#tma oc fan statement

[starrbuggie]

Camera Shy

[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Jasmine Parr, Concerning…?

JASMINE

 Oh-! …A stalker… Or something thats been watching me..?

ARCHIVIST

Statement taken directly from subject on [RETRACTED]

Statement Begins:

JASMINE

 I guess it started on the way home from the pub. At the time i was staying with my friend Marco in-

ARCHIVIST

 Full names please Ms Parr.

JASMINE

Oh right. Marco Connors, I was in the process of getting a job here in London, so I was staying with him at his flat in Camden, Some other friends and I- Jodie Whitehall and Carter O’Neil- wanted to go out for drinks in celebration for me getting a few interviews,Right? we went to the Camden Eye, which is a great Pub, fully recommend it if you're in the area! We had a great night, and I was probably the least drunk getting out of there. I escorted them to the tube station and started to walk home, He lives like 15 minutes away, so I wasn’t all too scared to walk home alone, But as soon as I got out the station I got that feeling when someone’s watching you and All the hair on the back of your neck stands up, You know that on right? I actually kinda got it when I walked in here actually?

ARCHIVIST

Yes, I do.

JASMINE

Ok, cool, because some guys I talk to don’t realy get that and… yeah, sorry getting sidetracked.

[JASMINE takes a breath in.]

JASMINE

Okay so when I started getting that feeling I walked quicker, because I just wanted to get home. But honestly, no matter how many detours I made Whatever it was was still there. It felt like every single CCTV camera and screen was just staring. So in all my drunken confidence, I turned around and tried to find whatever it was that was making all of it stare at me.

See, The only other person on the street was a short man probably around 5’5’’ and probably in his early 20’s? And he looked like he had just stepped out his shift at a library. Thinking about it he wore this pair of gold rimmed, circular glasses which were tinted blue, but they didn’t hide the fact that he was looking directly at me. He had a camera in his hands, like a vintage point and shoot kind of camera. But like, he was kinda… Pathetic, like I could beat him in a fight. So thats what I tried, but as soon as I started walking towards them they disappeared down an alley. And I couldn’t find him again. 

So I continued back to Marco’s, but every time I turned my head I thought I saw them out of the corner of my eye, always staring. The CCTV in the area honestly seemed hostile, like it was trying to look through me, calculating the best way to make me scared of it.

I got back without a hitch, Marco was home so I told him about it, he said he’d go out with me if I wanted to go out in the evening any other day that week. He's protective like that. I thanked him and went to bed.

I thought it would be a one night thing, but everywhere I went I felt it, but I continued as normal, because I wasn’t going to just ignore the Interviews like that y’know? I spent so much time waiting to get them, so I wasn’t just gonna give them up.

Well I passed an interview and go hired as a receptionist at a hotel nearby. Ment a few late nights, and at this time the watching feeling had gone down a bit. Well… kind of, I wasn’t all that on edge anymore, but It felt more like being glanced at than being stared at? Oh well, Then I saw them again. This time on the tube, they weren’t directly looking at me but of course that damn camera was pointed at me and that feeling was back full force. They followed my off the train, but they were so natural about it, like this was a normal thing. This time they had a tall, thin person with them. They were both chatting casually, like they weren’t following me. But I knew they were. Those eyes were on me, keeping a close eye on me, like I was some sort of prey to them. It happened most nights after that as well

Honestly, at this point you probably think I’m weird for not going to the police with this, but I did. And somehow, conveniently, all the CCTV footage for the area went out as soon as I stepped out of the tube station, every night. That's creepy, but not weird enough to warrant a trip here. But it's what happened a few nights ago that made it creepy.

I was getting really tired of this, so I wanted to do something, the paranoia had caught up to me by then. Taping up any cameras on my phone and laptop and on Marco’s as well, I had brought so many safety devices with my excess money. Marco had recommended some therapists to me because he was really worried. But I just wanted it to stop. I had started seeing them around where I work a couple weeks ago and it scared me. Then the camera appeared.

