#the killer look™

[mistress-light]

I commissioned this lovely drawing of the one and only Tanta of Love: Cinta (from Forspoken) It's made by the very talented @cute-ellyna. It's based on my own screenshot.

I'm so very pleased with it!

[airenyah]

i need to talk about this line here for a second, because it's an attack on me personally. but not the english translation of it, no, it's the og thai line that really gets to me. because he says:

มันโอเค​นะเว้ย ที่จะมีความรักอ่ะ [man - oh-keh - ná wóiie • thêe - jà - mee kwaam rák - àh] it - okay - [particle] • that - will - be in love - [particle]

he specifically uses the term มีความรัก which is more like "to be in love". which means rather than "it's okay to love", this line is more accurately translated as:

It's okay to be in love.

and as someone who really really really struggles with self-acceptance for my own romantic feelings for others, this distinction is really important to me. i can deal with loving others. i love my family. i love my best friend (you really don't go here but hiiii @magsimags i love youuuu 😘 (i know you're rolling your eyes reading this as usual)(i don't care)(i love you)). i love my other close friend. i love my summer camp gang. i love my friend that style reminds me of. i love each and every single one of the friends i've made in this fandom over the past few years (you know who you are 💖). i KNOW it's okay to love. i do it all the time. loudly. as evidenced by the fact that i just HAD to tag my best friend in this post to publically tell her i love her even though she really doesn't care about my thai blorbos, just because i really couldn't NOT tag her to tell her i love her. anyway. i can love. loving is fine.

but to be in love??? that's a whole different story. having (in my case romantic) feelings for someone feels like a heavy burden. it feels humiliating. i hate it. i don't want it. it stresses me out. and the person i have feelings for especially can't ever know about it. see, i will talk about my crushes/romantic feelings, but mostly to family and friends (the better they know the person i have feelings for, the harder it gets for me to admit to it), and even then the word "be in love" won't ever come out of my mouth in my native language. in english it's easier, but in my native language i just can't say it. it feels heavy. it makes me cringe. being in love is horrible.

so when style said "it's okay to be in love" specifically? that was a punch to my gut. because this is a truth i have not yet managed to accept for myself. and if the person i had feelings for specifically told me "it's okay to be in love" so firmly and so earnestly? yeah, i would crumble too

[djevelbl]

as an undertale fan, i need u all to understand the PAIN i feel every time i notice THATS the thumbnail he used for the episode in which he kills sans

[hotsexyemogirl77]

╭──────────── ╰─➛✎﹏ | nsfw headcanons ! .°• ੈ♡₊˚•.

incl. jeff the killer, ticci toby, masky, hoodie, eyeless jack, ben drowned

18+ | minors dni

❦.♱ʚ♡ɞ♱❦

jeff the killer

" you look so pretty wrapped around my cock. you're such a whore for me, i'm gonna fuck you dumb "

-filthy mouth ,,, he's so graphic in bed

-always lets you know how good you feel around him <3

-he loooves watching your face

-his favourite position is definitely either missionary or when you ride him

-he loves face fucking i'm sorry he loves watching you take all of him

-likes watching you cough and tear up too

- big on degrading

-he loves edging either you're doing it

to him or he's doing it to you he goes crazy for it

-mean and dominate but he will never deny you pleasure

-you'd have to beg for it first though

-loves finishing on your face and chest

-loves being noisy he does NOT care if anybody hears you two

ticci toby

" fuuck, keep clenching around me like that, i promise i'm gonna fill you up so good just give me one more ok ¿ "

- he wants to be a dad sooooo bad (he wants to see you pregnant with his seed)

- crazy stamina he's at LEAST going 2 LONG rounds

- munch ™ but he likes loves to be all up in there. like All over down there

- very messy

- loves the idea of his and your fluids mixing together

- speaking of, he loves hearing the slick sticky sounds from them mixing

- lowkey kinda sick LMAO

- doesn't know where to keep his hands he's all over you

- he loves finishing down your throat or inside you (if you'll let him of course)

- his favourite position is doggy or reverse cowgirl

- switch dom leaning for sure

masky

" shut your mouth or i'll give you something to shut it with, i wont be bothered to be nice either about it sweetheart "

