#tma fan statements

[cult-of-the-eye]

False God

Statement of Saskia Rambeau regarding an unusual meeting. Original statement given 3rd December 2006. Committed to tape 29th March 2024. Audio recording by [REDACTED], Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Manchester.

Statement begins.

Oh, uh. Should I just...start? Well, ok, well- I guess I've never quite been a lonely person. Alone maybe, but it's, I've never found it uncomfortable. I have a small flat, I'm busy with my job as a software engineer, I never exactly found it easy to make friends. That's just how life is. Was. I guess.

Anyway, you don't want a sob story about my life, sorry! I, uh, first noticed something strange a couple weeks ago. Just some rustling outside my flat, which I chalked up to a cat or something, probably chasing some rat in a bush. That was, until I remembered that I lived on the top floor. It would be sort of impossible for a cat to be rustling outside my window on the top floor. I didn't go to check what it was, I'm not an idiot. I know what happens to people who are curious. It was only on the fourth night of the noises, when I was so delirious from anxiety that I had gotten less than an hour's sleep within those four days, that I cracked. I wasn't sure what I would find, just that I wanted to make it stop.

You might sit there and think, it's just a rustling noise, it's probably the wind or some piece of litter getting jostled through a drain pipe, but you don't understand. When you spend all that time with just your thoughts for company, going from screen to screen to the dark walls of your bedroom, it does something to you. And usually that's fine. Comfortable, even. But when that predictability is disturbed, you start to do stupid things, like walk up to your window with a kitchen knife tucked under your sleeve.

I inched towards it, moved more by adrenaline than coherency. The night was clear, weird for a Manchester night, but I wasn't focused on that. There was just enough moonlight to illuminate my hand and the little jutting out piece of brick just outside my window. Now that I think about it, it seems almost...intentional. I gripped on to the handle, took a few short breaths and wrenched the window open with a small shriek. There was nothing. Of course there was nothing. Of course I had tormented myself over a silly little noise for days on end, for nothing.

And then I turned around.

You know how different religions have different images of their gods? How some have 5 hands, others 10? Some view it as heresy to even try to imagine their god? Some have wildly different interpretations even within one singular religion. Describing what materialised in my bedroom that night, would sort of be like if you asked me to describe god. If you asked me 3 days ago, I would've said it was a bright, pulsating light, softening and sharpening my vision in tune of the beating of my heart in my throat. That night, I would've said it was insectoid, feelers twitching towards me in a curious manner. Yesterday, I wouldn't have been able to begin to describe the events of that night. But today? Today, it seems more like a- a deer. The one you see at 2 am on a country road, that stops you in your tracks, headlights shimmering off the darkness of their eyes. It's nothing you've seen before and you know it's nothing you'll see again. The only thing I can say with absolute certainty is that it was beautiful.

I'll be honest with you. I'm not sleeping. I quit my job. The couple of people I would occasionally talk to haven't seen me in weeks. I spend my days staring out that window, into the glorious light of the day and darkness of the night. Nothing can shroud the Holy One. Don't you see, Archivist? I didn't have anything before and now I have someone to serve. My god is benevolent, it has granted me a new chance at life. I know my identity, where I belong, clearer than I ever have and I think it's time you saw it too.

It will be beautiful.

Statement ends. Did not love that ending. The original copy came with a sealed container of what seemed to be...dust? It says "Do Not Open" and I've never been one for defying authority. Any attempted follow ups to this case have obviously led to dead ends. 2 weeks in and I'm already starting to see a pattern here. I'm...gonna...go get some water.

[deerdogs]

sum older hermit archives stuff If u like hermits at all Pleaaaaase go listen to the hermit archives on youtube……. Holy peak

[not-entirely-made-up-of-spider]

Something The End should explore more: The End as in any End. Not just death, but things that we lose that remind us of death in their impermanence. The decay of our childhood home. The end of a relationship. The change from your teen years into proper adulthood. Irreversible change, signifiers of age, nasolabial lines, secondary sex characteristics and not getting asked for your ID anymore at bars.