A few nights ago, as I was leaving work I found a camera tucked in my bag. It was an old Olympus Trip 35 with a green band around it. I did my research when I got home, but at the time, the only thing I recognised was that it was Exactly the same as the one the man carried. And I panicked. Obviously. I got Marco to pick me up, Because, obviously I didn’t want to go home by myself that night. I remember staring at the camera in the car. It had a thin leather strap to put around your neck, but the thing that truly intrigued me was the luggage tag that was attached to it. It was made of the same deep black leather that the strap was made of, and the info card was designed like it had been rented out of an art group or collection? The card was covered in so many swirling colours it was was hard to see the fancy black writing that was in the center, It seemed to say ‘Property of the Dread Collection’ and at the bottom it said ‘Art credits to The Painter’ but like, capitalized, like it was a person? I took the card out of the tag and flipped it over. The back was pitch black, with a photorealistic eye on the back, I say that, but it seemed more real than real life in a way. It was creepy. But intriguing. Which is scary to say, Knowing what I did.

That night is kind of a blur. I remember flashes I guess? I remembered that Marco had some film in his junk drawer, so I put it in the camera. I left the house in a hurry, why, I don’t know. I saw the man again. We were in an empty car park. 

[Static fluxuates]

He led me through the steps. How to mark a target, and how to Know things about them. The camera told me, Is the best way to explain it. And then they told me to meet them again in a week. I’ve Seen and Known so much this week, and its scary. I don’t want to Know but I need to, in a sense? It’s obsessive at this point.

Todays the last day. I’m meeting him again tonight. I just hope he understands why I can’t give the camera back.

[Click]

[Click]

ARCHIVIST

Statement Ends.

Ms Parr’s statement seems quite strange, Though most of these things should, and have apparently, been reported to the police, but there's very little they can do without proof. Most of this could also be attributed to a mental condition, maybe caused by stress. However, If this is some kind of supernatural encounter, I’m intrigued to know what this ‘Dread Collection’ is. I just hope it’s not like Jurgen Lighner’s library.

However… a couple hours after Ms Parr’s statement was taken a note was handed over to reception by a person that matched the description of the man in the statement. The note stated: ‘Sorry about that archivist, I’ll try not to send anyone else your way again’ and was signed ‘Ophanim’ which, If I remember correctly, is a rank of angels also known as ‘The many eyed ones’, which could be important.

[Click]

Say hello to one of my magnus archives OC's Gabriel "Ophanim" Ashworth, an Avatar of the Eye that specialises in stalking and secrets. They work mainly around Camden, often stalking out the aptly named, Camden Eye. He works alongside another (The tall one in the statement) to stalk out targets.

[offbrandhand]

Thought I was done? Nope!!!!

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

[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]

[eyes-that-decieve]

((Alis statement time!))

((Massive TW for child neglect (you know, lonely stuff), narcissistic parenting (probably inaccurate representation of it but we ball), moths, blood, description of (severe amounts of) insect bites, trypophobia, missing eyes.))

She didn't really interact with me other than when she needed to. Dad did his best, but Mother tried to keep him as far away from me as she could. Claimed,'He would turn her little doll against her.' I could never keep any friends for longer than a week. They were so scared of Mother. She always chased away my friends.

[Tape recorder click, tape begins to whir]

Alis: Do you want my statement? I know you haven't had one for a bit, and I can see you're curious.

Styx: Only if you're comfortable with it. I don't want to force anything from you if you don't want to remember it.

Alis: It's a statement, you know I'm not. I'm going to give it to you anyway, say your words.

Styx: [Sigh] Fine. Statement of Alis, regarding their mother and events leading up to their Becoming. Statement taken direct from subject, the 21st of May, 2024. Statement begins.

Alis: I wasn't truly aware of how my family acted towards me for a long time. I was my mother's lovely little doll, to be dressed up in pretty frilly dresses and shown off in front of the relatives.

It was very lonely as a kid. Wake up, make myself breakfast, walk to school, then head home, make my own dinner, go to bed. Mother was always out, but I can't remember her explanations as to why. Looking back on the few I can recall, they don't sound quite right to me now. I know she wasn't drinking or anything like that. She was always sober and distant when she came home.