- if you think jeff was mean you have another thing coming honey </3

- big sadist

- wether him marking you up or him spanking you he's doing it all

- he especially likes spanking your ass

- he like seeing you in any position where he's in control

- likes spitting

- doesn't matter if you spit on him or vice versa he's into it

- hard dom loves seeing you so helpless for him

- likes seeing you cry or tear up

- likes the idea of handcuffs in bed

- rough and mean for sure but he knows when he's taking it too far

hoodie

" such a pretty thing for me, im sorry for being so mean you just look so good begging for me down there "

- likes head a little too much

- loves to see you begging or yknow, just on your knees for him

- sooo cocky

- he likes any position he can see your face in he has no preference for it

- likes gagging you but he rewards you for being such a doll about it <3

- he likes receiving more than giving but he likes seeing his partner happy

- he will do it because he likes returning the favour (he likes when you pull his hair)

- lowkey a masochist but he won't say it out loud

- he likes being bitten, marked up ect

- likes seeing your expressions while fucking, his favourite is when he first slips it in

- and when your eyes shut or roll back during it

- hard/service dom

eyeless jack

" look at you, so needy for me, if you ask nicely i'll give you what you want and more"

- loves the every sound you make

- every moan, whimper, cry ect

- big on telling him yourself what you want from him

- he gets a power trip from it

- doesn't make much sound aside from talking

- grunting, growling and heavy breather

- LOVES 69-ing and missionary

- loves marking you up either from hickeys or bite marks

- especially in places others can see them too

- likes keeping his hands your hips

- loves setting the pace

- service top/dom

ben drowned

" fuck yeah just like that angel, please don't stop you feel so good around me like that "

- switch sub leaning

- LOVES when you're on top

- whimpering ,,, and whining ,,

- he like cumming either anywhere on you or down your throat

- he begs a lot without having to ask

- very very eager to please you

- despite all that he can have his more dominate moments too

- loves doggy or literally just bending you over his desk

- LOVES LOVES LOVES biting, scratching, hickeys ect

- goes crazy when it's happening either way tbh

- loses it when you pull his hair it gets him so hard so fast

- likes to tell you how good you feel and are and vice versa call him a good boy

- loves under the desk support

[rosierin]

stem wars | atsumu, osamu, suna

synopsis; osamu can tie cherry stems with his tongue so atsumu, suna and (y/n) try to one-up him.

this fic is part of the off-season quartet™ series! for more, click here :)

It started innocently enough.

The four of them were gathered around the dining table, bowls half-full of fruit, the soft drone of an animal documentary playing on the TV in the background. The narrator’s voice was mellow, British, and mildly bored:

“The leopard uses stealth to approach its prey, crouching low in the tall grass…”

Atsumu had one leg propped up on the chair, slowly chewing on a cherry, fully engrossed in the program. Suna sat opposite, slouched with his hoodie half-zipped, eyes flickering idly between the screen and the bowl. (Y/n) had a cushion behind her back and one of her legs tucked under her, snacking contentedly. Osamu was methodically pitting cherries and lining up the seeds on a napkin like some sort of serial killer.

The mood was calm. Nobody saying a peep until a rogue thought crossed (y/n)’s mind.

“Hey,” she piped up, chewing thoughtfully.

She earned a chorus of hums, all varying in pitch and interest.

“Can you guys do that thing where you tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”

The documentary kept droning in the background.

Atsumu frowned. “That’s a thing?”

Suna glanced over. “Can’t say I’ve tried.”

Osamu looked a little smug. “I can.”

(Y/n)’s eyes lit up, her grin spreading like wildfire. “You can??”

Atsumu looked offended and cast his brother a judgemental stare. “Since when?”

Osamu shrugged, picking out another cherry. “Since I’ve been eatin’ cherries.”

Suna nodded slowly, twirling one of the fruits between his fingers. “That’s pretty impressive.”

“I ain’t buyin’ it,” Atsumu scoffed. “I don’t see how it’s even possible.“

“No,” (y/n) insisted, leaning forward now, “it’s a legit thing! Some people can just do it.”

Osamu raised an eyebrow and plucked a stem from the bowl. “Wanna see?”

All three of them responded in unison:

“Yes please.”

“Yeah.”

“Duh.”

With all the nonchalance of someone tying their shoelaces, Osamu popped the cherry in his mouth. His jaw shifted slightly. A few seconds passed. Then, he stuck out his tongue.

The stem was tied in a perfect little knot.

Atsumu dropped his cherry onto the table. “What the actual hell—”

Even Suna looked stunned. “Damn. He can actually do it.”

