing Elias registered when he woke up was pain. He had a few aches and pains all across his body, but the majority of it was centered on his head, his face feeling like it was burning. He’d thought he’d felt agony before, when he’d gotten some especially nasty hangovers in uni, but this? This was on a whole new level.

The second thing Elias registered was that he couldn’t see a thing. He couldn’t even tell if it was light out or not. The world was just a sea of blankness, almost like his eyes were closed tight, but when he tried to open them nothing happened except even more pain punishing him for the attempt.

The rest of the situation came to him more gradually. The cold, hard ground that he was splayed out upon, which felt almost unnaturally smooth. The wet, sticky feeling coating his face that had to be blood. The murmurs in the background that he couldn’t quite make out, belonging to voices that he was pretty sure he didn’t recognize.

Elias groaned and tried to push himself off the ground with one hand, which quickly proved to be a mistake. Moving his head even slightly upwards sent a shock of white-hot pain coursing through him, and he sunk back again, getting another jolt of pain for his trouble when his head made contact with the floor once more.

The only upside to his attempt at movement was that the murmurs in the background grew louder, enough that he could hear some of what was being said, though it didn’t help that several of the voices kept talking over one another.

“Is that-”

“Shh, don’t-”

“-think he’s awake.”

Elias took the opportunity to voice the main question that was going through his mind.

“What the hell is going on?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” It was a woman’s voice, awfully calm given the situation at hand. (She had to know, right? Between the pain and the blood, she had to know that this was something of a rude awakening for him.) A bit blunt, too, given that she was talking to someone who’d clearly been badly injured. Not even a hint of sympathy for his predicament in that voice.

Elias let out a shaky laugh, which made his sides ache slightly. “I asked first.”

“Yeah, well, tough. You’re still going first.”

“I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on, that’s why I asked you-”

“Jon?”

The next voice--”Jon”, presumably, whoever that was--was a man’s voice, also calm and level in its own way.

“Who are you?”

Something about the question dug into Elias somehow, made a tingle run through his body, convinced him that he had to answer, and answer immediately (not that he was terribly keen to avoid giving information to those who might actually know what the hell all this was about)...

“My name’s Elias.”

Jon didn’t say anything, and neither did any of the other voices, but Elias could just feel that somehow that wasn’t enough, that they needed more from him.

“Elias Bouchard. I- I work at the Magnus Institute. I’m James Wright’s secretary.”

“James Wright?” Another woman’s voice, one with a bit more energy to it.

That strange need Elias had felt to answer was gone, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to explain further. “He’s the big boss there. Uh, the head. That’s his official title, anyway, Head of the Magnus Institute.”

Somebody let out a sharp laugh, though Elias didn’t have a clue why.

“He’s not lying, at least.” Jon said. “He can’t be, not to me.”

“So what does that mean?” Another man’s voice, a bit higher-pitched, a bit unsure of itself.

“You don’t think...” The first woman again, still sounding thoroughly unimpressed by Elias’ answers, though he wasn’t sure what more she expected from him.

“What’s the last thing you remember, Elias?” It was Jon speaking again, and with the question came that same weird, tingly pressure to respond.

“James called me into his office, and I- I honestly thought I’d gotten in trouble somehow, but instead he started talking about how he’d served the Institute for so long, and how it was about time for somebody else to take his place running it so he could go off and retire. When he got to that bit I figured he was just letting me know I’d have a new boss, but then he said I should be the new head, which- which is ridiculous, really, I work hard and all but that’s way beyond my pay grade, I can’t imagine myself running the place-”

Somebody--one of the women, Elias thought--snorted with amusement, which, yes, it was an amusing mental image for him too, but given that he didn’t know these people in the slightest, why would they understand how weird that had been?

“But James insisted, said something about having to make final preparations before handing the Institute over- over to me! He stopped talking, and then... well, and then this. Whatever this is.”

Things were silent for a long moment before Elias spoke up again.

