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marlasomething · 1 year

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(my) Mag a Week: The Brothers Non-Slayer

Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened. This week I am publishing late...I have a hell of a week, sorry.

For today I rolled Archivist!Tim (FINALLY A NORMAL ONE) and The Web (Eps. 58-65).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: THIS IS A HEAVY ONE --> Domestic abuse, murder, explicit violence, child neglet, manipulation, police brutality, trauma of varios kinds, corruption of the "soul", paranoia

Also on AO3!

Statement of Ashley Giles, regarding how he believes he has managed to sell his soul to his lawyer (more or less).

Recorded by Timothy Stoker, Headless Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Sometimes I wish I was actually guilty of the charges I was being accused of. At least, that way, I could…I don’t know; feel less guilty about the crimes I am committing now? You know, since I would already be a “felon in soul” or something on that style.

That is not the case, though: I am completely innocent. I didn’t kill my brother. That cop did, that bloody cop did kill him and all because…all because he was delusional and thought he had found an actual vampire and, er, murdered him.

Yeah, yeah, I know how it sounds: in less than ten lines I have already told you that I am currently involved in multiple criminal activities, that I was accused of murdering my very own brother and that he himself had killed someone believing he was a Hammer’s classical bloodsucker. Oh, yes, and don’t forget there is a cop in this story, which that makes it a bit more terrible.

However, this is not a Goncharov type of story. There is no tragedy larger than life taking place, neither a lot of mafia-esque characters going around. It is just the story of two brothers, one sick in the head and other sick in the leg, and how the system just managed to push them aside until working to be paid by the hour in the most shameful of positions was all they had left.

It all began when my father died and we were left alone with our mother. I have not mistaken the words: the man that died was just my biological father, for my older brother (Iago) was the son of our mother’s first husband, who hung himself when he was barely a baby. However, we both went by her maiden’s surname because…I actually don’t know why, sorry about the side-note.

My father was a complete asshole that drunk himself to the tomb and that, one evening he was feeling especially outraged by how dumb and useless and lacking of any remarkable future I was, came to me as if he was possessed by some evil deadly spirit and started hitting me until I was left unconscious.

Iago did nothing; he was too scared to even move. My mother locked herself in the bathroom and pretended nothing was happening, almost as if we were no longer her family, just people that happened to look just a lot like her. My father went out, probably to try to cheat on his wife just to realise he couldn’t get it up even if he took a full box of Viagra (which I hoped he would have done, being the chances of giving him a heart attack quite a delightful thing to look forward).

Meanwhile I…I crawled to the kitchen, since there was a framed picture of the four of us in my room and I couldn’t even begin to handle the thought of facing it for the time being.

Maybe, if Mister Sinclair had appeared back them; I would be able to even remember him with something ever so slightly reminiscent to kindness. But he didn’t, and I was just there, alone, crying in the kitchen while trying not to look at my mangled leg.

My leg started to go black and, since my parents would do nothing to put a remedy to it and I was…rather afraid of hospitals as a concept, I took it upon me to find how to get it back without dying in the process.

As the teenager with zero to none medical knowledge that I was, I couldn’t; so I ended up cutting it off with the help of my brother.

That is exactly how we found out my brother was sick in the head. In some manner at least, though it isn’t as if doctors ever diagnosed him properly and, as you likely can imagine, we didn’t have the kind of money to get an expert opinion.

He blanked out. Not in shock because of the blood, not because he felt asleep due to tiredness, not because he was high or wasted. No, he just spaced out. He sometimes did, I just hadn’t realised until then.

What a brother I was…

Anyways, I was about to bleed out when he came back to his senses and, in spite of my prejudices, in spite of the more than certain repercussions from our parents…he called an ambulance.

I, obviously, didn’t die and we both silently formalised the fact that Iago wasn’t ok either. Our mother stayed home and…my dad got infected. After cutting himself in the doctors’ bathroom, where he entered without permission, feeling somehow entitled to use “the best facilities” due to, well, I don’t know: most resistant liver ever to have been born on this wrecked Earth?

Anyways, it is not important. My father died of a hospital infection before I was even released and, since both Social Services and The Police believed this was all related to the jerk that had just become a corpse; they released us to go to our mom.

To find she had flown away, never to be seen by either of us again.

I can’t say I blame her. At that moment, I was fifteen and Iago, seventeen; in her old-fashioned mind, we were likely old enough to survive on our own, and she had had enough of a life she had never asked for.

I am not saying I forgive her either, nor that what she did is ok by any means. Just that I understand how she came to be so broken and willing to make such a harsh decision.

The both of us, being the brainless teenagers we were, refused to call anyone and chose to fight for ourselves.

Oh my god we were so stupid, so bloody stupid…

Flash-forward to almost ten years later; when my brother decided that vampires were, obviously, a real thing.

Now, my brother became extremely superstitious the moment we started living on our own, almost as if he hoped that, if he deposited part of his soul on growing a faith, the World would give something back to him for his…devotion? Patience? Open- eyed mind?

Among all those things he began to take a liking to investigate monsters, the sooner they had begun being spoken around humans, the better. I considered this a waste of time, especially since he had less free time than me as I could work less hours since got extremely tired much easier due to the whole, well, only-one-leg thing (and that my hand-made fake one wasn’t exactly the epitome of comfort).

He wouldn’t listen, though, and he should have! He should, and, then, he would still be alive.

And I would still have the whole of my soul with me.

It all happened one day I left him alone to have a date because, yes, even in the life of barely-above-misery that we were living I refused not to have fun. Not to, basically, Live . So I kissed my brother goodbye in the cheek as he complained we were both far too manly for those gestures and headed back to the Soho.

Meanwhile, my brother got one of his attacks and, when he came back to himself, there was a rail thin person with their mouth disproportionally opened right next to him. Layers and layers of shark-like-teeth were about to close around his neck while a tubular tongue of an unnatural purple colour twirled with anticipation from the back of their vocal cavity. It could barely be seen, but, the moment you did, there was not mistake possible to be made.

On an act born out of pure reflexes, he pushed the creature to the window and threw our only remaining candle to hit It, just in case.

It burned to the ground.

Yes, I know, if your brother with, very likely, medical mental-health problems, clear traumas and a life-time of being worn out had told you this…you would probably have not believed him but, here is the thing: I know my brother, he would have never, ever, lied about any of this.

If he told me so, this was what had happened. At least, from his perspective point of view.