(Y/n) let out a little laugh. “That’s kinda sick.”

And just like that, the table descended into silly competition.

Everyone suddenly had a cherry stem in hand.

Atsumu was determined. He shoved one in his mouth, brow furrowed like he was solving a math equation.

“How the fuck are ya supposed to—”

“Don’t choke,” Suna warned, already working on his own attempt.

(Y/n) giggled. “Okay, wait—how do you even start? Do you fold it or just like… twist it around?”

“Use your tongue, obviously,” Atsumu snapped, still mumbling around the stem. “What else are ya s’posed to use?”

She snorted. “It’s harder than it looks!”

Osamu leaned back with his arms folded, watching like a proud sensei. “Just takes practice.”

Then, without warning, Suna casually stuck out his tongue—and lo and behold, his stem was perfectly knotted too.

“WHAT?!” Atsumu practically shrieked. “How’d you do that?!”

(Y/n) gave him a look, mocking his tone. “By using his tongue, duh. What else are ya s’posed to use?”

Atsumu shot her a glare.

Suna shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m multi-talented.”

(Y/n) gasped. “Okay, what is this? How are the two of you so good at this?!”

Atsumu spat his stem onto a napkin, clicking his tongue irritably. “Mine broke. This is rigged.”

Osamu, grinning now, lazily spun his tied stem between his fingers. “Guess I’m just better at usin’ my tongue. No big deal, guys.”

(Y/n) choked on air.

Atsumu’s head whipped around. “Fuck off—”

Suna’s smirk grew three sizes as he brandished another perfectly knotted cherry stem on his tongue.

(Y/n) gawked, cheeks hot as she looked between the very smug Suna and casual-as-ever Osamu.

“What?” he said, too innocently. “Just statin’ facts.”

Atsumu looked anything but convinced. “You both know what yer doin’.”

Osamu bit into another cherry, lips quirking. “Can’t help it if you’ve got a dirty mind.”

(Y/n) giggled helplessly, chasing the less-than-appropriate thoughts from her head.

Atsumu reached for another stem, undeterred. “One more. I swear ’m gonna do it.”

“Give up, 'Tsumu,” Osamu drawled. “Some people just don’t got it.”

Suna tossed a cherry into his mouth, casting a sly glance at (y/n). “Then there’s those who do.”

Atsumu groaned at his third failed attempt, lobbing the seed at the wall like it was the cherry’s fault.

Osamu clicked his tongue. “Ya better pick that up.”

Atsumu huffed, picking up another cherry with unnecessary force. “Not until I figure this shit out.”

(Y/n) stilled, tugging on their sleeves. “Guys—guys—the leopard is hunting.”

Nobody paid attention.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

so like. fnaf movie. after night five, all outside observers know is "this 30yo guy with severe anger issues + his 10yo mentally ill sister just walked out of his collapsing workplace with an unconscious, stabbed police officer, saying that someone inside the building tried to kill them but we can't get into the building to check. we went to their house and the aunt who was fighting for custody of the child is dead on the floor. the guy's career counselor is missing, as is his babysitter and her family and apparently they're all dead in the building we can't get into." and like. that all looks suspicious as FUCK however we know that in the few-weeks timeskip both mike and abby seem happy and fine so it's not like mike was arrested or anything. he seems to be more adjusted and is happily talking with her teacher so i doubt he's under stress of interrogation or anything

there's a lot of implications there that mike mighta pulled something but it's all circumstantial evidence at best. i'm sure in jane's autopsy and crime scene evidence they couldn't find any evidence of mike being the one to attack her, esp since it was probably just golden freddy bopping her in the head so they dont even have the weapon, and if she was strangled they'd be able to tell it wasn't by bare hands and they couldnt get prints or anyth. especially if golden freddy is a FULL ghost and thus left no trail.