Whenever she was there, it was to dress me up for something. A party of some sort, usually. Wear the dress, chin up, elbows off the table, don't ruin the image. Our image, she said, but I never cared for that. Remembering now, it was always about her. Look pretty, show off her work to the relatives. She always seemed colder, more calculated when talking to me like that. She spoke in a very sweet voice and smiled at the relatives, though. They always fawned over her, cooing at me and saying what a pretty thing I was. Mother always beamed at the praise, as if it them saying I was pretty extended to her. Like a child showing off an art project and puffing up at the compliments over their work. She got enough compliments herself for her striking makeup and dresses that always seemed to almost float, moving like fog.

How can you be alone when you're surrounded by people? How can you be lonely if you are constantly talked to and told "you would look so much better if you lost a little weight" or "don't wear that, you'll embarrass us!"

Maybe two years ago, I started finding little dots on my clothes in the closet. Only on the dresses I never wanted to wear. I left whatever they were where they were, maybe out of spite, but I really didn't care. It's not like I wore them very often, and Mother would be able to buy new ones, though she would be livid about it. Mother knew best, but she would could DEAL WITH IT.

Maybe a few days later, the dots were gone, spiky green caterpillars in their place. I wasn't usually a big fan of bugs, but these ones never bit, only crawling on my hands if I sat next to them. They seemed to like me. Not long after, all the dresses were moth eaten, and after a week, they were completely ruined. They never touched my other clothes, only the ones that reminded me of what I hated.

After that, there were cocoons on my clothes. These were on the ones I wore, but I didn't even notice for a while. It just looked like white spots, like I must have accidentally spilled bleach on my sweater. But if I felt it, I could feel something under the white silk. I didn't want to disturb them, so I didn't put the clothes with the cocoons into the wash.

Two weeks, and the first of the moths emerged. They held on to my sweater as I was wearing it, letting orange and red wings dry in the air. I would take the remains of the cocoon off of the fabric after they were free, so Mother wouldn't see it. She had been home much more than usual those past few weeks, checking in on me more than she ever had.

I heard a loud crash from downstairs days later and came down there to see she had crushed one of the moths. Its wings were crumpled between her fist and the wall. She looked up at me, her eyes seeming to pin me to the wall, just like that moth. Somehow, I knew that was my first moth. Just like I knew she was blaming me for this. After that, I would always hide my moths whenever she checked on me. I started keeping their cocoons under my sweater vest when I wore it, so she wouldn't see. I was never scared of them, I was only scared she would kill them, and I would be alone again.

Last year, she wanted to have her birthday party at our house. She invited all her friends and family, it was to be a really fancy party. Not that all the other ones hadn't been, but she had her heart set on a bigger one.

When the time came for us to get ready, Mother would always get dressed and ready first, so she could help me and pretty me up to exactly what I should look like. This time, she came into my room in her usual clothes, holding an absolutely ruined dress. Apparently, some of my moths had gotten into her closet, too. She screamed at me that this was all my fault, and she was ruined. Her party was ruined. Her image, ruined.

She came in too fast for everyone to hide in time, a few still perched on my hair. She raised a hand as if to crush one of the moths near her, but I shouted at her to stop. I wasn't going to have any more friends chased away. I stood up to stop her, but I wasn't fast enough. She caught one of the moths between two hands, and pulled off one of its wings. That was the last straw. The entire swarm flew out from the closet, covering her until I couldn't even see her anymore under the flapping wings. She must have screamed, but I barely heard anything. I must've had more friends than I thought.

She fell at some point, all the moths on her back caught between her and the floor. After a few minutes, they all flocked back to me, leaving Mother crumpled on the floor.

Her skin was covered in small holes where pieces were bitten off, and parts of her cheeks were fully chewed through. Her clothes were fairly intact, just tattered at the edges. When she turned her head towards me, her eyes were GONE.

I ran from that house. I tried to run from my friends, but they found me. Something told me they wouldn't hurt me. Something told me they were my friends now. They are part of me.

Alis: Okay, that's it.