This doesn’t mean, of course, that I condemned his behaviour or encouraged it in any way imaginable, but I couldn’t change it. He had found a mission and started to dedicate more and more time to find and take down vampires (and, apparently, werewolves and insect-like-people too? I am not certain about that point, sorry), occupying this hobby of his more and more time while real-life occupations mattered to him less and less by the hour.

I tried not be mad at him for it, I had also screwed up a few too many times before and he had always been exemplar until that point, but I couldn’t help but letting an animosity as nothing I have ever felt before come into me and fill my entire soul. Everyone around us noticed, too, and the whispers about us began to grow; the rumours about how the two brothers that had always had their backs were about to stab each other.

All nonsense, that much I knew. Or, at least, I think I did.

One day, as I was wondering around the market, I saw a knife with an intricate cobweb design on sale and, somehow, I knew I had to buy it. After all, I was a disabled person living on a very dangerous city; it was a cautious measure to be

taken. As I bought it, I was told that my brother and another customer had bought its

twin , but I didn’t truly process the actual words, just getting the idea that

my brother had a fucking knife as a shiver run all through my back.

What if my brother thought I was a vampire too?

So, I made up my mind: that very night I was going to go and find my brother dear and begged him to come to his senses.

Little did I know, he was bringing his knife too, and he wasn’t the only one with one of them. By the time I arrived, he was bleeding out, his knife fallen next to him and a figure standing nearby. There were a sandy-blonde haired female-presenting person, in their mid-thirties, muscular and with a face of not being messed up with.

They were holding a knife, just like ours and, when they realised I was in that very same position (if you could equiparate my utter harmless pose to their deadly one) to her clear murderous aspect), they shrugged, muffled a “you are likely not much better” and knocked me down.

I woke up already at the station, handcuffed and with a concussion that could only be rivalled by the one thanks to which I lost my leg. The first thing I did was, obviously, asking whether my brother was ok or not. By the cops’ reactions I could already tell the whole story: he had been found dead and I was the main and only suspect.

I even have the murder weapon with me! What an easy win at the trial; or that is what they thought.

They didn’t count with Ronald Sinclair.

Ronald Sinclair is a private lawyer whose usual fee I couldn’t have payed even with all the money I had earned in my entire life. However, from time to time, his firm takes in some free cases, usually in exchange of recruiting whoever they chose to represent. This might sound cynical and harsh, but I was almost certain he had chosen me because they were lacking on a corporative image including someone with a visible physical disability.

I wouldn’t complain, though. A stable job! Well-payed! And the only thing I would have to endure would be condescending looks from time to time was perfectly fine with me.

Oh, and the whole not-being-declared guilty of murder, of course.

Since the first moment we had a proper lawyer-client meeting, I sensed something was off. First of all, the contract I signed said that I bounded myself to work with Mother & Co. Associates as long as my thread remained intact. It made no sense to me, and it was rather ominous, but I wanted to get out of there and I wasn’t getting a better change, so I signed it and, as I did, I swear

something was guiding my hand.

I’ve haven’t had such a good calligraphy never before (and never after that signature).

The trial went as smoothly as possibly imaginable and, still, I didn’t feel comfortable for a single second.

Yes, Ronald allowed me to talk and let me explain everything to him before each session so he could defend me and teach me how to answer every possible question those answers based on what had really went down; but somehow…each time, he just, he just managed to convince me things were to be understood in a particular manner, usually not the same I was coming from beforehand, and that, actually, this was what I meant in a much more succinct and clear way.

And I believed it, somehow, it wasn’t until I was alone that I started to point out the moment in which I could have said something, in which I have thought

something and just…let it go. And, here is a very funny thing, when a version of reality is only in your head, completely incorporeal and the other one is being spoken, real sound waves sending the message across space and time…no matter how strong your convictions, one is clearly going to bury the other in the mud.

I won the case, he even found the cop who was the actual killed, whose name was Alice Tonner, and she got convicted for it (to what he smiled a bit to widely and said, without further explanation, she works for the competence ).

Then, I started working for Mother & Co.

It was all paralegal at first; they paid for a speed education so I had the the basicest and I am rather proud of being able to say that, from working at housewares, I learned pretty quickly and handle my way around better than much of the people with fancy degrees that worked alongside me.

Then, more morally dubious stuff started to come in right to me desk and…I don’t want to keep writing for much longer (my hand starts to hurt and, with the leg thing is more than enough, thank you very much), so I will just tell you about the very first time all red flags started to show up in my head.

And, as the fucking coward I am, I did nothing against it.

What is even worse, I am not even sure if I wanted…if I

want to do something about it.

There was this kid; Wesley, he was called, that had got into trouble with his step-mother, claiming she had been substituted and was no longer the woman his biological mother had married thirteen years before.

He was making charger and with everything he had in his entire persona (both practical and metaphysical ) to take her down and we, well, we defended the mother. Also known as the scariest woman I have ever faced while being also the most vanilla person in all of Creation.

You know what is the worst part? This Wes kid…he was a lot like Iago had been. He was cunning, hot-heated, a bit of a nerd even if it was of the things usual nerds would mock him for, too naïve while being too mature…Shit! They even dressed a bit alike!

I have always been instinctively good with technology so, the moment I had access to a proper education on the subject, I wasn’t just good, I excelled. So, what I had to do was simple: play with Wes, twist his little world up-side-down via the Big Net so by the time the trial began, he is the least believable person in the history of trials.

Not only that: while I made conversation with the boy letting the precise words to rise his curiosity in the most troublesome spaces, to generate nonsense questions that had no answer so he believed he had found The Holy Grail of information. By the end of this process, if I did well my job, his behaviour would belong to us as it truly never belonged to him in the first place.

I was... am amazing at my job, so I didn’t do well . I did

AMAZING !

I was conscious that what I was doing was bad. I knew deep down the boy was right, even if the pictures of his step-mother clearly matched the ones of our client. And I wanted to do something, I wanted, I don’t know, go full American movie and renounce my freedom sentence.

However, every time I felt as acting, something else happened. Usually, small

events where to be blamed: a text message, a person in the office suffering from some health issue, a casual meeting in the elevator (and, you know, I cannot simply take the stairs), a song sounding in the background…just the exact thing to trigger in me a thought that, sooner or later, made me realised I should act.

So I didn’t, though until the very last moment I thought that, in the end, I would be the hero. I would defeat the bad guys. Like Iago would.

That is what heroes do, right? And what wasn’t I except the hero of my own

story?

Well, apparently, I was the villain for, the moment the trial began, my boss came into my office and told me I had to tewak a little bit the online presence of Wesley. Not only the one that I had affected directly, but the previous one too. Not to change, steal, erase or manipulate anything on itself, just alter the order they were presented, the elements external to Wes’ presence around which each file appeared.