“Since it seems like you’ve finished badgering me for my life’s story, can somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” He paused for a moment before adding, “And call 999 while you’re at it, I think I need an ambulance, my face hurts and I can’t see a thing-”

“That’s because we took your eyes out.”

Why did that woman sound so... okay with that? Happy, even?

“Daisy, don’t say it like that.”

Oh, God, they were all some kind of- of creepy serial-killing psychopaths, weren’t they? And he was at their mercy, unless he could get up, find his way out of wherever he was, besides in the middle of some kind of bad horror movie-

Elias tried to push himself off the ground again and managed to pull himself into a sitting position before pain and nausea got the best of him. He started feeling the ground around him, trying to get his bearings, possibly even latch onto something he could use as a weapon, though he didn’t even know exactly where his would-be opponents were-

“Calm down, Elias. It’s going to be alright.”

Elias laughed, because he’d rather laugh than cry.

“You took my bloody eyes out! That’s pretty far from alright!”

“Not in this line of business.” Was that supposed to be a joke? If so, it was an awfully dry one. And confusing, but that was quickly becoming par for the course.

“Basira, please.” Jon sounded annoyed at her, but not truly upset.

“I’m just saying.” The woman--Basira--replied.  “Didn’t you try to get Martin to do it with you that one time?”

The other man--Martin, perhaps?--spoke up. “I thought we agreed not to talk about that!”

...were they a cult? Some sort of eye-gouging cult? And they... what, went after him because he was supposed to become James’ successor, or something?

He had been in James’ office just a moment ago, and now he was stuck on the ground somewhere with his eyes gouged out while a bunch of people he didn’t know talked about how they’d considered gouging their own eyes out...

“...what the fuck.”

Elias hadn’t really intended it as a question, because he was getting the sense that he wouldn’t get a straight answer from these people, and he wasn’t even entirely intending for them to hear him, but his speech did bring their ongoing discussion to a close.

“...you really don’t know about any of this, do you?” Probably-Martin said.

Elias shook his head, then brought a hand up to his forehead because fuck that hurt, and if steadying his head meant getting blood on his hand, well, that seemed to be the least of his problems right about now.

“You weren’t aware of the presence of the Eye at all?” That was Jon again. At least he was starting to get a handle of who the people he was speaking with were, even if everything else about the situation was still up in the air.

“Jesus fucking Christ what is with you people and eyes-”

“The Beholding, then, if you prefer. One of Smirke’s Fourteen.”

“I- look, I don’t know what all this freaky cult speak of yours is getting at, okay?”

Somebody sighed.

“This is going nowhere.”

Basira was the one who said it, but Elias couldn’t help but agree, though he only expressed it through a soft “you’re telling me.”

“Alright, alright, what do-” Jon paused, hesitated. “I would like to know how much you know about Jonah Magnus.”

That, at least, was a name Elias recognized. It was a start, perhaps. “I mean, I read up on the history of the Institute a bit when I got hired, but-”

“Anything beyond that?”

“I... what d’you think I’m gonna say, that I go have drinks with the guy every Friday?” Elias laughed a little at his own joke, but wasn’t terribly surprised that none of the others joined in. “He’s from the 1800s. So no, nothing beyond that. Why? Is there some big historical revelation I’m missing here?”

A few people spoke up at once in response, and finally, finally Elias started to hear a bit of sympathy in their voices.

“He- he really didn’t-”

“Oh dear.”

“And I thought you were clueless-”

“Hey!”

“Don’t deny it-”

“Elias.” Jon’s voice was calm and serious as always, and the others settled down at the sound of his voice. “That conversation you had with James Wright. When did that happen?”

Elias didn’t see how this had to do with anything, how the exact time of his last memory would help explain why a bunch of eye-gouging cultist freaks had gotten their hands on him, but he felt that strange pressure he’d felt before when Jon had asked him questions, knew he had to speak, had to share his response no matter what-

“Well, it wasn’t long after I took my lunch--I think it was two, maybe two-thirty?” After a brief pause, Elias added, “In the afternoon.”