Styx: You seriously let me compel that out of you?!? [Sigh]

Alis: No, no, it's fine-

[Tape recorder clicks off]

[3ris-d1st0rtionnn]

StoLE tHiS fILe FroM THe aRcHivES… dON’t TeLL @speyeralling-down-thy-majesty , bUt i JuST WantEd a LittLE MemENtO oF ThEsE EvENtS… eVEn ThouGh tHeY’Re StiLL iN My HaLLwaYs SomeWhErE :)

Statement of Jade Connor, regarding a strange theme park attraction. Recorded by [REDACTED], head Archivist of the Magnus Institute.

I don’t even know why I decided to send this your way. I know you won’t believe me, nobody does, I just… I need to feel sane for once after last week.

It was last Saturday, if I’m remembering right. I had taken my friend Emma out for a day at this small theme park at the edge of town. Emma Davis… That was her full name. I have to keep reminding myself.

The park was really nothing special, just a small place with a few standard carnival rides and food stands. In all honesty, we were just coming up on finals at university and needed to relieve the pressure with some mindless entertainment, but I had a sort of nostalgia for that park. I had been going there since I was around 8 years old, so I know the place like the back of my hand… It’s no wonder that I picked the new building out so easily.

It looked a bit like one of those old “ghost train” rides, but none of it was visible from the outside. The building was just a small, weathered black box with faded murals painted on the front that I couldn’t make out at all; if I looked closely, I could have sworn I saw the remnants of painted faces, but the paint had streaked and bled too badly to see any details. The only legible text was the word “FUN” in pink and green block letters above the singular entrance door. No information, no name, just “fun.” That should have been my cue to stay away, paired with the sense of paranoia I felt just seeing that damn building, but Emma was already heading in by the time I noticed, shouting her usual lighthearted mockery of me being “too scared.”

I can’t explain how, but I knew I couldn’t let her go in there alone.

The interior of the building was… strange. It definitely wasn’t a dark ride like I expected, more like some kind of funhouse. The entrance led us into a dimly-lit hallway; the walls, ceiling, and floor were all painted black, but it looked… unnaturally dark, as if we were standing in an endless void. A series of doors were painted on the walls, each one skewed oddly in perspective and painted in neon colors so bright, they hurt my eyes to look at too long. I could have sworn there were ultraviolet bulbs set up somewhere, but I couldn’t see any visible light fixtures… or anything, for that matter. No fire sprinklers, no exit signs, no electrical panels… Nothing.

I don’t know how long I was lost in my thoughts. My mind was screaming at me to turn around and leave, that something just wasn’t right here, but I was forced back to my senses by a low creaking sound. One of those doors, the ones that couldn’t possibly be real… somehow opened. It had been replaced by an opening in the wall that looked like it had always been there, with no trace of the door itself to be seen. I could hear Emma’s voice laughing in the distance, calling for me to “find her” and “catch up” before blending in with a cacophony of indistinct background music.

All I could do was run after her.

The hallway opened up into… I can’t even say if it was a room, a hall, or something completely different. It looked like the interior of a dark ride with no track, just a winding path surrounded by these strange props and cutouts, each one painted in those same, blinding neon shades. None of them looked like they were supposed to be animated, but I could have sworn I saw them moving from my peripheral vision. Everything around me was just… constantly shifting and changing, even the path itself was winding off into oblivion. And the music… That damn music. It sounded like 5 tracks of frantic cartoon music looping over each other. I couldn’t make out any words, any instruments, whether there were actual voices or if it was all an instrumental, but I felt like there was something in there, like a message I was supposed to understand. Did I hear Emma’s voice up ahead, or was it part of the audio? There was no way I could tell, but I could have sworn I heard her laughing.

I had to have been walking for hours, maybe even days. My ears were ringing, panic building up in my chest as I broke into a run, screaming out Emma’s name, struggling to navigate this deteriorating maze of lights and colors. The walls had faces. The props were pointing at me and laughing. The path was narrowing, trailing off into oblivion and herding me in one direction until… Until I reached the room. Until I saw it.

It was a small room, completely filled with doors. They were all stacked on top of each other, defying logic and space, the walls extending upward infinitely like some twisted rabbit hole I was at the bottom of. I somehow knew not to touch them, that they wouldn’t let me leave yet. And in the center of it all… God, I can’t describe the thing.