I am ashamed to admit I actually enjoyed the challenge and put an extra effort to it.

When, in the trial, they tried to prove that the recent mental and sentimental state of Wesley was not representative of who he had been when he had begun this whole

Hamlet-esque fight; his very own lawyers almost dropped death at the stage when they started to realise the information they had wasn’t exactly accurate…once again, as I began to feel bad, I wanted to do something but…the ambiance (we were watching on video the trial as it happened, I still don’t understand how they have access to basically all cameras; the only explanation I received “the pathetic old man owes us” ), the interactions…before I could realise it I felt fitting in this web of people I hadn’t actually choose, behaving that someone that wasn’t who I truly was.

Though I might be becoming him piece by piece.

The alleged fake step-mother won the trial, delighted us with her presence one more time and, in a very Ofelia manner, Wesley drowned himself. I even went to the funeral. I was devastated, I felt hopeless, for Wes but also for myself; especially because part of me was, still is, proud of me being there, of my actions having such a determinant impact on someone’s life.

It scares me, it scares me that I am losing myself in this other me that is still me and yet…sorry, I am rambling. Please, take this statement and, I don’t know what kind of influence you handle but, if you can destroy them (I am not even to pretend I am in too deep now), do it.

For me, for Wes, for my brother, for so many other (except all the cops they have ruined, there had to be something good about Mother & Co. ).

Statement ends.

Wow, Ash; that is…wow (since you opened so much to me, I hope you don’t mind I call you Ash). Good calligraphy, by the way.

I remember Ronald Sinclair; he was the only survivor of Hill Top Road, after the fire that burned it to the ground. Apparently, he was hidden in the basement… He always wanted to go to that…sorry, I was digressing.

About the statement on itself: everything can be verified (well, except for the morally deplorable practices of a successful lawyer firm, but that is so blatantly true I guess there is no problem with believing that).

On a sad note, I looked upon what had happened with Ash and…quite recently, Ashley Giles got a promotion in Mother & Co. He seemed completely at home in the picture.

Embracing being a worst version of yourself…I wish I could say I cannot relate.

End recording.

SUPPLEMENTAL : Melanie King came by the other day and, when Jon went to talk to her, she started screaming. Not regular screaming, crazy-mad-out-of-your-mind-horror-movie-death kind of screaming. She kept saying that wasn’t Jonathan Sims and even texted Georgie Barker (who, apparently, used to know Jon…I want the full story there…) a picture for her just to say…that he was clearly Jon.

Sad, I thought I might count with an ally in Melanie, since I don’t feel comfortable about no one around here…

…I am royally screwed.

End recording.

#a mag a day #a mag a week #mag horror #statement #original statement #au #the magnus archives #fanfic #tma #magnuspod #timothy stoker #ronald sinclair #fic #the web #the hunt #mag #melanie king

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spacedykez · 1 year

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[CLICK]

ARCHIVIST

Statement of Michael Jones, regarding an unusual trip on xyr friends’ boat, in the Puget Sound near Seattle. Original statement given November 4th, 2007. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

ARCHIVIST (STATEMENT)

I suppose I should start this off by saying I’ve never really believed in the supernatural. Never was one for ghost stories. I was quite the avid denier in fact. A man of science, I considered myself. I guess what I mean to say is, I wouldn’t have believed my own story if I hadn’t lived through it. But I know what happened, and I am completely certain it was real.

It all happened around Christmas, when I was visiting up north in Seattle for the holidays. The whole family was gathering at my grandparents’ house, and we were all planning to stay in the area for several days to celebrate. Now, I’m not sure how familiar you are with Seattle, given that you’re British, so let’s just say hotels in a populated city at Christmas time aren’t exactly cheap. So I phoned an old friend to see if I couldn’t crash at their place for a couple days. They, surprisingly, had no issue with it, and so the morning of Saturday the 22nd I was boarding a plane to Washington.

My friend was a fairly well-off individual, as one has to be to afford owning a home in a city like Seattle. I took a bus to clouds street and walked the last few blocks to their door. Luckily for me, the lights were on, illuminating a variety of pride flags and stickers taped to the windows, including a small braided bracelet made with purple, white, and green threads. I recognized it because I’d been the one to make it.

The door opened before very long at all, and I was greeted by a familiar face, dyed pink-purple-blue hair framing clouds face. “Mike!

“‘Allo, Karl!” I grinned. I would have waved, but I couldn’t exactly do that when I had a suitcase in one hand and my beanie clutched in the other. I don’t exactly know when I took it off, but that wasn’t supernatural, that was just my typical impulsivity.

Karl smiled back and stepped back to let me inside, the slight jingle of beaded bracelets audible. “Great to see you again, Mike!”

I expressed a similar sentiment, then quickly inquired about my sleeping arrangements. Karl led me into a rather nice room, furnished minimally with a single bed and desk- a nice bed and desk, mind you. The walls were an oddly mesmerizing sky-blue with hints of white, almost like clouds. I later found myself staring at them for hours, tracing their faint wisps with my eyes.

“Make yourself at home!” Karl told me welcomingly, before heading out to give me some space, which I appreciated. I’m a pretty outgoing guy, but it had been a long trip and I was tired. I proved this approximately five minutes later by falling asleep fully clothed atop the bed.

The next morning, I woke up to be informed of two things. First, Karl now had a girlfriend, Raven, who was incredibly nice and who I got on very well with. And secondly, the two of them wanted to know if I’d like to go out boating with them.

Since most of my family wasn’t due to arrive until Christmas Eve and would be staying for a bit after Christmas itself, I could easily spare the day to go out and see the city, or at least its waters. I told Karl and Raven as much, and the two were thrilled. Within the hour, I was fed a hearty breakfast of pancakes and herded into their blue Subaru, headed off to go boating.

I can’t say I’m entirely clear on where exactly we were, since I wasn’t really familiar with the area then, and I still am not now. But I do know that Karl and Raven seemed quite confident, and it couldn’t have been much past eleven o’clock when we motored out into the Puget Sound. The sky was bright and sunny, not a dissimilar color to the walls of the bedroom I’d stayed in.

It was altogether quite a good trip. Raven pointed out buildings on the Seattle skyline- did you know the Space Needle really isn’t that tall compared to Seattle’s skyscrapers? Karl smiled and assured me that they’d heard this fact a thousand times before, but didn’t complain as Raven told me all about the city. Karl’s expression as cloud looked at Raven was full of the fondness that one can’t help but smile at.

