#themagnuspod

Kinda clearer pic below (I can't get a good pic of it close up cos it blurs ༎ຶ⁠‿⁠༎ຶ ) 👇👇

Gertrude Robinson and Gerard Keay

#TheMagnusArchives podcast

Gertrude is my friend Anna

Gerard is me

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Bonus photo - The true nature of Gertrude Robinson :

“This is the Magnus Institute, not a creative writing course at university. If that doesn’t agree with him, he can leave.” There was a thud and the sound of rifling tapes. “He can take his bloody tea with him.”

Martin’s fingers tightened on the saucer. Oh.

-

Martin knows better than to talk about it. It’s fine. He’s fine.

Chapters: 2/2 [Complete]

Words: ~19k

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Martin Blackwood’s Mother, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Season 1, Jon is An Ass, He Gets Better, Getting Together, First Kiss, Utter Disrespect Towards Slam Poetry

~

“Martin,” Ms. Williams said as the other kids were dismissed for recess. Her brown eyes were soft and kind, but it did nothing to put off the sick twist of dread in Martin’s stomach.  “You didn’t turn in your homework again.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Martin?”

He fiddled with the eraser on his desk, rubbing it over some smudges, before looking up. She was still smiling.

“Is there anything you want to talk about? Something going on at home I can help with?”

Martin didn’t think Ms. Williams was all that keen to help him with Mum. Although, it would be nice if she knew he was usually just too tired for homework, instead of being too stupid. Mum didn’t like him talking about it, though.

But this was his teacher, and you’re supposed to trust your teachers, right? More importantly, it was Ms. Williams. If anyone would understand, she would, right?

So, Martin told her. At first, he thought he did something wrong because Ms. Williams’s eyes grew less kind and the corners of her mouth tightened. He must have made a mistake, though, because she was still smiling and, when he was finished, said he could join the other children outside.

“Am I in trouble?”

“Oh, of course not, sweetie.” She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You’re a very good boy, Martin.”

Martin still thinks about how that made him feel; surprised and confused, but with a breathless warmth ballooning in his chest.

The next day, when Mum was picking him up from school, Ms. Williams requested if the two of them could talk in her classroom and asked Martin to wait outside.

He had never heard his mother so angry before. He could picture it, though; the bulging veins in her neck, the spit flecking from her lips as she blew up on Ms. Williams, asking her where she found the gall, telling her that he was healthy and fed and what more could they want from them.

When he heard her start storming towards the door, fear twisted his heart and he almost bolted. He didn’t, and when the door opened, he let Mum seize his arm and pull him away.

He had one look of Ms. Williams. She had collapsed into her chair, hand covering her mouth. He still saw that image under his eyelids sometimes, years later, when he’s tossing and turning in bed.

Mum went to the principal after that. The other children were more than happy to tell him all about it in the hallways. After that, Mum took away his books and toys so he could focus on his homework. He would get them back when his grades went up.

Ms. Williams transferred schools at the end of the year. It was almost a relief. Her eyes had been so sad.

Martin never blamed her. Why would he? She was young and far too kind and had just wanted to help. He didn’t blame his mother either, not really. He had known better, after all. They were living in a tough situation. If she didn’t stand up for them, they would have been torn apart, and he never wanted that.

No, if Martin had just kept his mouth shut, the whole thing could have been avoided.

~

Once  👁️ Had [Tma Animatic] 

“My hand closed instead around cold metal, and I drew out a fist-sized lump of… I think it must have been copper or bronze, and had been roughly carved into the shape of a heart, but like a real heart, not like a Valentine’s one. It was cold to the touch, like it had just come out of a freezer, and it almost stuck to my skin. Engraved on the side was the name “Alan Parfitt”, the letters carved in with machine-like precision. That was the last sign of Alan I ever found. As far as I’m aware he’s never been seen since.“

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