The feeling that you can never go back. An intentionally left behind crack in reality that shows you how things once were blurred through sepiatone and television static. Through it you see your child self clear as day and there are tears in her eyes. Your favorite plush toy, no, not even your favorite, one along many has been destroyed by your mother's vacuum. You and your ineptitude and your ambivalence left it on the ground and failed to keep it safe and now it is no more. It can never come back, no amount of sewing kit necromancy nor tear-motivated replacement purchase can return things to how they were. The vacuum cleaner roars at you. You feel the suction empty your room of love and innocence. It growls, loud and louder as it takes away pieces of you. You are the same as the plush toy, losing first an eye, and then your lips, and never your heart because you never had one to begin with. It pulls and drags you in and you cannot resist as parts of your life blow past as leaves in a summer monsoon. The coming End will destroy you, but it will not be merciful and swift.

You will feel each piece of your life rip stitch and sinew from your body and know that it is one more thing you will never get back. Grade 9 and 10 and the three years after high school you spent doing nothing and you never had a heart and you cannot bear to move forward so you stagnate but the end comes and it sweeps you away with the trash and you were nothing and nothing ever remains.

The stillness of death is a mercy in the face of unending loss.

[bonesbugsandballads]

No one:

Literally no one:

Eric Delano in MAG154:HELLLLOOO!!!MY WIFE WAS A B*TCH!AND I DON’T LIKE HERRRR!

Gerry Delano in MAG111:HELLOOO!!!MY MUM WAS A B*TCH!AND I DON’T LIKE HERRRRR!

[end-enthusiast]

Ok because nobody has asked what are your headcanons for dark avatars?

these guys are another somewhat chilly bunch — it’s comparable to the cold of a cloudless night!

you don’t necessarily see them out in the open a lot i feel . not because they’re homebodies, but they prefer to be where their patron stems from

they lean a little more on the passive part of the spectrum like avatars of the end do, but i will note that they do have more of a bite to them

(most are calm and relatively collected, but there are exceptions to that as well :])

[martinblackwoodhater]

You know how funny I've curated my Tumblr for you page? I'll scroll and right underneath some fluff teaholding post will be your account dissecting how Martin is a terrible character/terribly written and I find this occurance in my life fascinating.

brutal mischaracterisation in one of those two posts and it probably isn't mine.

[sugarsword]

I find it interesting that Elias had such a subtle role in the final season of TMA. Like bruh was basically THE background character. Just an all seeing dude stuck on loop.

[offbrandhand]

Thought I was done? Nope!!!!

I was almost done bc this background made me want to kms

[ozzyd27]

Dark Statement

*I always found The Dark most boring so this took a while, but in the end I created something I like. Beware though! This story is very dark near the end. There are descriptions of self harm and suicide. Don't read if you're not in the right head space!!!!*

The Ozzy Statements Episode 14: Torment In Darkness

Statement of a mysterious shadowed figure, regarding his tormented victims. Original statement given March 12th 2009. Recorded by Ozzy, The Archivist.

Statement begins.

This is what you must understand, Archivist: The Dark is inevitable. It is within the core of all primal fear. When does one feel most hunted? When does one feel most alone? When do you feel the prickle of a gaze on your neck? What do you think will be left after all is dead? Darkness. Black. Void.

Hidden in the deep, drowned recesses of our existence hides pools of total black so abyssal that they actively absorb light. They bend and blind, powerful and guttural. The gurgling, wretched, primordial darkness you would know had you never existed. Like a whirlpool they drag the curious in, but like a flame they flicker out as victims succumb. They hide nestled in the alleys, they lick the air from the gutters, they nest and breed within the caves, and eventually they slither upon mortals to feast on their hopes. Shadows pulse around these multitudinous oceans of ink, to slather humanity in utter unknown.

But now it is known.

Below, miles below, inside of the bowels of the earth is where I was born. I was birthed from a shifting pool of darkness, where hopes and reveries are foreign. Sentience created from nothing, cruelty begotten by apathy. For decades I learnt the nature of shadow, and the oppostion they hold to humanity.