“Mike, you still like salmon?” Karl asked me once we could no longer see the city. We were still surrounded by forested shores.

“Yeah,” I nodded. I’d always enjoyed seafood, and the seafood here was pretty good, in my humble opinion. We ate a hearty lunch of fish sandwiches and Lay’s potato chips, which I quite enjoyed, and it was clear Raven and Karl did as well. I closed my eyes contentedly, feeling sunlight warm my body as I ate. The only things in the world that mattered at that moment were the gentle breeze, the bright sunlight, and the distant calls of seagulls. We were far enough from the city that I couldn’t hear many cars, so I didn’t think much of the relative silence.

I don’t know how long I sat there, savoring the good weather and relaxing sounds of the waves lapping against the side of the boat. Some time later, after what could have been anywhere from minutes to hours, I opened my eyes again to the sight of blue. Endless azure skies stretched above us and sapphire water surrounded our boat, which felt like a tiny speck in this great blue world. The only break in the various shades of blue were the white clouds high above.

“We should be getting back, I think,” Karl told me. They were right; I had planned to head to my parents’ house that night, and I didn’t want to worry my mother by being late.

“It’s so nice out here,” I remarked to Raven as we motored through the waves, the blue never fading or dimming. I thought we ought to have seen land coming into view by now; the Puget Sound is not excessively wide. “I know, it’s my favorite place to be,” ae smiled, staring mesmerized at the wake coming off the boat as it cut through the water like a knife through butter.

Karl tsked and frowned at the sky, seeming displeased with something. I stood and walked to the back of the small boat, where cloud was sitting in the driver’s seat. “Everything alright?” I inquired.

They shook their head and gave a small sigh of frustration. “There should be land here.” I looked up, not sure what I was expecting, and saw nothing but the same blue water and sky. “And my phone’s not getting any connection.” I glanced at my own phone and found that I also had absolutely no cell coverage.

“Huh, that’s odd,” I said, extremely intelligently.

“Yeah, I know,” Karl replied, biting their lip worriedly. “And we should have seen land by now.”

I simply nodded my agreement and stared out into the deep blue world surrounding us. The color no longer seemed bright and cheery to me, instead it was almost… ominous. Like the sky was going to open and swallow us whole. I don’t quite know where the thought came from, but it felt terrifyingly right. As we continued on through the blue, with no signs of land, I only grew more convinced of this.

I was not alone in feeling that the charming appearance of the sea and sky were hiding a dark, malicious secret behind them. Karl was glancing around and biting clouds lip with increasing frequency, expression not dissimilar to my own. Raven, however, was standing, leaning over the rail and staring into the water mesmerized. As I watched, ae slowly crept along the side of the boat and towards the bow.

I started making my way towards her, unable to shake the feeling that there was something wrong with her movements. Ae didn’t seem quite aerself, moving almost as if controlled by some unseeable force. As it turned out, it was a good thing I did so, since right as I reached her, Raven jumped, and gravity seemed to decide not to work, because she started to float up towards the sky. I grabbed aer arm and yanked aer back down to the deck of the boat. She fought me quite a bit, and it was a lucky thing that I like to wear thick sweaters, because I think that had I not been protected by the heavy wool, her long nails would have torn my skin open.

But I did manage to calm aer eventually, and ae took to simply lying dejectedly on the deck and staring up into the sky, eyes focused on something beyond my sight. Perhaps she was just staring at an interesting cloud, but I got the feeling it was nothing so innocent. Ae seemed… distant, disconnected, like ae barely registered that Karl and I were there.

Speaking of Karl, they continued to drive us through the blue. It felt like hours that we went on and on before suddenly the motor cut out and there was a deafening silence. I turned to see Karl slumped back into clouds seat, thankfully still conscious, but looking utterly defeated. “Are you alright?” I demanded, my own voice sounding utterly miniscule in the great blue world around us.

“I don’t know where we are!” Karl looked at me, face slack with terror. They stared at me horrified, although not at me. More at the situation we were in. “We should have hit land hours ago.”

I nodded sagely and walked over to cloud. “This can’t go on forever, can it?” I asked, trying to be reassuring. But from the look on Karl’s face, I’d only succeeded in making their fear worse.

“What if it does?” cloud asked, voice small and hopeless. I looked out at the waters surrounding us and bit my lip contemplatively. Could this go on forever? Admittedly, it was starting to eat away at me. But at the very least I seemed to be keeping my composure, which was more than could be said for Raven or Karl. I didn’t, and still don’t blame them for what happened, though. I know I’m a bit more relaxed than most, especially when it comes to stressful situations.

“We’ll make it back eventually,” I assured Karl. I didn’t really have any idea of how true this was, but I’m an optimist, and it wouldn’t do anyone any good to cause Karl to worry more than they already were. Karl closed clouds eyes and took a deep breath in, and stared out unhappily into the blue. “Let me drive a bit,” I offered. They nodded and slid out of the driver’s seat onto the floor.

I sat down in the seat and turned the ignition key, and a strange feeling came over me, like removing a weight I didn’t know was there. The crushing feeling of nothingness that had been slowly creeping over me lightened, and I felt drastically more cheery. That’s not to say the heavy feeling was gone entirely, but it was considerably less, which was a relief.

I slowly moved the boat forward again, acutely aware of the gaping blue sky above me. It was bright and sunny, but had a darkness to it, like it was going to open up and swallow us in its lengths. But there didn’t seem to be anything I could do- it certainly didn’t seem like a better idea to jump into the water, although I did consider it. So I kept pushing on, driving the boat for what I assume to be several hours, although I have never really had a good sense of time.

I can’t tell you how long it had been when I saw the beginning of something begin to take shape on the horizon. I admit, I was a bit worried some massive wave was coming for us, or a giant, sentient raincloud. The idea seems silly now, but I was in the middle of some great magic thing, of that I have no doubt. There’s no other explanation for it; there are no stretches of water near Seattle that are this large, and the Pacific Ocean is only accessible through canals which are never wide enough that you can’t see the shore.

The thing that I was beginning to see was thankfully, land. I am not ashamed to admit I let out a loud sigh of relief when I realized what it was. Real, normal land, covered in pine trees and the signs of human life: roads and houses dotting the shoreline and telephone poles poking up above it all. It wasn’t Seattle, but at least it wasn’t endless water.

It was then that Karl stood and came over to me, looking incredibly relieved. “I have service again!” cloud told me giddily. I pulled out my own phone, having not even thought to check it, and sure enough, I had cell. Also, about a million unread messages, which I had no doubt would be a massive headache for me later, when I had the time to check them. That time was, however, decidedly not right then.