It was twice my height, this… complete mockery of a person. Its arms were far too long, allowing its clawed, twisted hands to scrape the floor as if they’d been dislocated from their sockets. The thing smiled, the corners of its mouth extending past its face, exposing what had to be around 7 rows of teeth. Its eyes constantly shifted in color, spiraling voids that pierced right through me. It said nothing at first, but I could hear the audible snap of its neck as it tilted at a painful angle, motioning toward one of the doors nearby.

Just past that door, I could hear Emma’s voice. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing hysterically or screaming, but the sound was… completely unnatural, a noise that came from the very depths of insanity.

“Don’t worry, she’s having fun.”

The thing’s voice felt like broken glass scraping my brain, like a voicebox that was nearly out of battery. My head pulsed with pain, a primal instinct of panic overwhelming my body.

The next thing I knew, I was sprinting down another hallway. My vision was fading in and out, the ear-bleeding soundtrack returning to laugh at me as that figure blinked in and out of my peripheral vision, always behind me as if it knew I wouldn’t get anywhere. The last thing I remember was dropping to my knees, my nails sinking into my arms as I screamed, and…

..and then I was back outside. The second my eyes snapped open, I was lying on the pavement, surrounded by concerned onlookers and emergency personnel. I can barely remember what they claimed had happened, something about a “spontaneous breakdown” leading to me collapsing.

It had only been two minutes since I apparently “broke down.” The building was nowhere to be seen.

Asking about Emma led to the same response of concern… There were no records of her ever entering the park. There were no records of her anywhere; trust me, I checked. Not in the contacts on my phone, not online, nowhere. It’s like she was just… erased as soon as that thing took her.

I haven’t left my home since then. I can still hear that damn music looping in my ears, I can see that thing in the corner of my eye… It’s only a matter of time before it comes for me next, and I know it won’t let me go this time.

Statement ends. A follow-up has been requested, but we can find no records of a “Jade Connor” or their contact information in our databases, except for this transcript.

[noodlesewp]

Hey! I made a fan statement about my girl Carina Bellairs!!

Content warning for descriptions of body horror, gore and some body image stuff

Check it out here!

[thatchaoticace]

In regards to that one TMA fic where I'm putting all of my fan statements, Archived & Found, should I make it into a full proper AU?

Also, the fic in question

Archived & Found - Chapter 1 - ThatChaoticAce - The Magnus Archives (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]

[theverminqueen]

Hey. I gave the Institute my statement a while ago, but I thought posting it publicly might help a few other people who're on the road towards their Becoming or whatever it's called. So. Here goes.

Statement of Vermin Burton, regarding the circumstances of their infection and the measures they took to treat it. 

Statement begins.

Did you know that rats didn’t actually cause the Black Plague? It’s a very common myth, but the rats themselves were just carriers. It was the fleas, hiding in their fur, nestling in carpeting or woodwork or flesh. The fleas took the infection from rats to cats to dogs to people. A third of Europe died, but not a single flea ever did. 

My mom’s house used to have a flea problem, and I do mean a bad flea problem. I could barely walk to my bed without getting bitten by dozens of the little fuckers, and even then, I wasn’t safe. They’d crawl under the covers with me, burrow under my skin, drink and drink until there was nothing left. A cruel comfort, but more than I ever got from that bitch who called herself my mother.

Yes, yes, my mother, I’m getting there, just give me a minute. My mother was a horrible parent. She was a hoarder, neglectful, and often emotionally unstable. She put me on regimens of pills that did nothing but make me sick while continuing to ignore all the actual mental and physical problems I was struggling with. I dropped out of university for her, and she never gave a damn. I hated her. It took me a long time to realize just how much.

I’m not sorry she’s dead. It was going to happen sooner rather than later, with the way that she lived. So then, why do I feel so bad about it?

It started with the tick. Just an ordinary little tick that latched onto my ankle for a moment. I was walking across our lawn – unmowed, of course, she never bothered to take care of it, so I was always the one who had to mow it – and caught a tick digging under the hem of my jeans. I didn’t think much of it at the time. I plucked it off and went on with my day, but the bite didn’t go away.

