Shes Just Like Me! (jk I Dont Eat Rocks.... Maybe)

Dichotomy time if you were depicted in a red/blue characters dynamic

No other colors you are getting SHOEHORNED into these boxes

My favorite character interpretation for both Jonathan Sims and pre distortion Michael Shelley is that they’re a little odd in general even without all the fear entity stuff.

Jon stares just a little too long when makes conversation. Michael moves in a sudden jerky way that would remind most people of a spider moving its legs. Jon always looks a little too…stiff. Like he’s a porcelain doll sat against the chair instead of a man. Michael never walks flat on feet, he noticeably puts his weight on either on his heels or his toes.

Jon’s eye, hair, and clothing colors always look a bit dull somehow. Like someone drew him and then turned the contrast down. Michael’s fingers and toes are noticeably long and quite a few people have told him that he has the longest fingers/toes they’ve ever seen.

I could pretend this headcanon is profound commentary on their humanity, but honestly I’m just very fond of viewing Jon and Michael as cryptid adjacent.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

I fell asleep in my friends' arms. It was eleven at night, we were tired, curled up in a small pile on my tiny bed. I had my head buried in my roommate's side, and one of my closest friend's hand on my shoulder, steadying me. It was quiet and nothingness and peace and their heartbeats in my ears, my hands in their hair.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

We pack four people to that little bed, you know. Laps used as footrests, collarbones as pillows, little lights like moonlight in rustic yellow bathed on their faces. The TV plays an anime. The words are repeated by my dear friend on my shoulder, curled close. My legs are asleep; my roommate may be, too.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

The cat curls on top of our criss cross mess of legs and arms and heads on chests to absorb the warmth of us all. She purrs in contented peace. When my roommate and I are left alone in the quiet, she cries, and watches the door for our friends' return.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

I will never kiss them but the top of their heads. I will never touch but the warmth of their arms. I will never take more than what's freely given, and in return I put my glasses on the bedside table fashioned from a guitar amp, and when I lean into their sides, I pick up my vulnerability and place it in their capable, tender hands.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

I sing for them. I cry for them. I work and I run and I withstand the worst of the world for them, because some days I get to cradle their forehead on my shoulder and some days I get to see their shining eyes.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

Maybe to you. But look beyond explanation. I love them. With my heart in my unsteady hands, with my nose pressed to the side of their head, with the buzzing in my feet and the warmth all around Iike the sunset pushing into the window.

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

Is it enough to say I love them? With no strings attached? With reckless abandon and utter devotion and freedom and kindness and fear?

"there is no platonic explanation for this--"

I cannot explain it any clearer. I love my friends. There is no more to say.

IF NOT FOR EAT WHY CAKE?

IF NOT FOR MOUTH WHY HONEYCOMB?

IF NOT FOOD WHY LOOK LIKE FORBIDDEN SNACK?

does anyone else feel me. can anyone hear me in here.

having a resting bitchface is so funny because i'll be doing something relaxing, and really enjoying myself and my face will look like this

Casts spell called “please be alright. I love you.”