And then I noticed the time.

According to my phone, it was nearly 4pm on December 24th. We had left on the 23rd, and even disregarding the fact that there was no way we’d spent that long on the water, there hadn’t been a night. It had been bright and sunny the whole time- but come to think of it, the sun hadn’t moved like it should’ve. None of the encounter before this had really shaken me, but this? It was definite proof that something supernatural had happened to us, and I wasn’t sure I liked that very much.

We did eventually find our way back to Seattle, discovering in the process that our trip had taken us across the Sound to the city of Bremerton. I am not familiar with the geography around Washington, but from what Karl and Raven told me, there was no way it could have taken us this long to get here. This was proven when we made it back in under an hour.

The next few days are a blur in my mind. We went back to Karl and Raven’s house, and none of us had the energy to cook dinner, so we just ordered takeout. I went back into the guest bedroom to check on my things, forgetting momentarily about the blue, cloud-covered walls. I know I froze in the doorway when I saw them, and Karl would later tell me they found me collapsed on the ground, mumbling something about ‘the vast.’ All I remember is a sensation of falling, farther than I should have been able to, and then nothing.

I did end up going to my family’s Christmas party, although I felt distant and I think they must have assumed I was drunk, since they didn’t make too much of an effort to disturb me from my thoughts. Afterwards, my parents gave me a lecture on how I ‘wasn’t the child they remembered’ and how they ‘knew I could do better.’ It didn’t really bother me, since the alternative was telling them what happened and probably making them think I was crazy

I went home that weekend and assured my coworkers that my trip had gone well, despite how it had definitely not. I would later hear that Karl and Raven moved away from Seattle, to the middle of Illinois, I think it was. I could see their reasoning; landlocked, with enough trees to block out the sky. California suits me just fine, but I admit I’ve considered moving out near them. Maybe I will, if the proximity to the coast ever gets too much.

ARCHIVIST

Statement ends. There were not many official records to check that could prove the validity of Mx. Jones’s statement. However, I have had Sasha attempt to contact Karl and Raven Smith, and she has been successful. They confirmed that the encounter Mx. Jones declined to make a statement, and did not seem interested in assisting us with follow-up. Given that there were multiple witnesses, I suppose this cannot be dismissed as a hallucination or a dream. Additionally, the descriptions of falling, mentions of ‘the vast,’ and the sky seeming to swallow people whole do seem eerily similar to several prior statements. However, given the fact that it is impossible to prove that this encounter ever occurred, I am inclined to disbelieve it. End recording. [CLICK]

read this on ao3

tagslist: @felicityphoenix5 @zombiecleo @l-art-stuff-l @darubyprincxx @demon-follower

also tagging @the-magnus-institute

#tw dissociation #the vast #the vast tma #canon-typical The Vast content #statement fic #original statement #the otter scribbles

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gingerbreadpopsolo · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: OFC/OMC (Toxic Relationship), OFC & OFC Characters: Original Statement Giver(s) (The Magnus Archives), Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s), Original Fear Entity Avatars (The Magnus Archives), Original Corruption Avatar Additional Tags: Statement Fic (The Magnus Archives), Original Statement (The Magnus Archives), Spheksophobia, or better known as, Wasps, Body Horror, Toxic Relationship, Flowers where there shouldn't be flowers, Mention of gaslighting, Gaslighting, Graphic Description of Corpses, Minor Character Death, Character Death, this is magnus archives of course theres death, Canon-Typical The Corruption Content (The Magnus Archives), Written for a Discord Competition, No seriously this statement is not for faint of heart, The Dove is not Dead but Critically Injured, Not Britpicked, I did my best Summary:

Statement of Harper Beckett regarding her former relationship with her ex-boyfriend, Jasper Rhodes. Original Statement Given on April 21st, 2007. Audio Recording by [REDACTED].

Statement Begins.

I made a statement :D

#ginger writes #tma fanfic #original statement #tma #the magnus archives #ao3 fanfic

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crispyadorablepotatochip · 7 months

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Statement of Leah Anniston, regarding a facial generation computer program recommended to her by a coworker. Original statement given November 16th, 2016. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

#original fic #original statement #jonathan sims #the magnus archives #tma #jon sims #the stranger #tma the stranger #my work #hey folks! sorry I’ve been gone

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viv-weylin · 1 year

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ORIGINAL STATEMENT (THE MAGNUS ARCHIVES)

ARCHIVIST:

Statement of Wendy Humbert concerning their newest… novel?

WENDY:

Ha. No- it’s about a novel that I read.

I’ve always been afraid of writing a novel. I’m a published author, I have two anthology stories published! I only write short stories… not out of hate for the novel medium, no, I just don’t have the commitment needed to write a novel. But a few days ago, a week maybe? My editor suggested I should just try, and to write a rough outline for a hypothetical novel.

I… can’t focus on things easily. I get distracted and that’s why most things I write have to be short, it’s stressful! I needed to write, I needed something. So, um. Three days ago, I began to look for some inspiration. I had zero ideas for this novel. I was walking around downtown, music in my ears, watching the world around me go. I love people watching, it sounds creepy, but there’s a delight and joy in watching people do their everyday thing. Watching them talk about things I could ever know, or seeing their reactions when they get a text or watching them cry and break down. There’s something curious about watching humans, disconnected from my and their reality. I can write their story! Do you know, do you understand, just how great that is?

While walking down an alley, I stopped at this door. It was ancient, old, his bookstore was an odd one in the back alley of downtown. it was kind of… how do I put it? It looked shitty. The sign was so weathered away I couldn’t make out the name. The door was what got me, it was wooden, antique and ancient. This dark shade of red that seemed darker than blood. The weirdest, most peculiar part, was the large spider web engraving. Woven intricately into the grains of wood– it caught my eyes. The door handle was rusty and- well. You see a mysterious, creepy door with a sign that looks older than the building itself? You have to enter it. At the very least, you have to look inside.

I think part of me wanted to be a character in my short story.

Just a door, a door between me and what could be one of the best stories I could write. My hand wrapped around the handle, rust flaking off the metal. Turning the doorknob, I felt chills up my spine. I was being watched by someone, I know I was. Pushing open the door…

It was just a bookstore.

The floor was linoleum, black and white tiles, diamond shaped. It was a large room, and in the middle was this tree. Dead, withering, and around it, lines and lines and lines of bookshelves. I felt like I was in some story, like a fantasy where I would be the chosen one. I walked inside, the scent of books and mold filling my nose. It was almost pitch black, except where I was looking, just lit enough to see where I was going. Fucking creepy. I began to browse the books. Reading the spines, I couldn’t recognize a single author. I’m telling you! I’ve read thousands of books, I know so many authors, but no matter how much I searched, not a single author rang a bell. You don’t realize how abnormal that is, especially for a modern day book store! Well… abandoned?

