Jonah M - Tumblr Posts
listened to the vol2 twitch vod and found out adam hates the cold so i immediately drew this as fast as humanly possible . temperature dynamic i love u with my whole heart
Alternate Jonah concept (Roadkill Jonah)
Adam unintentionally ran over his body with the car after Jonah’s death and partially crushed his skull and ribs. He’s probably haunting his dreams now.
Uncensored version ⬇️
an old tmc comic i started all the way back in december and never finished. its about adam's perspective on his friendship with jonah (this made a bit after vol 4, way before the diary entries). this was my first time attempting a comic, so it's a bit all over the place, but it was a fun experiment :]
“ INVESTIGATIONS DONE FOR CHEAP! ”
flopped on twitter . tumblr help me out plleasssrrr i love him
the silly creatures, I sure hope they don’t experience the horrors !
Traditional art jumpscare
UAHHH IM BACKKKK
I beg for the little skrunkly BPS duo actually being friends. PLEASE 🙏🙏
Havw the entire trio instead cuz I crave the alternative universe where they’re all besties
To Want
His fingers dig into the carpet, worn down fibres snagging on chipped and broken nails. The creature in the mirror does the same. There is a burning in his mouth.
Pain comes and goes, ebbs and flows on a tide he can't predict and nor does he want to. To hurt is human. To suffer is human. To bleed is human.
Twisted limbs and a head that feels heavy. Ribs contorted and curled, bending up in broken prongs to press tight against skin with too much give. Like pressing a digit into cellophane wrap, right up to the point just before it splits. This body is too loose and too tight all at once. It isn't his, it can't be. There is no familiarity in the shape.
And in the reflection is a nightmare.
For the first time in years, he wants to cry. Has he ever really cried? His memories tell him he used to cry as a child, reaching out for a mother no longer there. But something deep in his gut reminds him that she was not his mother. She never was.
She was the mother of a little boy, with blond hair like his and blue eyes so like his own. But he is not that child. He never was. Just a facsimile, designed to take its place.
A cog in a well-oiled machine.
The monster in the mirror continues to paw restlessly at the carpet, digging through to the boards beneath. He feels the blood welling up on his fingertips, the slivers of wood piercing into his skin. It hurts. Or is that just make believe too?
You are not the real you.
Then who is he really? A question from childhood that haunts him to this day. He doubts that when his teachers asked him who he wanted to be when he grew up that they had ever thought it would end like this.
No longer a question of who but what.
He's never thought of himself as a good person. Snide comments came easily and he's always found himself hurting people's feelings more than he ever did considering them, using them to bridge the gaps to friendship. He didn't need friends then.
But he needs them now.
And what a thing to realise after months of hating the boy next to him, resenting his easy smiles and annoying jokes. Wanting to claw out that strange feeling in his chest whenever he said something stupid, that light airy sensation that made him want to scream or throw up. Violating. Never understanding it, only knowing that he hated it. That he hated him. And yet, after leaving what remained of him behind, face down by that road- after everything he'd said to Sarah, irritated at her incessant whining and the low mournful cries of a pitiful beast outside of his window- it finally finally clicks into place-
He wants Jonah.
He wants his friend.