Now I can feel the points of pure void all around us, forever just out of your sight, and I can control them. I can control all of the darkness in this world Archivist, and beyond! I shiver from the dying of a distant star which bathes the universe in void, I relish in the unknown chasms left undisturbed and corrupted with tendrils of slimy darkness upon distant planets. But right here, upon the earth is where it all feels the most pleasurable. And do you know where there is the least light on earth? Where the hidden pools of void most lurk?

Within the body, the organs, between tissue and bone, infecting the sinew and muscle. The body is the darkest place of all, and in one instant I can coax the darkness to cumulate around its hidden heart, and harden into an orb within the brain. Instant brain death, at my will, at my fingertips. Alas, there is no horror in that, nothing heavy in the pit of your stomach, no deep bubbling dread at something beyond your comprehending just out of sight.

So I lurk, I wait, I stalk. Last night I followed a woman home for over 2 hours, she was almost running near the end, poor thing. She knew I was coming closer as the shadows around smothered her, but every time she turned around there was nothing there. Until there was. Her fear was impeccable.

The reason I'm here, though, Archivist, is to document a very special man. He was wonderful to torment, and I wish only for him to be remembered as a perfect victim, the kind who avatars only ever dream of.

His name was Kevin, and around a week ago I found him curled in a ball in an alley, drowning in alcohol after a breakup. Malleable. Weak. Delicious. It turned out that he lived next to his ex, and so when he returned home, stumbling down the street, I bent the shadows inside her home. They slithered and hardened upon the couch to appear in the shape of another man. Quite benign, I will admit, but Kevin instantly collapsed into tears, believing she had already moved on from him. When he scrambled for the doorknob to his home and lurched inside I discovered that it was delicously miserable. Dim, flickering lights spluttered above piles of rubbish, pools of dirty clothes, stacks of mouldy plates near the sink. He kicked and tripped over sporadic cans and plastic bags littering the floors until he reached a murky, stained yellow bed. Clearly this man was in the abyssal clutches of desperate poverty and struggling through life, as letters were strewn about depicting urgent warnings, bail conditions, and many negative numbers. He ignored them all and crumpled on the bed.

I got a great idea from these letters, which surely incurred the wrath of the police on a regular basis. The shadows on the porch hardened into a massive black fist, and Kevin jumped in shock as 3 massive, rapturous knocks resounded throughout the house. Tears streamed down his face as he muttered “No, no not again please please!”, he went to investigate but found his doorway completely empty once opened. His relief was palpable, yet stunted by what seemed to be the silhouette of a police car down the road…

I did not let him sleep that night, even as he drifted upon the rotted wings of alcohol, slumber only a blink away. The piles of junk made wonderful canvases for horrors. The chair with coats and dirty jackets piled upon it was easy to manipulate to look like a horned demon. Through the open door the multitudinous detritus looked like an army, a gang of murderers lurking, waiting for him to shut his eyes. Beneath the flickering light they seemed to move and breathe, and grin. Any time he became complacent, I would brush past his neck, or make something fall in another room. His wide eyes of utter fear were beautiful, a masterpiece, when they laid upon my creations.

I expected him to go to work the next day, but he had no employment. I infer that he was getting money from his ex. At around 7 AM he fully gave up on sleeping, and went to his house phone - he didn't even have a mobile phone, how amazingly pathetic. The beep of inputted numbers was loud and piercing, and I was intrigued as to who he would call. It is important, you see, to know your victim's source of hope so that you can violently crush it. However, there was no need for these measures as the ringing phone went to voicemail. A weak, trembling voice drifted from Kevin “Hey d-dad, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry… I know it's been hard for you since mum… I miss her so much, b-but I don't want to lose you too!” He paused, becoming distracted by a moving shadow in the corner. He shook his head and continued, tears lurking beneath his words “I just needed the money, dad. They… told me I definitely wouldn't get caught! They p-promised me! I would never have- It was so… embarassing… I regret it. But I, I need help now dad. I need you! Please just…” his voice became meek and quiet as he uttered the next words “...don't hate me”.