mike would be smart enough to only tell the cops what they need to know without mentioning ghosts to sound crazy. abby might be more honest with the cops just bc of #autism but they'd be more likely to consider her talking about ghosts and imaginary friends as a child's way of coping, and they cant get anything out of her that would incriminate mike. ADD TO THAT that mike has wounds that are clearly defensive and is SUPER banged up and his wounds would likely match his story way better than evidence of him attacking anyone, AND that there's likely footage and witnesses of him being in the pharmacy and then driving to work (and thus not in the area to attack jane), AND if/when nessie wakes up she'll probably vouch for mike as well, and the cops dont have anything on him

though i DO wonder if they would have records of vanessa patching him up in the police outpost. if they do, that would also back up mike's story as it's 1) far away from the aunt jane crime scene, 2) confirms that he and vanessa were working together, so either she's complicit in Crime™ or his story is accurate and she was helping him save his sister. him going to defend her instead of calling backup is also consistent with his personality of getting triggered and jumping into action around child abduction, esp w/ his sibling in danger

considering what abby would probably say, AND the history of freddy's, it's likely that they would come to the conclusion of is "someone [likely the og kidnapper from the 80s] found out that the guy working at freddy's had a sister, kidnapped abby from her house while her aunt was babysitting and tried to recreate the crimes, his story of him and vanessa defending her and escaping vaguely checks out." whether or not mike would incriminate vanessa by mentioning her dad was the killer is up in the air, and there's obviously some huge holes that are left from nobody believing that there are ghosts in the building but that would probably be the eventual conclusion

but throwing that all away, it would be really, REALLY funny if the rest of the town, being really fuckin nosy and getting into the juiciest gossip they've had in decades, took one look at michael "big teddy bear falling asleep on himself" schmidt and said "there's no way. there's no way this guy murdered his aunt, stabbed an officer and then destroyed his own workplace, especially when he really needed that job and was on sleeping medication," and then turned around to look at abby "neurodivergent in the early 2000s (ableist af time period)" "vocally hates her aunt" "doesn't talk to anyone and claims that she can see ghosts" "vaguely possessive of her brother" "claims that she found the guy who hurt her friends and got him jumped by a cupcake(?)" schmidt and said "oh my god. it was her."

and nobody's gonna directly say anything but they've got cautious eyes on the situation and someone quietly slips mike a copy of the bad seed to see if he has a realization but instead he's just like "hey this book kinda reminds of that golden freddy kid lmao. wonder how he's doin" and then we smashcut to golden freddy kid poking springtrap with a stick

[ski0k]

every single person in the batfamily had the potential to become part of batman’s rogues gallery had bruce not taken them in and non-batman fans seem to forget that

like so many people look at dick grayson and see dc’s golden boy™ but forget that he’s a certified crash out that was out for tony zucco’s blood and was at a high risk of dying at the ripe age of ten. he was so mentally unwell he probably could’ve been a serial killer. meanwhile, jason todd had the BALLS to not only steal the tires of the batmobile, but also wack batman with a lug wrench when he ultimately got caught. not to mention he took over gotham’s criminal underworld at nineteen, and if bruce didn’t take him in, he might have done it sooner. then there’s timothy ‘stalker’ drake who was so extremely hyperfixated with batman he figured out his identity. imagine if the kid was obsessed with literally anybody else, like what if he hyperfixated on a literal VILLAIN??? don’t even get me started on how cassandra and damian both come from similar assassin backgrounds and were already on track for being batman’s ops since birth. it goes so far to even terry mcginnis. who knows what would’ve happened to him if he ran off to avenge his dad without stealing the batsuit?

I could honestly go on, but the point I’m trying to make here is people are so quick to point out how it’s weird for batman to be taking in kids, but they don’t realize that the kids he takes in were a danger to society and themselves. them going into a life of crime fighting isn’t so bad when you consider the alternative is them literally going into a life of crime instead or even a premature death

[pirateshelly]

As much as nearly every character she meets tends to act like there's something uniquely broken and wrong with Claudia, at no point does it truly seem to me like there actually really is? I mean, obviously she is extremely fucked up, she straight up went through a serial killer collecting trophies phase, but there's a level of fucked up that's sort of the baseline for every character in the show, and obviously being turned into a vampire as a child puts her at a unique disadvantage. But for all that everyone around her spends their time bemoaning how dreadful and doomed her life is, even Louis who genuinely loves her but also builds so much of his identity around feeling responsible for her Terrible Fate™, I really don't think she's like, fundamentally damaged any more than any of the other vampires are.