That eerie pressure didn’t let up, and as Elias felt the need to continue specifying, part of him started considering why. He was guessing that Jon and the pressure were connected, that if it was still there it meant that Jon wanted to know more, but if Elias had to specify which afternoon... had he been out for more than a few hours? He was far from a doctor, but he knew getting knocked out for long could mess up your mind something fierce, so if he’d been unconscious for days... that... well, that was definitely not good news. Not that he’d really been expecting any at this point.

“On the fourth.”

Still the pressure. Okay, so the month had changed recently, but was it really so ambiguous that he had to state it? “Of... May...”

Even that wasn’t enough, and... they had to be fucking with him, right? There was no way a calendar date wasn’t enough information for them, unless their freaky eye cult didn’t use the same calendar as normal people or something...

“1996?”

The pressure vanished, which in one sense was a relief, but in another made things even scarier because it suggested that they really were satisfied now, which meant that they hadn’t been by him supplying the month and date and time of day.

A long silence fell over the room.

“We need to tell him.”

Elias was pretty sure Basira’s words were directed towards the rest of her little gang rather than towards him, given that he was being referred to in the third person now (which, rude), but he responded anyway. “Tell me what?”

“Elias...” Basira hesitated for a moment before continuing. “It’s not 1996 anymore. It’s 2019.”

Elias laughed, soft and shakily. “Don’t- don’t try to convince me this is some bullshit time travel conspiracy-”

“Not time travel. Not exactly.”

Elias started to open his mouth to ask how else he could have skipped over two decades in the blink of an eye, but Jon spoke up to answer his question before he could even pose it.

“Your body’s been here the whole time, you just haven’t been the one using it. The man you know as James Wright is actually Jonah Magnus, and shortly after that conversation you had with him, he went from controlling James’ body to controlling yours while maintaining control over the Institute. While we’ve worked for the Institute, we knew him as Elias Bouchard.”

“Or ‘that asshole.’“ Daisy added. Somebody Elias couldn’t identify let out a sharp laugh in response.

There was a lot to take in here, and most of it sounded like sci-fi bullshit, which had never really been Elias’ thing. Sure, he worked for the Magnus Institute, but he’d chosen his workplace less because he had any actual interest in the supposed paranormal encounters being chronicled there and more because they were willing to take him and it seemed like a cushy enough office job, possibly a way to pivot into academia even, if he played his cards right and really felt like delving into that ivory tower life. And he’d stayed because, upon arriving there, he found that the work was decent and the coworkers were nice enough and James was a surprisingly understanding boss.

James, who according to them was actually the guy who had founded the Magnus Institute back in the 1800s, and had stolen over two decades of Elias’ life in order to keep control of it.

“...do you have any proof that you’re not just crazy, or, or making all of this up, or both? Because if you expect me to believe this without any proof, well, that’s one hell of a leap...”

There was a pause before anyone responded, and for a moment Elias felt that his instincts had been validated by that pause, that all this crazy talk about his body being controlled by someone else for twenty-plus years was just that, crazy talk and nothing more.

Then Basira asked, clearly and pointedly, “Did you always have that scar on your left hand?”

“I-”

Daisy spoke up in agreement. “Your body must have changed a lot over twenty-three years, even without us taking your eyes. New scars, wrinkles...”

“He’s not that old.” Probably-Martin objected.

“He’s not that young, either.”

They kept bickering a bit, but Elias tuned it out as he ran one hand across the other, seeing what he could feel, whether anything felt off in the way they were suggesting. Granted, he wasn’t exactly in the habit of examining his hands by sense of touch alone, and he went into it fully expecting to be unsure if anything had changed, but...

But he could feel that scar Basira mentioned on his left hand, a thin line raised slightly above the rest of the skin, and no, that definitely hadn’t been there beforehand. His fingernails were shorter than he remembered them being, too--he’d been procrastinating on filing them for some time now--and the paper cut from last Tuesday, and the handful of skin tags left from absentmindedly picking at his cuticles, were nowhere to be found.