I could scarcely hide my excitement, this vessel of weakness and fear was beyond perfect. I took advantage, and cut the phone line with hardened shadow so Kevin would never know if his father forgave him. Still, he stayed inside his home. I think he had long since given up on trying to get a job, instead opting to read books inside. Unfortunately everywhere he went inside his home, the lighting was too dim to read properly. The deep shadows made him squint, and could only get through a couple of pages before he got a headache and gave up.

Again, the door was knocked 3 times, and again there was nothing.

Whenever he opened the curtains, they would be closed when he turned back.

Again the door was knocked 3 times, and again there was nothing.

The cool breeze turned icy around his ankles, he swore he could see black darkness gripping them tightly.

Again the door was knocked 3 times, but this time he didn't answer. It wasn't me, though, that time. It was his ex girlfriend, prepared to apologise, with the intent of getting back together. Away she walked solemnly, as Kevin was curled inside with his hands upon his ears, feeling that he was completely crazy. Shadows crawled on his shoulders but he didn't move, just cried.

A couple of hours later, a broken man stumbled into the bathroom, despair painted within his eyes. The shadows resting upon his brain stem whispered to me his intentions, and I smiled. His tired hands reached towards a small closet, and the shadows lifted from it, encouraging him forward. Within it was a blade. An old blade crusted with blood, not used in many years. Tears running down his face, Kevin slumped to the floor and stared at the blade in his hand. “Do it Kevin” the shadows behind his head whispered.

Thin slits at first, on his leg. A desire to feel something, anything, to know he wasn't crazy. Then they became longer, deeper, droplets of blood running like his tears, falling into the cracks of the tiles, fueled by self hatred and despair. “I deserve it” he mutters groggily. “You deserve it” I whisper assuredly.

His legs, and then arms and torso, became a battlefield of wounds, soon cutting deep to fascia, encouraged by the swarming embrace of darkness. Now its too late, he thinks, there's no going back now. Fear slices through his flesh. Fear for what would happen if he survived, the judgement and strife. Fear for the verdict of his father. Fear for his unknown, but surely horrible, future. Blood. Gore. Delicious hopelessness.

Slowly he bleeds out, a grimace upon his face, and torrents of blood drying on the tiles. Darkness envelopes him, and Kevin's weak, thin flame is no more.

I do wish I could have stayed with him for longer, he was by far my favourite, but I can never resist the fatal crescendo. It's all just so

Statement ends.

Delicious.

[shhhimnothereiswear]

DO YOU WANT SOME IDEAS FOR FAN WRITTEN TMA STATEMENTS?? OF COURSE YOU DO.

A dentist with an unnerving love for teeth (unsure)

Cannibalism as love trope thing??? (The Slaughter)

Something to do with insence starting to smell of blood(?) (The Slaughter/Hunt?)

A child obsessed with Monsters Inc. getting taken by the Spiral (bonus points for writing it from the perspective of the child grown up)

A performer who pretends that their audience isn't there to cope with stage fright until they aren't (The Lonely)

A statement from a minimalist (The Lonely/Vast

Something about someone who bites their fingernails, but they just don't stop and eat more and more of themselves (unsure)

Someone who has those glow in the dark stars on their ceiling, but they just go out (The Dark)

Someone who owns venus "fly" traps (The Flesh)

Someone who gets lost in the maze of IKEA (The Spiral)

What's worse than finding a worm in your apple?? Thousands.

If you use any of these, tag me so I can read them! :3

[echoesoftheeldritch]

Wanna hear a scary story?

Or better yet...

Do you wanna tell us a scary story?

Echoes of the Eldritch is a fan podcast that takes place in the world of the Magnus Archives in present day, in one of the worlds that the fears moved to.

We are currently looking for writers (among others) to join us in making this podcast!

To be a part of this, all you have to do is join our discord and write a 1.5k TMA-esque statement to apply as a writer! No experience is needed, we would love to have you!

We are also looking for voice actors, artists and editors! Find out more on this blog, or by joining the discord!