But Lestat is so unwilling to be wrong that every time her life hits an inevitable road bump instead of helping her through it he points and says "look! see! she IS a monster, I was right Louis, making her was a mistake!" (and I think he sees his own monstrousness in her but fails to also see her humanity)

And then Armand meets her and sees only someone who will inevitably lose her mind, so of course speeding up the "inevitable" and siding with the coven to plan her death is just a mercy, absolving himself of any blame. (and he projects his own frailty and desire for death onto her, failing to see her strength and her desire for life)

Which makes it so cathartic when she meets Madeleine, admits to her how broken she feels sometimes, and Madeleine's response is just. Well that's normal. Who isn't a little broken these days. Let yourself feel it, move on, let yourself feel it again if you need to. After spending her life having others act as if her emotions are something uniquely dark and worrying, Madeleine's incredibly blase attitude must have been such an incredible breath of fresh air for Claudia!

To spend her whole life being made to feel like something is Wrong™ with her, and then meet someone who's just like, "yeah, and?? Who isn't? Join the club I guess"

Which makes her death so incredibly tragic and frustrating because like. She was fine! She was making a life for herself! She wasn't doomed by her nature, she wasn't "doomed by the narrative" (whatever the fuck that even means), she was doomed for no reason other than that everyone around her (except for Madeleine) preemptively DECIDED she was doomed and never gave her a chance to prove them wrong.

[cannibal-alien]

Azuretime x reader polygamous please! We need more of them frfr

I'm not sure about the specific plots, but maybe when Azure came out as a killer for the first time and they all reunited?

You can choose whether or not reader was also in the cult. But they prooooobably didn't know about the sacrifice? Maybe they might've also almost got sacrificed, but Two time failed and they got Forsaken™ first?

Yeah, that's about it. I think. I forgot to say when I said we need more Azuretime x reader, I meant angst 😈😈 /hj

The relationship is gonna so strained, but the dynamic would be kind of interesting?

Take your time with the requests! Your health and happiness is the first priority!

❤��❤️❤️❤️ /Platonic

HAAAIIII omgosh sorry this took so long!!! and sorry if it’s. not the best!!! i hardly write angsty so thank you for this practice!!! hope u enjoy regardless<3

azure x two time x reader - unspoken confessions

not much really concerns you these days. after numerous weeks(?) of being stuck in a eerily cold & horrific realm, as if you were a lab rat in a cage, putting on a show for some mysterious ‘spectre’, you’ve pretty much gotten used to it.

of course, you still prayed to the Spawn every day, clinging to your faith in rough times like these. and you prayed for your partners, too- wherever they were. if they were even safe. at least they didn’t have to suffer in this place, wherever you were… could be hell, could be purgatory. you weren’t all too sure.

but it didn’t take long for things to shift and you quickly regretted ever feeling hopeful. eventually, two time ended up in the same realm as you, though something about them was off. you noticed it right away, the air of tension, the defensive glint in their eyes. they felt distant, hesitant. when you reached out for a hug, relieved to see one of your partners after convincing yourself you never would again, they flinched.

that’s fine, though. that’s absolutely okay, you told yourself. two time must be incredibly overwhelmed. confused, maybe even scared. after all, there was only one way to end up here, and it wasn’t exactly by natural fate. you didn’t pry, they didn’t want to talk about it. but when you finally mentioned your attacker fleeing and leaving you to bleed out, a small frown flickered across their face. just for a moment, you thought you saw something, some hint of emotion. you couldn’t tell if it was concern… or maybe regret?

so you brought up your second biggest concern, a bit of anxiety settling in. azure. what about azure? was he okay? at the mention of his name, two time slightly stiffened, but their eyes continue to hold that same manic look, tense as if they were holding something back.

you barely got an answer. it hurt. you needed to know. but every time you tried to learn more, two time redirected the discussion back to the Spawn, always circling back to the one thing they were utterly obsessed with. and though you wouldn’t ever say it out loud, praise be to the Spawn, you were starting to grow agitated.

eventually you ended up in a match together, forming a tiny pact to watch each other’s backs. you noticed the spectre had let them keep their dagger, though you didn’t ask why. a weapon’s a weapon, and it’s pretty useful in this case. maybe it didn’t mean anything.

you’ve already repaired a few generators, but the lack of a killer was making you increasingly anxious. where the hell were they? did taph blow them up already? where was all the usual bloodshed? something was off.