Augustus Finch? Oliver Wilson? Gregory Weston? Not only do these names sound fake, but their books were empty. No words, just empty, crisp, pages of nothingness. Except this one- reading the spine, I stopped. I felt something deep inside me tell me I had to take it off the shelf. To read it.

Opening it, it was filled with text, no margins, no padding… just words. Not a single centimeter of page left empty. I needed this book.

So I left with it.

From the walk home, to riding the train, I felt like I was being watched. That feeling, once again, returning in full. I got home, sat down, and looked at the book in my hands. I stared at the cover, once again, the swirling kaleidoscope of a spider web. It was golden against the dark red of the cover. Tracing the engraving, I opened it.

“Wendy opened the book-” the book read. “Wendy opened the book and began to read. They tilted their head a bit, squinting at the small text of the book. ‘How did it know?” they asked, ‘How did the book know what I’m thinking? Even as I’m reading this- NO! NO! Stop it!’ they cried, opening their mouth in shock. They began to read the next line out loud: ‘How do you know this?’ they asked again. This wasn’t right, no. A book, written who knows how long ago, should not have all their actions on paper!

This is wrong, this is bad, this isn’t right! They wanted to put it down, but something magnetic kept them in place.”

I flipped ahead in the book. I thought, hey! Maybe I could tell my future. Ha! No- this book…

“Wendy flipped ahead in the book, wondering what exactly this book could do.” It said. It knew I would flip ahead to that one page, and I would read that specific line and it would listen to me. LISTEN TO ME. HOW DID IT KNOW THIS!? HOW DOES IT KNOW MY EVERY MOVE? Do you know the horror that’s your every action being written down on paper in this random book without an author, without a title, without any fucking margins! No! No you don’t! Except maybe you do now, because you’re written in that book now! I know it because I read it! Jonathan Sims, the book said, Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute.

I continued to read, I don’t know why I did, but I did! I couldn’t put it down, it was magnetic. It forced me to! God, and all it did was taunt me, Jonathan! It TAUNTED ME, LAUGHED AT ME. It told me how I was going to die, how my entire future would play out! I- I become nothing, I become nothing! I don’t have a future, no- this book. This book TOLD me how I would go insane, go mad, at the fact this book exists! That I would become nothing, that I am nothing, that I would quit my job and become a hermit. How does IT KNOW?

I’ve become a character- I’ve become a character and I don’t know what to do. I am a character in a novel! And the words I’m saying now, and I’m talking to you reader, are being read by a monster. By this person who KNOWS. By you reading this, I am hurting. I surely hope you are entertained by this! I hope you enjoy.

[Laughter]

Even- EVEN NOW. I am listening to the book, I am listening to what it told me to do. It gave me the address, it told me I would speak with you, that I would say these exact words while screaming, crying over how much… how broken I am after this. That no matter what I would say, the book would know. And do you know what the book told me?

ARCHIVIST:

Um… no.

WENDY:

It told me you would understand. YOU would get what I feel! You would know what this all means! What does the spider web mean! How does it know? Why I’m being controlled by some words on paper! I feel sick, I don’t-

ARCHIVIST:

Give me a moment…

WENDY:

The book said you’d say that too.

ARCHIVIST:

Do you have the book on you?

WENDY:

It said I would keep it home.

ARCHIVIST:

Why do you keep listening to it if you hate it so much?

WENDY:

Because it threatened me, Archivist. It said if I didn’t listen-

[Laughter].

ARCHIVIST:

…

Humbert-

WENDY:

Do not- do not say my name. Just tell me… why? Why, Archivist. What does this all mean? Why?!

ARCHIVIST:

I can’t do that.

WENDY:

That’s what the book said you’d do.

ARCHIVIST:

I-

[click.]

ARCHIVIST:

After that, Wendy had to be apprehended by security.

I know what that book was. I sent Martin to go and pick up the book from Wendy’s home. I don’t want her to have that.

It must be- it was the Web.

I know it.

Statement ends.

#my writing #original statement #the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #my og statements #i have like 12 of these #so ill post more.

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disacurveball · 9 months

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Statement of Maeve Fitzpatrick, regarding her sister’s heart– or lack thereof.

...

It’s what she deserves, isn’t it? Can you blame me for feeling just a little bit of satisfaction? Does that make me a monster too?

#Statement Fic #Original statement #tma flesh #The Flesh is connected to Christianity #TMA #TMA fic #the Magnus archives #s1 statement #tma entities #the flesh tma #jonathan fanshawe #(he’s the unnamed doctor in this fic cause it’s part of my au where he is a flesh avatar)

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violetwolfraven · 11 months

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The funniest thing in the world to me is when people write mermaids that are bothered by humans eating fish. Like do you think fish don’t eat each other? The ocean is full of little freaks that will eat whatever or whoever the fuck will fit in their mouths. If the mermaids haven’t been eating fish this whole time what do you think they’ve been eating? If the answer is humans, that doesn’t make it any less funny. They’ll eat the species that looks like the top half of them but won’t eat a species that looks like the bottom half? Peak comedy.

#mermaids #mythical creatures #edit:#okay a lot of you have had good ideas about why mermaids possibly would be bothered by humans eating fish #so i will amend my original statement to say it’s funny and it doesn’t make any sense #unless you outright in-universe explain it #like don’t just fall back on the excuse of bUT tHeIR OUr unDERsEa BrOTherS #make it a part of their culture or physiology #if they haven’t been eating fish explain what they HAVE been eating and why #make it interesting

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cirrus-grey · 1 year

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As someone who has witnessed old, established fandoms get completely erased under a wave of new content, I'd like to put this request out now as early as possible:

Can we all, please, use separate tags for "The Magnus Archives" (TMA) and "The Magnus Protocol" (TMP*) both here on tumblr and over on Ao3.

There will be some overlap, of course, but searching for TMA should turn up content about Jonathan Sims, the Archivist, and the old established set of characters, while searching for TMP should turn up content about our as-of-yet unnamed new civil servant protagonists and whoever shares the show with them.

I realize that people are going to want to keep using the TMA tags for both personal organization reasons as well as visibility, but I promise you, once content for the new show starts really picking up steam it'll be easier on all of us if we have two separate tags to keep them straight.

[If we need an overarching umbrella tag, I'd suggest "The Magnus Universe" (TMU) to cover content related to the world as a whole rather than a specific show.]

