#tma original statements

[nayeliq1]

"Where did you get that?"

Martin stares at it with wide eyes, setting the tea down quite unsteadily.

"Uhm." Jon looks at him, puzzled. "I don't think I...got it anywhere", he says. "It was here, in my office. I assumed you or- well, someone brought it in for me to record. Why?"

Martin swears under his breath.

"That's not-" Martin adjusts his glasses with a flustered motion. "That wasn't supposed to- You weren't supposed to have that."

"What do you mean?"

He takes the tea Martin set down on his desk, taking a sip. It's perfect. Just the way he likes it. Of course it is. It always is when Martin makes it- though Jon can't remember ever actually having told Martin how he takes his tea.

He waits for Martin to answer, but he just stands there with his eyes flitting around the room, lips pressed tight as his hands worry at the seam of his cardigan.

"Martin?" Jon sets the cup down. "It's a Statement. I'm the Archivist. What do you mean I'm not supposed to have it?"

~oOo~

Or, the one where Jon finds a Statement in his office, and it makes some long-held feelings surface, and some long-overdue conversations finally take place.

Status: Ongoing

Words: currently 12k

Rating: M for canon-typical horror elements

https://archiveofourown.org/works/66075598/chapters/170278147#workskin

[l0sercherry]

If Elias Bouchard is evil then why is he serving cunt so much in this video animatic I w

Sorry about the roughness of it I don’t know how to animate

[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.

[radioactive-yuri]

i love that simon fairchild and mike crew have the exact same sense of humor, but simon's obviously way further into it than mike. mike will give you some tea and have a civil conversation with you, you really have to push him to get him to toss you into the vast. with simon, your fate is entirely dependant on how much fun he has talking to you. and they both think your fear is hilarious.

[cabinette]

Thinking about my TMA OC... A motorcycle butch that just so happens to be an avatar of the lonely :-)

Little doodles.... Rambling + thoughts under the cut (yeah I can't draw helmets lol eave me alooone I had no referencesssss)

I want her to be very much like. Kind motorcyclist. Just looking to give some guy a ride. they never remember her face or her name and she never stops driving, but eventually the road theyre driving on just goes on, and on. And everything is so loud and cold and they want to scream and they want to go but their limbs feel like lead and. And at some point she dropped them off, but they're begging her to take them for another ride. somewhere back home. their original destination. and when she's not there for them when they turn around they'll have become so lost that theres nothing there.

Which of course sounds nice and all but I really want there to be more to her than Depressing Motorcycle Ride yk

Alongside that, however, she's a lady who goes out to bars to find people predisposed to loneliness and romance them and flirt with them until theyre alone with her, and just ghosting them into the lonely in the middle of a makeout session. Hello? hi? Getting quite literally lost in someones eyes because they're too desperate for connection to realise theyre slipping away, and once no one in the world exists but her then they stsrt to dissapear too. Okay? Okay. in anycase, I was struck by the sort of Time Dilation-like trance you get from driving motorcycles for long periods of time. Everything just passes by in a blur yk. you know you can see people you know you can feel the rain on your back, but the wind and the mist just kind of glide over you and it's peaceful....

I have suuuch a visceral vision of a statement giver describing her cigarette smoke. It would have filled them with warmth, It should have put fire in their blood, sparks in their brain— but it just seeped cold until their bones ached for something to anchor onto. The chilling mist brushing their nape like a lover. And its suffocating and its so, so frigid and they feel so alone in her touch, but what else is there? Next thing they know even SHES not there and theyre wandering through the lonely just looking for something to hold but their haaaands keep passinggg through everythingggg and im just. WOUGH

One of the more important and reoccurring details of her are her smiley face keychain and her leather biker jacket with "YOU HAVE NO ONE BUT YOURSELF" etched on the back. Mostly unimportant but I just wanted you all to know. Hehe

[pineconnie]

mmm lonely aligned people w heart conditions maybe 🤔

[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.