“...shit.”

“I’m sorry.” Jon’s voice had more emotion in it now than he’d heard in it before, though it seemed closer to pity than the sympathy Elias would have preferred. At least it seemed genuine enough.

“So, uh, how does this all tie into you gouging my eyes out, exactly?”

“It’s the only way to get away from it--the Institute, the Beholding, Jonah Magnus. Leave the Eye by losing your sight, or not at all.”

“I honestly thought it’d just kill him--er, you, I guess.”

“But evidently not.”

Elias felt like he was going to be sick.

“What about- about Jonah Magnus? If he’s not in my body-”

“We’re hoping to get to the Panopticon and kill his original body before he can take over anyone else.”

Elias didn’t have a clue what the Panopticon was. Elias also didn’t particularly care right this moment.

“If- if all this is true--and I’m still not sure that’s the case, mind you, but if it is, if Jonah Magnus made me lose twenty-three years overnight... fuck, I’ll kill the bastard myself.”

Someone let out a low whistle, while someone else let out a loud, raucous laugh.

“That’s the spirit!”

“I take back all the times I cursed your name. Elias Bouchard, you’re alright in my book.”

(There was a backstory there, obviously, but Elias was in no hurry to learn the details.)

Elias felt a hand grip his, one that was soft and warm, and as that hand helped pull him up, he heard Probably-Martin say, “Welcome to the team, Elias.”

[friendlycybird]

Season 2 Reactions - Part 1

Alright, my last couple TMA posts were basically one-line reactions to each episode of season 1, I figure I’ll kick off this celebrating-listening-to-100-episodes thing by doing the same for season 2?  A lot of these responses are a little...uh...more...than the one-liners of season one though, as my thoughts about this podcast have only gotten more complex. 

41. I can’t remember if this is the episode where Jon says “I am not a brave man but I am on occasion a stubborn one.” or if that’s a later episode, but that quote is definitely the vibe I get from this episode now that I know it exists. 

42. I was trying to figure out how to word my thoughts on the irony of the fact that the violence inspired by Grifter’s Bone is attributed to the music being bad, but when heard from enough distance to be recalled without madness or memory loss, it’s described as beautiful. While I was looking for the words my brain supplied a one-word question.  Sirens? 

43. There are no words for how glad I am Basira Hussain became a reoccurring character. She’s wonderful. 

44. I’m looking at the titles as I go to jog my memory and when I saw the word “Tightrope” my excitement at a Gertrude episode at long last was almost entirely over run by the image of that little boy up on the tightrope and... *shudder*

45. Fucking Mosquitoes. 

46. Another look at Mike. I only remembered him from Bone Turner’s Tale, and forgot that he’d been the kid mentioned at the end of Pageturner so I didn’t get the significance of this episode until uh... The Coming Storm. 

47. Our first look at Michael as a true otherwordly force in his own right rather then a possibly benevolent monster. His voice was so unsettling! I was a little annoyed in later episodes that “Michael showed up and stabbed me” was more information than Jon was willing to share for some reason? Oh right, his paranoia was approaching full swing at this point. Drove me nuts. 

48. Gerard Keay is my... was...my second favorite character after Martin. (Into Season 3 now and I think Georgie has knocked Gerard down to third) and this episode is the definitive example of why. I’d long suspected he was the sort of man who would grudgingly take time out of his vacation to give life-saving information to a woman he doesn’t even know while complaining about it the entire time, and this confirmation of exactly that was delightful.

49. ...More Meat. Less Meat then usual, but still. 

50. Took me a minute to remember what this one was. The workhouse architecture. As far as I can put together where I am halfway through season 3 the arcitecture stuff is still largely unexplained, isn’t it? Like we don’t know what...being? Robert Smirk was affiliated with, do we? Is it safe to assume it’s The Stranger since that seems to be the series Big Bad, as such things go in terms of this kind of horror. I’ll be keeping an eye on that question, and if I’ve missed something at this point, let me know. 