*Edit: Some helpful folks have pointed out that "TMP" is already in use as a tag for Star Trek "The Motion Picture," so perhaps a better alternative would be "TMAGP" so we don't erase their fandom, either.

#the magnus archives #the magnus protocol #original post #my magnus archives stuff #my magnus protocol stuff #statement remains #500 notes!#1000 notes!#2000 notes!#3000 notes!#4000 notes!#5000 notes!

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instituteslosttapes · 3 months

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S̵̲͒t̸͇͊̍a̶͓͗͆͜t̶̢͙͌e̶̦͝m̸̖̽̚ĕ̸̟̞n̷̞̣̂̚t̵͍̮̓ ̸̘̚#̸̱͘1̴̨̏0̴̢̓9̷̡̤̓̕5̸̧̔͝8̶̭͈̈́

Tw:

*bugs

*things crawling under skin

Statement of Abigail Hersh. Regarding her time working with Associate Professor Alessio Giordano in the summer of 2014. Original statement given the 19th of January, 2014. Audio Recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus institute, London.

Statement begins

I was never a squeamish child, or a squeamish adult for that matter. Things like dirt, bugs, mold, hell even death never bothered me. As a child I used to keep track of all the roadkill I would see on the side of the road, sometimes I would even walk through the woods in the hopes of finding a decaying animal so that I could take its bones home and add them to my small collection that I had stashed in my closet so my mother wouldn’t find them. I would scour the shelves at my local library for books on taxidermy, embalming, all of the things that a well adjusted child such as myself would be interested in.

I started working with Professor Giordano in 2014 after completing my undergraduate degree in anthropology. I was excited to work with them, you see, my university was one of the few with a Dermestid lab on site and I had always wanted to see them work up close, so when Professor Giordano offered me a temporary position in their lab for the summer I couldn’t pass it up. Now, I wish I had though. My job was simple, I was to keep track of what the Dermestids currently had in their tank and make sure that I swapped them out with something else so that the Dermestids didn’t start to eat the bones. It was easy, and fascinating. I didn’t see a lot of Professor Giordano while I worked there, which I didn’t think was that odd. I had never seen much of Professor Giordano even when I was taking one of their classes. You see it was online and they had only ever reached out to me in email. I saw Professor Giordano once, but never saw their face. They had directed me to where I was going to be working and instructed me on a few things all with their back turned to me. Which wasn’t that much of a red flag, I have anxiety too and sometimes it's hard for me to make eye contact with people so I just assumed that they were extremely socially awkward which didn’t bother me.

I only saw Professor Giordano a few times after that, it was usually in passing when I was coming in to start my shift and they would quickly shuffle into their office at the back of the lab and shut the door behind them. The work was actually quite boring, I would spend most of my time scrolling on my phone or applying for Master programs on my computer, occasionally taking breaks to watch the Dermestids work. They are fascinating creatures, they will eat all of the skin, meat, muscles and tendons left on bones until they are perfectly clean and ready to be bleached. The job was fine, I liked it and it was a good way to make a little bit of money and I didn’t really get any grief from Professor Giordano for being on my phone or things like that. So many people would have killed to have the type of job I did, even my friends told me so. I wish one of them had gotten it instead of me. I know that sounds awful to say but If you had seen what I had you would understand! You would get why I would have rather had it been anyone but me.

Professor Giordano had sent me home early one day, they said that they had an emergency to attend to and that they couldn’t leave me alone in the lab so I had to pack up my things and go home. They looked like they were in a rush so I tried my best to get all of my things together quickly and get out of there… It wasn't until later that I realized I had left my laptop behind and I had to go back and get it. I was working on my application for my masters degree and the deadline was for that next morning so I had no choice but to hope that the doors were still unlocked and I would be able to go back and get it. I went back as soon as I had noticed it was missing, by then it was almost five o’clock and most of the staff had left the buildings already. I went directly to the lab, there were still some of the other professors there so I didn’t really rouse any suspicions as I walked towards the Demestrids lab. It was dark in there when I finally got there, and at first I didn’t think that the door would be unlocked but I tried it, and to my surprise it was so I went inside and that's when I saw it. I saw Professor Giordano, at least… what I thought was Professor Giordano, it- it looked like them, but it couldn’t have actually been them. P-people don’t… People don’t look like that. They were missing an eye and there were holes and- and abscesses all over their face and I swear to God that I could see something moving under their skin. I tried to speak, I tried to ask them if they were okay, if they needed help or needed me to call for an ambulance but they didn’t say anything. They opened their mouth and a thousand of those… those beetles poured out of their mouth and began to come towards me.

Before I knew it they were scuttling up my legs, under my clothing and I could feel them biting me. I screamed and thrashed as Professor Giordano or… or whatever they were started coming towards me. Limbs jerking and body twitching as if they were controlled by something other than themselves. Almost like they were possessed. I think at some point I passed out, because when I woke up I was alone again, Professor Giordano wasn’t there and when I looked at myself I was completely unharmed… There were no bugs and the beetles in the lab were still in their dedicated cases. I grabbed my laptop and ran out of there. I never went back.

I'm sorry about the blood… I just can’t stop scratching.

Statement ends

We attempted to contact Ms. Hersh for a follow up statement but were unsuccessful. We did confirm however that an Alessio Giordano did indeed work at the state university in the years which Ms. Hersh attended, but is no longer employed there and we can’t find any other trace of them since then. It appears as if they have disappeared.

Recording ends.

#the magnus archives #tma podcast #original statement #original character #the corruption

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marlasomething · 1 year

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(my) Mag a Week: Body Points

Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened and...I changed it to publish on Monday instead of the previous Sunday, but got busy so...delay. Sorry.

For today I rolled Archivist!Sarah Baldwin (weird one there, uh) and Flesh!Statement (Eps. 25-30).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: weirness, very mild body horror, bad attitudes towards body image, mild violence, murder

Also on AO3!

Statement of Jenna Goth, regarding the murder and partial eating of a remarkable number of individuals in the course of less than a year.

Recorded by Sarah Baldwin, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

I know how this might look like, a letter coming from a mental institution, written by a teenager (I am still nineteen, after all) that has been in all public news after having killed and partially-eaten a few of her former classmates…

…not very reliable. However, I have heard about the kind of menaces you have to deal on a daily basis and, honestly, I trust you to trust me even more than myself. Plus, if it is of any consolation, the guard that will be taking my letter to you seem as sceptic as anyone can possibly be about you guys (you are a recurrent topic of conversation in here), so…there is that.