 I picked and scratched at that thing for weeks, and it just kept spreading, up my legs, over my arms, around my neck. Ticks kept popping up everywhere I went, clinging to my hands, my feet, my face. I was so tired all the time. I could barely move. I couldn’t keep up with the house, and since I was the only one that ever cleaned the house, things started to get unlivably bad. I’m talking open pill bottles, used needles, things like that. I think I saw a dead cat covered in fleas once. 

But that’s not important to your story, is it? 

I shaved off every bit of hair on my body, thinking that would make it better, or at least make it easier to spot the bugs. For whatever reason, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back for my mother. I'm still not sure why a shaved head mattered to her so much, but she came up to me and she just started screaming. I’m not even sure what she said, I just remember all that shouting. I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even think with all that damn noise.

I don’t know how it happened. One minute, she was there, she was my mother, and the next minute, she was screaming, covered in those awful bites, looking so small and sick. My mother was never small. Low metabolism runs in our family, and we gain weight fast. But by the time she finally died, she was as skinny as I am now, with all her blood drained out of her.

It was the tick. It was that fucking tick.

I ran, of course. I had to leave that house, or I’d die there. But the bug problem just got worse and worse. I washed myself obsessively, but I could never seem to get clean. I took drugs. I saw doctors. They all told me I was crazy, a hypochondriac and a maniac. But I knew, I just knew it was the bugs. 

The rats were the only thing that saved me. One of them came up to me in an alleyway someday and started nibbling on my hand. I freaked out, of course, getting bitten by a rat fucking hurts, but when I looked down and saw its mouth, when I heard that crunch between its teeth, I knew it had been trying to save me. It bit down and dug those ticks out of my skin, made a meal of me to save itself. I’d found the only treatment I could count on.

It wasn’t just the rats, of course. Possums also seem to like me. The one in my hoodie pocket right now, Morty, would protect me with his life. I met one named Martin that I thought was just really fat. Turns out he was pregnant, and a couple weeks later, he had six joeys. I love them all more than I’ve ever loved a person.

I ran into a bat a couple weeks ago, and she’s been useful. My little eye in the sky, if you will. Keeps her ears peeled for dogs and cops and other things that might try to hurt me.

I really don’t know how to cure this disease. I don’t know how to make those bugs go away. The most I can do is try to gain back the ground I’ve lost.

I’ve been eating better, though I suppose that’s not relevant to you. And the vermin are all looking much healthier than they did back when I found them. That’s what I call them all collectively, the vermin. They’re vermin like me, and they’re a part of me. I don’t think I’d still be alive today without them. 

Thank you for taking this. If you ever get in contact with anyone who has resources, medication that might help treat this condition, please let me know. I really need an out.

Statement ends.

[puppypop5]

iii made a fan ztatement!! uh!!! It includez a couple of my OCz, Avery and Moon az well az myzelf!!

[visceralfractal]

Statement of Pamela Remington, regarding the disappearance and reappearance of her half-sister. Statement begins.

I would have you know that up until sometime last week, I didn’t know I had a sister. My father was a very covert man, you see, and a very powerful man. He was what your Institute’s great scholars might call a Hunter. I never saw him that way. He was just Father on a good day and Wilhelm Remington on a bad one.

I didn’t know she existed until I found that picture. I can’t bring myself to think of her as anything but she. I’m sure she has a name, but I’ll be damned if I know it. She is female, or at least she was. She has long, matted black hair that hangs down over the back of her neck. She wears ratty old white dresses and fake pearl bracelets the color of bleached bone. Her mother was with her in the photo. Quite a beautiful woman, I admit. I understand why Wilhelm was so tempted by her.

You see, she is a bastard, and she knows this. Another woman’s child, by my father. My wonderful, loving father, who thought gifts and pretty words and false kindnesses could buy him a double life. I wouldn’t, couldn’t have it.

I’d Hunted with him for years. He’d trained me to take on his duty when he was gone. He gave me his rifle, the heirloom Remington bolt-action rifle that made our family so much useless money, and I shot him through the head with it.