51. This is where the name Simon Fairchild goes from being an unimportant detail in Freefall to front and center top of the “They’re up to something and it’s FUCKED” list. Okay, maybe not quite *top* but still. 

52. I’m really struggling with matching titles to events...once I remembered the events of this episode though I basically gasped. You may remember my post on season 1, my reaction to A Father’s Love was that it was significantly more sad than it was scary, so an update on the last days of Robert Mentork’s life was certainly welcome, and no less sad.  This episode also stands out to me as the first time I can remember when I developed a rapid and intense *dis*like for the statement giver. 

53. Ah, the Alexandria episode. Our first hint that Gertrude did a bit more than just sit behind a desk while people gave their statements. I sort-of wonder if we’re going to get to see Jon doing any actual travel before the end of the series? 

54. Okay but I adore the phrase “aggressively open mind.” I expect to use it myself at some point in my life now.  That said, I didn’t realize until after the trapdoor was open that this had any connection to Angler Fish. I didn’t recognize the name, I’m bad with names, something that has me at a bit of a disadvantage for tracking the mystery of this show. 

55. It...says something that I have a clearer memory of the...for lack of a better term, philosophy Jordan Kennedy espoused about his work then I did the events of the actual episode? I also cannot put words to what a relief it was to have it confirmed that Jane Prentis is dead, or the horror at realizing that she’s...not entirely unique. 

56. You have no idea how excited I was to hear that Trevor Herbert had continued his statement! The Vampire Lore back in episode 10 had been one of the earliest real peaks of excitement I’d had about this show. Also, the whole “Martin is lying about something” plot was stressing me out because Martin is my favorite and him being anything other than what he seems was...yeah, distressing. Then it was the best thing it could possibly be and I love him even more now. 

57. Fairchild again, and this time coupled with some of the other big names in Weird for this ‘verse. Of course it’d take a lot of them, Space is...ambitious. I have no idea what they’re planning though. 

48. Cannibalism on the Oregon Trail that *isn’t* the Donner Party? I’m impressed. That said, I was actually reminded of another Piers Anthony novel. You wouldn’t think the creator of Xanth would have gone this dark but honestly the later half of the statement reminded me acutely of a scene from Bio of a Space Tyrant. 

56.  When I saw the title of this episode I told my friend it was either about someone who never left his home or about a spider. Imagine my surprise when it was, in fact, about both. This episode did a lot of that, pulling together threads from all sorts of Season One episodes in a way that just intensifies the mystery rather then actually answers any questions. 

60. This one is unnerving just to *think* about.  Like I had a second of not being sure which episode it was so I played the start and as soon as I remembered I was glancing over to make sure my blinds were closed and fighting off a chill down my back. 

[haberdashing]

Cohabitation

TMA fic inspired by real events. Statement of Quinn Morgan regarding their imaginary roommate.

on AO3

Statement of Quinn Morgan regarding their imaginary roommate. Original statement given September 13, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

It all started as something of a joke, really. I’d call it an inside joke, but can you really call it that when you’re the only one in on it? I never thought it’d get so out of hand but, well, here we are.

See, my freshman year in college--university, I guess you’d call it?--my original roommate moved out to room with one of her friends instead. Not a big loss, really, she was always up later than me and was way more into the party scene than I’d ever be. Anyway, housing said they’d replace her, but spring semester came and went without me getting a roommate, which was fine by me. I liked the peace and quiet, liked having the extra space to myself, liked being able to come and go as I pleased.

Sophomore year, though, I knew that would all change. I hadn’t made much in the way of friends in my freshman year, and those I had made were generally male, which. Well. My own gender is more complex than checking off one of the usual two boxes, but to be fair to housing even I hadn’t realized that bit yet. Suffice it to say rooming with any of my guy friends simply wasn’t an option, at least not then and there.