“two time? two time?” you call out, presuming they had ditched you. so much for loyalty. you even made a mental note to give them absolute hell for it later, but the sight you walked into stopped you cold.

you initially didn’t want to believe it, but you couldn’t deny it for long. it was azure, but not the one you remembered. they were different- stronger, more intense. scarier. it didn’t take long for it to click. they were the killer.

azure’s eyes look almost regretful, maybe even sad, as their hands tighten around two time’s neck, choking the other cultist on the ground. the sight hit you like a truck and left your head reeling. instinct took over and you lunged forward, trying to pull them apart. everything went all blurry for a moment. azure’s eyes widened when he saw you, filled with a conflicted emotion that didn’t match his actions. it was almost like he wasn’t in control at all.

you did successfully manage to shove them apart. two time weakly crawled away, gasping for air. azure just stood still, shaking, hands twitching.

your eyes drift over to the small wound you left on azure’s cheek while trying to save two time. slowly, he reached up to graze it. every little move was tense.

without a word, azure turned sharply and forced himself to trudge away, footsteps unsteady. you didn’t try calling out to him. he didn’t bother looking back. all you could do was stare at the empty spot where he once stood, his silence louder than any words he could’ve left.

[the-indigo-symphony]

Sometimes I want to use this blog to talk about pluralphobia but like. Where do I even begin.

Almost every system I've ever talked to has at least one story about being mocked/shamed/hated or worse for their plural traits. So many of us deal with those we're close to treating us like serial killers in waiting due to how media portrays us. Fandom spaces treat us like hypotheticals and act disgusted when you tell them their "totally Weird™ and Random™ prompt" is some people's lived reality. Medical professionals dehumanize us and marginalized communities follow in their footsteps to deny us any language or space to talk about ourselves, because how dare we say we're similar to them, how dare we treat our individual selves as individuals and not party tricks that need to be put away when we are having Serious Discussions. People will claim to support us, but in order to support us, they simply must insult us, fakeclaim us, send us gore and threats and suicide bait, threaten to make false reports of tax fraud against us (yes, this is a real thing that happened to me once), openly wish for our deaths, use any and every excuse they can to delegitimize us, compare us to slave owners and Nazis, demonize the tools we made for ourselves while using them for themselves or even claiming credit for their creation, mock our terminology, run us off emergency hotlines, even get us institutionalized – don't you know that's what "support" looks like, you silly little blogger that we will spin into either a helpless, manipulated child that must publicly admit every trauma they've ever endured to justify their existence online, or an evil, manipulative bigot that denies the latest science (no matter what those articles actually say), depending on whatever suits our latest narrative?

I know plurals personally who have had to choose between being open + receiving help they need... and remaining housed. Remaining fed. Remaining safe. And we can't even point out that a character is plural representation because then people clamber over each other about how plurality in media is never anything more than a metaphor – unless, of course, it's from a horror franchise. Then, at least, we might get an admission that they're sorta almost similar to DID, except totally not, so don't worry about it, there's nothing more to see here.

Where do you even begin when there's so much to talk about and yet just calling pluralphobia "systemic" causes people to start spitting out denials and dismissals and erasure at the speed of light?

I am an optimist because I have to be but oh my gosh it is fucking hard to be sometimes.

(Not looking for cheering up on this post. Please keep any reblogs on-topic regarding pluralphobia and erasure.)

[tryingtofindava]

𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐮𝐩

(Includes: Jeff the Killer, EJ, Ticci Toby, Nina the Killer, Kate the Chaser.)

: ̗̀➛Back to source

╰┈➤ 𝐉𝐞𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

Wasn’t ready for it.

Like…

At all.

What are you actually supposed to do when you walk into your partner doing their makeup to look like you…?

He stared at the makeup around your mouth that was mimicking his cut smile.

He’d think it was real if he hadn’t seen the makeup brush in hand and the darkest red eyeshadow you could get on the vanity.

His exact words were:

“What the actual fuck are you doing??”

You explained the whole shower makeup thing to him. He personally thinks you’re weird for this. Why do your makeup just to wash it off?

He doesn’t come in your room anymore before you go in the shower…

╰┈➤ 𝐄𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

Another one who wasn’t ready for it.

He’d forgotten his scalpel for his… night activities…

“Hey, have you seen- … Why are you blue…?”

He stared at you intensely waiting for some answers.

He doesn’t know what’s going on since his eye sight is, like, REALLY BAD.

You drop the makeup brush, eyes wide. Blabbering about pre-shower makeup and how it’s practically a ritual.

Riiighhttttt…

He’ll laugh about it later though, won’t look at you doing your makeup the same EVER again.