I think she saw him before then, actually. I heard him mention something offhand, exactly three days before he died, that he’d seen claw marks on the windows. When I came to look, there was nothing of the kind. At least, not that I could see.

My family is touched. I don’t mean only by the Hunt, I mean touched in the head. We have a long history of delusions, psychosis, breaks from reality. That’s what my father initially thought my visions were. I saw things, things that were true and things that weren’t, but none of them were ever really there. Kind of like my father, if you want to get metaphorical, but I’m not one to philosophize, nor one to dwell on the past. I was just told that making this statement might help me find her again.

Well, he put me on pills and took me to doctors and it never really helped. In fact, it only seemed to make things worse, and that was about when he started to guess that it was more than mundane psychosis. When my visions started to come true. They showed me things, gave me information. Not always reliable information, mind you, but reliable enough.

I think it was when I showed him to the door that he really got scared.

I don’t always perfectly remember what I saw on the other side. It’s like trying to describe the colors that you see in static. But I do remember that it hurt. It hurt so fucking badly, and all he did was stand there and watch me flounder around like an idiot in a dimension where up was down and right was wrong and nothing made any sense.

Is that how she felt when her life was upended?

It cut my throat. Right here. Don’t ask me to name it, I don’t know names. If you wanted me to tell you the truth, I’d say the door cut my throat, or it cut itself and I was cracked by the broken pieces. But the truth would not make sense to you, and it would not feed your Eye. So, instead, I make up stories.

That’s how I learned to glitch. It took me a long time to track her, even with the glitching. I can only go short distances, and I can’t always control how much of me ends up in a given place. But I did find her eventually, or maybe she found me.

It was about a week after she got out of that wretched asylum. I called ahead. Maybe she knew?

Oh, I remember now. She did give me her name. Rem. What a pretty name. I told her my name was Pamela. She kept trying to call me Pam, for whatever reason, but I was very insistent. She seemed…surprised? I don’t think she’s used to people being that stubborn.

Well, we talked for a while about nothing in particular. Nothing of particular interest to you, surely. Has she met you already? Oh, silly me, you can’t answer my questions! All you do is get answers. You delve and dig and drag them out of people’s minds. I should be mad. After a fashion, I am. But if your Eye can help me find my sister, Hunt her down and help her back and tell her all the things I’ve done, then I’ll be glad of it.

Rem. Remember that, please.

Statement ends.

[starrbuggie]

Just remembered I had an AO3 account and posted my TMA fan statement on there. Go check it out.

:3

[bilberson]

Tempted to make fan statements for my 3 unheard of or seen Magnus oc, all of which personally I have no affiliation with (flesh and corruption dude here, writing for desolation, the eye and the spiral).

Idk, feel like it would be fun I’ll actually draw them maybe some point never huuuujuuuhhhhhhh

Lazy artist moment.

“The hopscotch gave me a headache and now I see math” -Spiral oc or smth

[constanttea]

You! Yes you. Eye See You there. Are you perchance a fan of oh, I don't know (yes I do)

[Statement Begins] Warning: Spoilers below the cut for TMA

Rusty Quill's The Magnus Archives ?

If you aren't, this isn't for you, but if you are still around, stick around some more. Just a little longer (I am shamelessly promoting my fanfic in just a few more moments).

Are you also maybe for some rational or irrational reason plagued with thoughts of Jonah Magnus as Elias Bouchard? Ugh, what a silly weird little freak, Jagnus Elouchard. Anyway! I am too. He consumes so much of my thoughts and my mind, I thought well darn, time to put it into words.

All that aside, if you are interested in a sort of slow burn, angsty romance between Elias and an OC of my own tormented design, Helen, then I would love to invite you to read my fic. Or don't. I will be struck by misfortune either way!

I felt like doing some teasers of chapters yet to be posted, so let me introduce you to Helen!

[TAPE CLICKS ON] HELEN Statement of Reese Williamson regarding? REESE It's just Williams. HELEN Sorry, right. Statement of Reese Willem regarding… REESE No, it-it’s Williams. HELEN Wilkins? REESE Williams. HELEN Wilson? REESE Yeah, Wilson, sure. Close enough, and it’s about a ghost I think. HELEN Wonderful. Statement of Reese Williams regarding a ghost. 