So I went in for a random roommate. Housing said they’d paired me with someone, but didn’t pass along any details besides a phone number that gave me an error message when I tried calling it. Wasn’t sure what to expect when I got back on campus. Honestly, I was kind of scared they’d paired me with some weirdo, even though I suppose by that logic, I’d be “some weirdo” as well.

Whatever I was expecting, though, it wasn’t for move-in day to come and go without my roommate arriving.

I spent a couple days wondering if they’d just missed move-in day somehow, if they’d show up with no notice and start moving things in, but after a week I was starting to doubt that my roommate was ever going to show. I sent housing a vaguely-worded email asking about my roommate, but when they responded asking if there was a problem, I... I didn’t respond. I should have told them the truth of the situation, I suppose, but I figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and I’d enjoy what time I could with the room all to myself.

They stuck a little white-board outside the door of each dorm room for people to write their names, an easy way to introduce yourself to your neighbors, I guess. So I put my name on there--well, my deadname, since I was still using it at the time. And then after a bit of thought, I added the name Heather. I’d never known anyone named Heather, but I’d always thought it was a pretty name, maybe something I’d name a baby girl somewhere down the road. It was a normal enough name, too, one that wouldn’t raise eyebrows or get people asking too many questions. And this way, people passing by my dorm room wouldn’t know that I’d managed to nab a room by myself. Just me and Heather, two ordinary roommates in an ordinary dorm room, nothing to see there, definitely no great conspiracy to be unearthed.

Maybe if I’d stopped there, that’d be all it ever was, just a name on a sign that helped me fool housing into not forcing another roommate on me. But that was just the start of it.

See, I’d always fancied myself a bit of a writer, even though classes freshman year taught me well enough that while I enjoyed it at my own pace, it wasn’t something I’d want to major in, let alone get a career doing. So now that my supposed roommate had a name, I started thinking of her like just another character in one of my stories.

I gave her a full name, one generic enough that it could be the name of someone going to school here--Heather Anne Johnson, I settled on. I decided she’d transferred from another local school, one that some people joked didn’t exist because nobody ever met anyone from there despite them being one town over, though the real explanation was probably just that school being super small compared to us and a lot more religious to boot.

And then I went and made a Facebook profile for her, partly to flesh her out a bit and give me a place to put all these ideas for her I’d come up with, partly so if housing did come snooping around she’d seem more like a real student. The profile picture was a photo of a lilac bush I found on Google, I had “Heather” join the school page and a few others, she even shared a few memes I came across. If you did some research I’m sure you would’ve figured out that her life story only existed through that Facebook page, but at a glance I thought it’d seemed believable enough.

Apparently I was right about that bit, because when I checked on it a week later it had a few friend requests from actual students at my school. I think one of them shared a bio class with me, but I didn’t know any of them super well. I accepted all the requests, though, figured that’d just make the page seem that much more real. I updated it every couple days, too--not on any kind of a schedule, just when I was bored, which was pretty common.

I wasn’t the most social person... I’m still not, I suppose. But when it happened to come up in conversation, I’d tell whoever was asking that I had a roommate, maybe share her name and a few other tidbits about her (I’d decided she had brown hair, was kind of a neat freak, and was majoring in philosophy) if it seemed necessary. It’d all fall apart if anyone visited my dorm room--I hadn’t gone so far as to actually set up the other bed in the room or give “Heather” a separate living space--but nobody ever did. And housing never bothered me again after they responded to that one email of mine, so on that end, it worked just fine, I guess. Nobody suspected that I’d managed to get a room all to myself.

Heather kept getting friend requests from both people I knew and people I didn’t, as I’d post fairly generic status updates and share posts from other students, and at one point I realized my nonexistent roommate had more friends who went to school with me than I did, which... it’s sad, definitely, but I’m not sure whether it says more about how persuasive I was or how little of a social life I had. Probably a little of both.

Then one of my handful of friends from freshman year, Tyson Hunter, asked me about her, a couple weeks after I’d accepted his friend request on her profile. Said Heather had looked sad the last time he’d seen her, and he wanted to make sure she was doing okay.