╰┈➤ 𝐓𝐢𝐜𝐜𝐢 𝐓𝐨𝐛𝐲

Woahhhhhhh!

“MY TURN!”

HIM NEXT, HIM NEXT, HIM NEXT!

He wants to have a go!

He loves when you do your makeup, he feels like he’s getting in on something he shouldn’t know…

You’ll be sharing the stool of your vanity, brushing the makeup brush against his skin. As he try’s to sit as still as possible giggling as the brush tickles his skin.

(I searched it up, people w cipa respond well to tickling.)

He over all just loves when you do his pre-shower makeup. He feels like he’s getting pampered.

He’s a chancer and will try to join you in the shower too. (It’s up to you how it goes though)

╰┈➤ 𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫

She came into your room to borrow you bronzer for her pre-shower makeup!!

She’s excited as fuck since she thought she was the only girl in the manor who did this.

“I’ll do yours if you do mine!!”

Girlys ecstatic.

Like with Toby, it becomes a ritual of sorts and you guys ALWAYS!! Have to do it together.

And before you guys head into separate bathrooms to shower, lots of selfies will be taken to remember each time.

Like a get ready with me shower edition™

╰┈➤ 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫

Knows exactly what’s happening when she walks in.

She knew all too well from witnessing this exact routine with Nina.

All she wanted was some loving from her girlfriend and now she has to wait until you wash all the makeup off during your shower.

That may turn into an everything shower due to embarrassment from getting caught.

“Pfft…”

She’ll snort out a laugh, before closing the door and coming back in after your shower.

Will tease you about it as you guys snuggle though.

✯.★*°•.°✯•.★*°°·.•°★•✯.★*°•.°✯•.★*°°·.•°★•

[mistress-light]

Forspoken • Endless Tanta Cinta appreciation

[rainrot4me]

I Not sure if you’re taking requests right now, but I’d love to see your take on trans Jeff the Killer!”

AHHHHAHAHAHAH YES LET ME SPEAK LET ME SPEAK SIT AND LISTEN. This is long, I have a deep love for raunchy transmascs.

── .✦

Afab tomboy kid to bitter transmasc adult pipeline.™

Jeff was always rowdy. Always scraped knees, dirt under his nails, running with the neighborhood boys, never wanting to wear the pastel dresses his mother picked. He’d have screamed if he had to wear a bow. Every time one of the other kids said “You can’t play with us, girls aren’t allowed.” He’d be getting sat down and scolded by his mother because he had given that kid a bloody nose out of anger.

He was that “problem child” who never sat still, roughhousing and refusing to act “like a girl.” It earned him constant lectures from teachers and endless sighs from his mother—the “why can’t you just behave?” moments that felt like acid on his skin.

He liked toy swords, monster movies, getting his hands dirty—anything that let him feel powerful, even if he couldn’t yet name why it felt right. He would hide bugs and tiny critters in his pockets and bring them home to scare his brother.

The second puberty hit, Jeff’s sense of betrayal was off the charts. His chest came in. Periods started. Suddenly the adults were trying to mold him into a “young lady”—and the body that had always felt mostly neutral in childhood turned into a prison.

He became angry. Bitter. His room went from messy-kid-chaos to total rage den: holes punched in the wall, broken pencils, fists clenched so hard they shook. This is where the mask of apathy starts—Jeff acting like nothing bothers him, but inside, he is rotting with confusion and dysphoria. The worst part? He’s completely lost in it.

He doesn’t know what transitioning is, doesn’t understand that he could change, doesn’t have the resources or the patience or the want to seek help. All he knows is that he’s angry and he wears clothes way too big for him.

By high school, he’s full-blown spiteful. Short hair, baggy clothes, fights every authority figure tooth and nail. When he hears “you’re such a bitch,” it’s a death sentence in his brain. He’d weaponize his rage, becoming known as the scary teenager that you didn’t want to look at in the lunchroom for too long. He’d lean into the violence, because being feared felt better than being pitied.

It’s only when Jeff hears about the first trans person in his school that he stops and thinks, for once. Everyone badmouthed them, preaching how nasty and weird it was. He just stayed silent, slowly clicking every puzzle piece together when he didn’t even know there was a puzzle to begin with. It just all suddenly clicks.

The “killer origin” moment (burning off his face, slicing his smile) is also a transition metaphor. He chose his name, his body, his power. It was a permanent break from being what everyone demanded. Even though it’s bloody and horrifying, there’s a raw beauty to how Jeff reshapes himself—no more being a daughter, no more being a girl, no more being told “you can’t.”