Sorry, I have never been much of a public speaker or, more accurately, I have never been much of a public speaker when I actually had something interesting to say or that wasn’t exactly what I wanted. When it comes to useless giving monologues as an evil cheerleader from a 80s film? There is no one (and I shall repeat no one ) that could get to my level.

I was rather perfect back then, with the exact body and features that had been worshiped for the last decade or so, looking a bit too old for my age, so everybody could acknowledge my biological merits without any sort of guilt ruminating at the back of their minds.

I was the recipient of all someone on my age should ideally be.

I had friends, a nice comfortable social position and the most accurate British version of the “popular girl in high school life” proposed by the Americans, but without the unnecessary romantic drama (which could have been funny, as long as it doesn’t involve you personally).

It cost me, of course, I had to make sure that both my brain (no one want a good-for-nothing gal, I needed high enough marks without being too remarkable) and body were perfect, just as they should be. I had to be what I was supposed to. I had to reach that state of certain perfection.

After all, who would I be if I was left alone in the not-always-so-metaphorical darkness?

Then, it happened.

The pimple appeared.

It wasn’t in a place that was actually visible; but in the upper part of my arm, completely covered by the uniform and, since it was winter, all the clothes I was going to be seen on outside high school.

Still, I knew it was there, and every time someone praised my porcelain skin I felt the gilt and same, the small sickly white over red protuberance itching within my arm. I had to make it disappear, at all costs.

I first tried cologne, it had worked previously and, obviously, all of my perfumes and similar products smelled beyond nice, so maybe I would even be more presentable. However, it did not only didn’t work, but practically burry my senses, almost as if I had fever, as if my body was… defending itself against me drying out a pimple?

It made no sense and, yet, I couldn’t think of a better explanation. So, since the painless method hadn’t worked out, I tried the grossest one: discard it from all its greasy and abscess mass manually. It worked out just about right; only that, the only thing that came out was…water, pristine water. I felt as someone voluntarily pushing a clown’s flower.

It had worked, though, so I just was glad of it and left the bathroom, choosing not to think about it ever again.

The dimple came back, this time at the perfect length for it to be seen if I rolled up my sleeves ever so slightly and, what was even worse, I could feel the rush sensation where the previous one had been coming back.

I tried not to think about it, and wait patiently until they had disappeared, certain the itching would just go away and nobody would notice my body wasn’t as perfect as before. With a bit of luck, the itching would have gone down enough for me to finish all my school work without any interruptions.

I wasn’t that lucky and, in the recess, I run towards the bathroom, noticing how the pimples were somehow crawling on themselves, provoking the most unnerving of itching on all my skin and even, partially, the muscle on itself.

I rolled up the sleeve and, apart from the already partially visible very mundane pimple, there was an inform shape almost next to my shoulder. A bulging capsule of a very low-density liquid inside…

…this couldn’t be happening. I refused to believe it but, just when I was about to turn in self-denial, I spotted one of my classmates behind me.

You see, Clara had never been very good at anything, nor even sleep (she had insomnia) nor eating (she had constant indigestions). However, what she was, that was a very reliable; that and that she always worried about other people.

“That is not normal, you should see a doctor” she said, her voice far too sweet for my liking.

After seeing that I was not going to answer, she carried on.

“Look, I will call a teacher. With an arm like this” I took personal offence.

My arms were perfect, never a “like this”. Do they have a couple of pimples? Maybe! But…I was being what I had to be! It is not fair to be judged like that! Much less by a girl whose only actual remarkable physical quality was the skin of her arms…?

There, my brain froze in one and only one thought: Clara’s arms were what I wanted. What I needed, so my body could be whole once again.

I jumped towards her, catching her for surprise and making her head find the sink with a dry clank, followed by the loss of any light in her bright blue eyes.

I started chewing the skin and flesh that occupied the parallel spaces to where mines had been corrupted.

It felt like glory.

I woke up the next morning to two completely gone pimples. Yes, it is true that Clara had always been a bit plump, so now my arm had two very specifics parts softer and wider than the rest of it; making the long-sleeve pyjamas look a bit funny on me. But I didn’t care, I got rid of the corruption and, last time I checked, we were in an era of accepting more body types, right?

So, as long as I still got accepted (better even, ever so slightly applauded), everything was fine.

The pimples kept coming up, in different parts of my body; even those were they were never supposed to appear, such as my fingertips. Every time, there was someone unworthy of a long life to give me that part of my body that had been corrupted.

My nose passed from a tiny button to the big one but with personality of my aunt, I won the muscular left leg of a marathon runner that lived next door, the far too long middle finger of a girl from the class next door…still, they matched me more than the relentless pimples that came, and came, and came…

And, every time one came, people noticed more, giving me terrible looks, noticing what I already knew: I had stopped being useful, as my perfect body was far gone and, since I couldn’t focus in anything by my disgrace, my grades also started to go down.

I passed from being a very promising piece of society to a pile of useless disgusting biological waste.

I was desperate.

So I got sloppy and, hence, the police did what they had been trying to do with absolutely no result for more than half a year: they caught me.

Somehow, the doctors and other experts came to the conclusion that all my physical alterations were the cause of extreme self-inflicted plastic surgery I somehow learned how to do.

I cannot understand it, but I couldn’t understand my pimples either; and here we are…

…at least, apparently, I finally discovered how to stop them: I surrendered. Now, I get one once in a while, but it is gone within a few days and, hey, maybe there are not so bad after all…

…maybe they help me find my new place in the world. That is the only thing I am missing: a place in the world.

Alas, me writing to you: is there anywhere in your Archives a document that explain what people like me are meant to do?

If you find it, do please contact me. If not, I bet we both can waste our time better.

Statement ends.

Well, I remember when this came to the press…God, I have never been gladder of not having gone on that trip to Edinburgh…think what would have happened having I’ve been there…Well, at least she knew what she was all the way out of the experience; that is much better than other statements we have in here.

I have just recently taken this position, after Georgina Barker recommended me when her partner, Jonathan Sims, refused since he knew what a workaholic he could become and how he was not going to go into that rabbit whole again….and, honestly, I get it.

I have always been drawn to the supernatural, but some of these statements make me question all reality on its totality.

If I am saying all this is because I would just cut part of the recording.

It isn’t as if there was anyone else listening, right? If there is: no, I am not sorry I smoked in my office every single day.

Recording ends.

#a mag a day #a mag a week #mag horror #statement #original statement #au #the magnus archives #fanfic #tma #magnuspod #sarah baldwin #original statement giver #fic #the flesh #mag

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