Now, the one thing I’d never done is posted an actual picture of what Heather was supposed to look like. I’d replaced that lilac bush profile picture with a few other things--rainbows, cartoons, waterfalls, other flowers--but never any of an actual person. I knew I was crossing some lines here, but I wasn’t catfishing anyone at least. So there was no way Tyson could’ve seen what Heather looked like, because she didn’t look like anything, besides the vague descriptions I’d give whenever anyone asked.

Maybe I should’ve told the truth then. Tyson’s a good guy--a smart-ass sometimes, sure, but a nice enough person--and I doubt he’d have ratted me out to housing if I’d just come clean then and there. But now that it came up, I felt kind of weird about having not let him know in the first place, and I didn’t want to just up and confess.

So instead, I just asked some questions, trying not to seem as confused as I really was. What did he mean, “the last time he’d seen her”? When was that? Where was that?

And Tyson said he’d seen her in the halls of the philosophy building the day before, and she kept looking down at the floor and biting her lip, and she looked like she was trying to hold back tears.

I changed the subject after that, because... because it was weird, and because obviously he’d just bumped into some random student who happened to resemble how I’d described Heather and assumed it was her. Which was awkward, given the reality of the situation, and meant that some random brunette had been near tears yesterday, but even if I’d wanted to track down this supposedly-Heather, it’s a big school, that’d take forever. So I tried to just move on and forget about that.

A couple days later another friend of mine, Jack Murphy, said that that roommate of mine, Heather, was, and I quote, “a total hottie”, and was she single, because if so he was interested.

I blurted out that sure, she was single, before actually thinking through my response. I assumed Jack must have mistaken some other student for Heather like Tyson did, and asked where he’d seen her?

Jack’s answer wasn’t as clear as Tyson’s had been. He just said he’d seen her “around” a bunch of times, and that she was cute, that he liked her freckles and her dimples and the way her glasses framed her deep brown eyes. Which... I had decided she had brown eyes, actually, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned that to anyone because who just casually brings up their roommate’s eye color in a conversation?

So one of my friends was drooling over a girl that he thought was the roommate I didn’t actually have. Great.

I think it was when Jack asked if I could set him up with Heather that I realized I was in way too deep.

I told him I’d talk to her about it, but no promises, and then I went to my dorm room and saw the bare bed next to mine and just... just burst out laughing, because all this was ridiculous, really.

This was all during finals week, by the way, which... probably didn’t help my test scores any, but it did mean winter break was right around the corner, so I just stalled Jack until then, figured I could figure out what to tell him about my roommate that didn’t exist over the break.

That winter break was... intense. It’s when I realized I was nonbinary, for one thing, and when my parents sprung on me that they were getting a divorce, for another. So I didn’t have that much time to think about the whole Heather thing. But the couple of times I checked her Facebook profile, a few people had sent messages about sharing classes with Heather--one from some upper-level philosophy class, one from contemporary world history, and two from intro to psych. All things that were probably the sort of classes she’d take if, you know, she took classes at all.

I ignored the messages, and when winter break was up and I met up with Jack again, I told him I hadn’t had time to talk things over with Heather yet, which, well, technically not a lie, right? Jack gave me a folded-up piece of paper and said to pass it along to Heather, let him know what her reaction was.

I just... I just nodded and went along with it. I didn’t look at the thing. I was sure it was a confession of love, or bad love poetry, or something else of the sort, and I really didn’t want to read any of that. I just tucked the piece of paper into my pocket, and when I got back to my dorm room that night, I chucked it onto the bare, empty bed that would be Heather’s if she existed, before going to sleep.

The next day, after going to classes and eating dinner with Tyson, I noticed that the piece of paper wasn’t where I’d thrown it on the empty bed anymore. After a bit of searching, I found that it hadn’t just fallen off, but had somehow ended up in my garbage bin. I opened it, then, and from what I could make out it was exactly the sort of thing I’d expected, a nicely-worded letter asking one Heather Johnson on a date, but what stood out most was the big X drawn to cover nearly the entire page in what looked like red Sharpie.