See you there!

[lepidoptera-spirals]

"Come with me?"

Statement of Hallory Taller, regarding a person she met at a bus stop. Statement taken June 28th.

I want to preface I’ve never had hallucinations before this. I’m not on any medications, and I have a pretty clean medical history in terms of anything mental. I don’t know if what I saw was real, I only know that your.. institution is the only place that’ll somewhat believe me. I don’t know what she- it- they- what that person was, but I-

Right. From the beginning. Hold on.

I worked for a small company as a graphic designer when this took place. It was January 4, and I’d just been freed from a particularly unpleasant shift that day. There’d been a fight with my supervisor, I don’t want to get into details here..

Anyways, I usually take the bus home. I don’t live too far from the office, but it’s a quicker method than walking. The bus stop’s never crowded, and I’ve come to recognize the few people that take it. I couldn’t relay any of their names, of course, but I most of their faces are familiar to me. That day, the bus was- annoyingly- late, since it’s usually scheduled to show up at 19:05. So I waited, alone. None of the people I’ve come to recognize showed up that day, but it was none of my business to fret over it. I frankly didn’t care. I checked the time a couple times off my phone. It was about 19:15.

After not-too-long, a person walked up beside me. I’ve never seen her around the area, but the most likely assumption was that she was just new in town. I assumed she was here waiting for the bus. O-of course she was, that’s the point of a bus stop, but- I don’t know, something about her seemed.. wrong. She had orange hair, bright orange and the bottom half of her hair was very dark brown, and put up in a bun. Her clothes were casual, maybe a hawaiian shirt, I don’t remember. And I never really got a good look at her face, but oddly enough I do remember that she had long curly eyelashes, I can only describe as looking like a bug’s antenna.

I didn’t say anything to her when she first arrived, miffed as I was. But she turned to me, in an odd swift motion that made me feel dizzy, and asked where the bus was going. I didn’t hear her the first time, and she asked again. “Where is the bus going?”

I answered after the second time, Devon Street , and she looked.. no. No, I can’t.. I don’t think it was a smile. A butterfly landed on her face, even though I didn’t see it appear.

It was back to silence after that, thankfully. I just wanted the bus to get here quicker. Something about that stranger made me deeply uncomfortable, and the butterfly did. not. leave. I checked my phone again. A blurry, fluttering 19:15. Not a minute had passed. I felt dizzy. I stared at that screen for more than a minute, I know I did.. and it didn’t change.

"Is it late?” She asked me another question, which made me realize I was zoning out. I mumbled a half-assed response, and she shrugged. The motion was uncanny, like as she moved from one position to another, parts of her moved independently and rearranged to form the next. 19:15.

I think another 5 minutes of silence passed, as I compulsively checked my phone every 20 or so seconds. She didn’t talk or move- not in a way I recognized- standing beside me idly with an umbrella in her hand. I don’t remember her having that before, but I probably just didn’t realize until then. It was completely sunny out. Another butterfly landed on her shoulder. 19:15.

"Are you lost?” She asked after.. I don’t know how long, I lost track. It was still 19:15. No, of course not, I wanted to say, since I didn’t think I was. I’d always taken that bus. I’ve always used that bus stop. But it felt.. wrong, unfamiliar, now. A few butterflies landed on the sign beside me. She moved again, tilting her head in this taunting smile, with the same unnerving motion that nearly made me vomit. “Yes,” I told her.

She reached out a hand to me, and a butterfly landed on it. “Come with me?” Was her last question.

I reached.. to take her hand, but mine.. slipped through it. It wasn’t solid, no, a mass of butterflies mimicking the shape of a human hand. It fell apart in front of my eyes, into a dizzy swirl of confused insects, and I am not ashamed to admit that I screamed. She laughed, her mouth splitting open as the lepidoptera that made up her face fluttered to form a smile.

I abandoned that stupid bus stop, turning on my heel and booking it down the road. I didn’t care, I just wanted to get home. Away from that. That.. thing. Things. By the time I’d made it to my front door, tired, sweaty, a little nauseous, I checked my phone again. It was 19:16.