[cryptskeep]

ooo you wanna hear my written statement about my tma oc ooo you wanna hear it so bad

[alexo-lotl]

tma has consumed me - had an itch on my leg today, spent a couple of minutes going OH SHIT HAVE I BEEN ATTACKED BY JANE PRENTISS

(shockingly, the answer was no)

[ethan-elliott]

a reminder to all my folks with ao3 drafts go check the deletion date and back it up right now 🫵🫵

[whitleyinstituteofficial]

Statement #0190807

Google doc for alt text

Additional Tags: abandoned building, animatronic, birthday, Chuck E. Cheese Investigated: June 20, 2025 Investigative Team: Magnolia Harkness, Katalina Valentine, Aurora Van Dale, Theodore Flowers, Wilbur Bubblespout Report Written By: Magnolia Harkness Case State: Immediate problem resolved, more research needed

Report: The follow-up we did with Reggie Perrel didn’t turn up much other than his predisposition to a fear of Chuck E. Cheese, stemming from an event at a birthday party when he was young. This could have led to him having such a strong reaction to the events described in his statement. After our own encounter with the animatronic, I’m willing to chalk up the fact that this incident happened on his birthday as pure coincidence and simply the result of overthinking on his part. Understandably, he didn’t have much to say after 6 years. Cynthia Bouvier was more useful, having actually worked at the Chuck E. Cheese before it shut down. She was able to inform us that they had been ordering large amounts of strange parts for ‘repairing’ the animatronic in the months before the establishment closed. Between that information and the research I conducted myself into the functionality of Chuck E. Cheese animatronics, I’m willing to bet those extra parts had something to do with the odd behavior and movements of the animatronic.  The building itself was abandoned, as expected, though Andy found the police reports of the break-in that happened a few months ago (which I have attached). The culprits remain unnamed so we were unable to find them for questioning. The animatronic Chuck E. Cheese, itself, was mostly intact when we entered the building. It seemed to run on a battery of some sort as we cut power pretty quickly. Wilbur attempted to hold a birthday party for it before ultimately impaling it on a piece of arcade machinery, successfully cutting off whatever power supply it was running on. Between the heat of the machinery and some presumed overriding of its programming, I’m unsurprised that the animatronic was able to force its leg to bend in a way I imagine it was programmed to believe it was supposed to be able to. What I am more concerned about is its ability to bite me (yes, Andy, get it out of your system, again). Its punches felt less targeted, but its ability to actually latch onto my shoulder was intriguing. Unfortunately, it was in too much of a state of disrepair to do any thorough investigation into the changes made to its endoskeleton. Andy’s doing further investigation into the computer I was able to take from the building, but I doubt we’ll find much else relating to this particular case.

Magnolia's Personal Notes*: *translated from shorthand I really need to check with H.R. if we have the budget to hire someone else, I can’t keep borrowing Rory.

Additional Photo Evidence

[that-taters-my-tots]

I write original statements/casefiles for TMA and TMAGP, that being said I compiled the data from all 16 of these works into 4 graphs so you can easily see the main Fear present, the gender/pronouns of the statement giver, who recorded the statement, and whether or not it was a statement or casefile.

By sharing these demographics, I'd like to reach out to those who do read original statements to see what they're interested in and to see what/who they'd like me to write about!

[myfandomscollide]

My statement of my character for a Magnus RPG im in with a bunch of friends.

[arthurs-better-half]

Thank you to people who write/draw Jon wearing dresses/long skirts. You make the world go round

[nonegenderleftmasc]

Where I've been (and some fanfic)

I know, I know. It's been a while. Life hit me like a truck. I'm applying for vet stuff? Which I didn't expect but it's working so far!

Tommorow, about this time, I'll be sleeping on an airplane! tommorow is the first day of my mediterranean cruise! So no laptop or art tablet from me!

I will return with pictures, dont worry!

But for now... the next chapter of Proj Pan is here!

I don't know if anyone cares about it but whatever. Turns out writing dialogue for three new characters is tough! (and makes the chapter even longer! But you get to here from someone who isn't Jon! yay!

[phynoma]

I'm gonna be honest, I'm probably going to post about this fic a lot because I spent 4 months putting it together and NOT ABLE TO SCREECH ABOUT IT

SO

You know how Jonny Sims and Alex Newell made the (very solid) decision to not include any explicit kissing sounds/particular types of trauma?

Have you ever thought "what if they did, tho?" Hang on that's not a good job explaining wait

SO

do you like angst? do you like monster!Jon? do you ever think "wow Jon went 0-60 on Martin by season 4, wish we had more build-up or a blatantly over-the-top excuse"

Read my pretentiously titled fic! It has multi-shipping! It has humor! It has surprising amounts of blood body horror! It has sex! It has romance! It has again, surprising amounts of teeth!

It has received rave reviews like "I read this in their voices!" And "oh my GOD" and "😳"

It's fully posted and complete, with gorgeous binding art!