All of that’s weird, of course, but the part that stuck out to me was that I didn’t even own a red Sharpie, or a red marker for that matter, just a single black Sharpie and a lot of pens and pencils. I figured the rest could be chalked up to- to sleepwalking, or some sort of mental break, or something, but there was no way I could’ve put that big red X on there.

Things kept getting weirder from there, but from the end of January on it, it kind of starts to blur together in my mind. The Facebook account I’d made for Heather started having friends I didn’t remember adding, even a few that weren’t students at the school I went to. Jack came to me red-faced one evening saying that he’d asked Heather about the note he’d written for her and she’d laughed in his face, and it’d been right in front of the cafeteria so half the school saw. Tyson kept asking me questions about Heather’s new boyfriend. Heather’s Facebook account suddenly said that she had a new boyfriend, which I certainly hadn’t put there. (Aaron, I think his name was? Aaron Masters, maybe? I, I didn’t look into it that closely. Think I was a bit scared to look too close, honestly.) I got a noise complaint from a night I hadn’t even been in my room, since I’d pulled an all-nighter in the library just before a big midterm. My parents asked questions about that nice girl they heard in the background of all my phone calls. I kept finding garbage in my bin that I was sure wasn’t mine, like- like a bag of salt and vinegar chips, when I hate those...

Eventually I just broke down. Jack asked me something about Heather--I don’t even remember what he asked now--and I just snapped at him that Heather wasn’t real, I didn’t have a roommate, I made her up and I didn’t get why everybody was just going along with it so much, so stop asking about my imaginary roommate already!

He’d stared at me for a long minute before just shaking his head and saying that it wasn’t funny, that I could do a lot better than that if I was trying to mess with his head.

I hadn’t even realized it was April Fools’ Day.

I snapped at Tyson the day after, though, and then my parents later that evening, and I think that’s when everybody realized it wasn’t just a joke or a prank or whatever, that something was seriously wrong.

The rest of April was... well. I got pulled out of school, thrown in a psych ward for a bit, and then forced into a lot of therapy when I got home. Because everybody thinks I’m the crazy one here, everybody thinks Heather’s real and I’m the weird one for thinking she’s not. But I swear I’m sane! I mean, I got diagnosed with ADD as a kid, and I’ve kind of suspected I might have some kind of social anxiety for a while now, but nothing where I’d have any sort of break with reality like that.

Heather Anne Johnson was a name I assigned to a roommate I didn’t have. She never existed. Except- except everybody thinks she did, now. Everybody except me, anyway.

I’m taking what I’m calling a gap year, though I think usually that’s for when you do it before college, not right in the middle, but it sounds nice at least. Told my parents I thought backpacking across Europe would be good for me, help me get back in touch with the world around me. And some of that was true, but really I just wanted to put as many miles between me and my old school, between me and Heather, as I could.

I’ve been trying to avoid information about her now, but in the middle of June I tried logging into her old Facebook profile, just for shits and giggles, and I couldn’t. The password I’d used for the account for all those months didn’t work anymore. And my computer had saved it, so I wasn’t just typing it in wrong, either.

And around the end of August I checked her profile, thinking about how it’d been almost a year since Heather first came to be and how much had changed since then, and I saw Heather had posted a status just a few days before saying that she was excited to start her junior year of school and meet her new roommate.

I don’t know what good telling you my story will do. You probably won’t believe it any more than the therapists and psychiatrists all did. But I want it on record somewhere, anyway. Because I keep thinking about that latest status update. Keep thinking that whoever Heather’s new roommate is, they’re in for one hell of a time, if they exist any more than she does.

Keep thinking maybe things could have gone even worse for me than they did, in the end.

I think however this gap year of mine ends, it won’t be with me going back to school there. The last thing I want is to hear about someone else’s run-ins with the roommate I invented.

Statement ends.