That will be enough of that. It's just supposed to be a teaser after all. If you are still here, then no, this whole fic is not written in this format. It is written largely from Helen's POV with the occasional recording, report, and similar media sandwiched in between. I like a fun little collage of things for a more immersive and varied experience as a reader myself.

[eyes-that-decieve]

Here's tal's statement!

Tw: typical spiral stuff, brief description of violence, idk anything else

I hope it doesn't make enough sense

[Click of a tape recorder, whirring of a tape. Tal's voice is their usual distorted, two voices speaking just out of harmony]

Tal: Honestly if you need a statement I could give you mine.

Styx: No, no, I'll get one from someone else on the way back.

[Tape recorder clicks off]

[Tape recorder clicks back on, a muffled curse from Styx]

Tal: -your watching thing for an hour and a half. Stop being difficult, I don't mind.

Styx: [Sigh] Fine. Statement of the being known as Fractal, regarding their Becoming. Statement taken direct from subject the 27th of april, 2024. Statement begins.

[Sounds of someone sitting down]

Tal: Hmmm. Where to start? Background is clunky and boring. . . So how about, the first time a child saw the door. Seems about right, gives enough context.

Every day a high school student would always walk home from school. It wasn't very far, but it took them through some pretty narrow streets. One day there was a door. More of a doorway. There was simply, nothing. A void, in a rectangular shape of a door. They didn't actually see anyone, but they got the feeling of someone standing in that doorway, and waving. They waved back, and that may have been their mistake.

Over the following weeks? Months? Days? They kept seeing that doorway. There was always a person in the doorway, and they always got the sense it was beckoning. One time, they went through. Curiosity got the better, maybe.

The entire place was maddening. Soon as they stepped through, the door was gone, or their perception of the door was gone. Everything was gone, even the presence of the person. It looked like many colors, all folding over each other and mixing and changing, and nothing. There was just nothing. They tried to turn around and leave, but no matter how far they ran, they didn't move. Nothing moved, and everything moved. It was bright and not, dark and not. Nothing to hold on to, nothing to ground them. Nothing. No presence behind it, though they didn't know if that would've been better. It was similar to those rooms designed to drive someone mad, featureless walls, except there were no walls, no ceiling, no floor.

At some point they found they must have gotten out, or it let them go. They were sitting on the pavement, and someone was poking their arm to see if they were alive. They sat up so fast they startled them, and bolted home.

This repeated again and again until they could barely remember the times when they were in somewhere that was.

[A laugh, folding over itself in two different voices]

That is not my story. That is a story of someone who has an identity. Someone who is a someone. I am not a someone.

My story is of tearing and clawing of one's very being, of a final violence and screaming. Of replacing nothingness with presence, colorless nothing taken over with neon and shadow.

Does one fear what they become? Does one fear what they inherit? That is a question for one then. Not one now.

[A long pause]

Styx: Damn.

Tal: Oh Styxie, don't be so surprised!

[Tal's voice becomes just a feminine one, the tone is angry and clipped, but tal's grin is audible]

Tal: Where do you think this voice came from?

[Tal's voice returns to normal]

Tal: Is that enough for you?

Styx: Yes, thank you.

Tal: Go back then, I'll update you later.

Styx: [sigh, sounds of standing up] Alright. Bye, Tal!

Tal: Byeeee-

[Tape recorder clicks off, tape whirs to a stop]

[kuiperdeer]

nothing official for cringetober 12 and 13 because i spent most of today and yesterday working on my tma fan statement. <- go read this if you want

this, however, was done in the spirit of cringetober, as i still struggle with the part of me that feels ashamed of my writing and with making fandom ocs. so i'm gonna post this for 12 and 13 anyways. the statement has a bit of a creepypasta vibe and old game skyboxes are certainly a niche interest. so i think it counts

anyways here he is. world's lamest buried avatar go read my writing maybe

[nezumithewriter]

never let me near any fandom again i'm making a self indulgent tma series of fan statements with my ocs in them