I don’t take the bus stop anymore. I’ve just been saying that it’s easier to walk home, that I need more exercise, but.. I’m worried I’ll meet that person again. I still see butterflies on the sign when I walk past it.

[STATEMENT ENDS]

[seventh-district]

i’ve just finished season one of TMA, and being someone who’s okay with spoilers is fun because it means i can peruse the wiki and scroll through the tag and i get to become privy to all sorts of weird, wonderful, halfway-out-of-context information that i get to look forward to understanding in the future

like. what do you mean Leitner’s in the tunnels?

what do you mean Jon eats the extinguished sun??

what do you mean it’s spelled Gerard Keay???

[kgcressie]

are tma statement fics still a thing that people enjoy? if I were to hypothetically write (ie have already written half of) a statement fic with a new statement for each fear would people hypothetically want to read that??

[thelooneytoon]

The Magnus Institute Fic Masterlist

The Archivist and the Historian

Overview

Setting the Scene

Descriptions

Aesthetics

Ch. 1 ~ coming soon

AO3 Link

[cult-of-the-eye]

(TW brief allusion to car crashes, monster horror)

Statement of Chitra Kulkarni, regarding the view out of her bedroom window. Originally given 27th May 2008, recorded 31st March 2024, by [REDACTED], Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, Manchester.

Statement begins. 

I don’t know what you want me to say, ok? I was literally just looking out my window and something seemed weird and now for some fucking reason, I’m here. No, I’m not gonna calm down, I don’t even want to be here in the first place. Jesus christ. [sounds of slumping in chair]

[unintelligible] 

Fine. I guess. I can start somewhere.

I.. am not the biggest fan of my room. It’s not like I’ve had many horrific experiences in there, just a lot of shouting and mental breakdowns. But yeah. Lately, I put a lot of energy into making my room…palatable, I guess. Fairy lights and the whole shit. As much as I hate to admit that it worked, it did. Little twinkly fuckers around my room kicked the brain chemicals into working. I guess. Anway, um, in the spirit of mental health, I got into a habit, of sorts. Every night, I would climb onto my washing basket, stretch open the window and reach my head out into the night air. I felt clean, in that cold water on a winter morning way. I felt like god, in that absolute sense of detachment from those below. I wasn’t the person at their door, metallic with alcohol and metal keys and nor would I ever be them. The air was sweet, sugar granules on a milky night sky and I would breathe, deep. Even on the days when all I could think about was the screech of cars and ambulance sirens, I looked down on my little world of street lamps and pavements drenched in darkness like biscuits in tea. Until one day, I saw something. 

It began as a flicker. At first, I thought it was the reflection of my fairy lights in the open window. Ha. I just. It looked like just some guy, in a hoodie and jeans and I remember thinking I had similar jeans, in a surreal calmness. But he had a stiffness to him as if he was being held up by a dissociative puppeteer. It could’ve been a million things, maybe he was just some weird guy, having a moment. And then it turned to me. I finally caught a glimpse of his face. It was split into a painful smile, filled to the brim of layers and layers of baby teeth. They didn’t look like they belonged to him. I reached into myself for a scream but found nothing but blind terror. Whatever peace I found in that night sky, was shattered by the knowledge that I was not alone. I was not separate, nor clean. Not when he was looking at me with those sinkhole eyes that never seemed to end, taking over the sky in its entirety.

I don’t know when I stopped looking. I don’t really think I had a choice. I remember the sun glistening through the clouds, reintroducing the rest of my body to my aching eyes. I remember the soreness of my joints and the phone call I immediately made to my boss to take a sick day. I know you might think it’s some kind of hallucination or drug trip and I don’t know how to prove it to you other than coming here and explaining it to you, but i just can’t afford to not be believed,

I see him every time I close my eyes, [REDACTED]. I haven’t slept in days, please, could you please make it stop- i’m begging you PLEASE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT STOP MAKE IT-

Statement ends. 

I think I might, um, I think…I’m going to go get some air. Yeah.

[click]