He over-corrects, though, with aggression. A brutal, controlling masculinity that’s almost satirical—picking fights, dominating rooms, refusing to show vulnerability. If you ever see him truly soft, you’re seeing a side only his closest do. His entire life he’s learned that boys are mean, men are brutal, and masculinity in its whole is anger. So that’s what he embodies, because that’s what he’s learned.

THIS IS FOR THAT ONE ASK I GOT, HERE YOU ARE ANGEL: If you headcanon him Latino, mainly Catholic based, that adds such a sting—a family that saw girlhood as “pure” and “holy,” a church that said his feelings were a sin. That made Jeff’s rebellion even more violent. The guilt stays with him, even as an adult. Sometimes after a kill, he’ll wonder if God is sitting there watching him ruin everything. He’ll spit blood on a cross just to feel in control again.

Post transition? He’s proud as hell. He uses the scars from his face as a kind of armor—they distract from what he used to hate about his body, and make him feel permanently, violently other. They gave him ownership over his own flesh. He still deals with dysphoria sometimes—certain clothing, certain angles—but Jeff is the type to overcompensate with bravado and aggression. He’ll joke about “having a bigger dick than anyone here” and absolutely believing it.

He’s DIY’d more things than he should. Ben sometimes jokes about “Frankenstein hormone therapy” because Jeff refused to go through proper channels and took T from thrown away vials or by swiping them in drugstores. He binds, because even after he’s threatened murder on EJ, he still won’t give him top surgery because he doesn’t care, “you smell like a man, isn’t that good enough for you?” while snarling his nose (not in a transphobic way, in a you fucking reek way).

He binds so tight it hurts to breathe, but he likes it that way. It makes him feel secure. Pre-wrap and medical tape that nearly tears his nipples when he takes it off (if he does, he wear that shit for days at a time, only changing it when it begins to fall on its own). Kinda feels badass lounging around with no shirt and covered in bloodied tape.

Gets serious muscle tone and definition from missions and wrestling people to the ground, becomes incredibly lean and strong especially in his biceps and shoulders, which helps a lot with the “man” image.

All in all, don’t fuck around with it. It doesn’t matter who you are, what you are, or how close you two are—one word about any of it and you’re gone. It breaches a sort of delusional sense about his transition, he truly unshakenly believes he has a dick and he’s hormonally a male and that every childhood picture is somebody else. It’s the mental illness, but it’s also a safe-block on his brain to keep him from spiraling into anything messier. He has enough going on, there’s no point in stressing his body and psyche further.

꩜ .ᐟ

[devilish-cherry]

ᨳ♡₊➳ jujutsu kaisen x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack with plot

"You hate your job. The pay is bad, your manager is worse, and customers are somehow both entitled and clueless. Just as you finish contemplating whether unpaid breaks are a human rights violation, weird new people keep showing up to the café. They all seem to know each other. Sometimes they talk in cryptic phrases. What the hell is this domain and why do they want to expand it? One time, a man with stitches on his forehead walked in, made prolonged eye contact with you, and then left without ordering anything. You’re pretty sure he was a serial killer. Another time, the one with white hair and sunglasses indoors mentioned a "higher mission", and you’re 90% sure this is how cult documentaries start. One of your regulars only speaks in weird food-related phrases. You assume he has some kind of medical condition, but no one explains anything to you. But you are not about to ask questions, because ignorance is bliss and also job security. And unfortunately, they are all weird and they seem very interested in coming back."

꒰ masterlist ꒱ ₊⊹. ꒰ chapter 2 ꒱

ᨳ♡₊➳ or read on archive of our own!

The café always smelled like burnt espresso and despair.

This was, of course, not part of the marketing strategy. Just the natural consequence of a workplace where half the employees hated their jobs, the other half hated their lives, and you were a proud member of both categories.

The café wasn’t anything special. It was only a small, cozy place wedged between a laundromat and an even smaller bookstore that no one ever seemed to enter. It had decent coffee, passable pastries, and an espresso machine that made a sound like it was summoning demons every time it started up.

The morning rush had been a disaster, as usual. Some guy had ordered a "triple ristretto oat milk cortado with a whisper of cinnamon," and you'd fought the primal urge to ask if he wanted a therapy session with that. Then there was the woman who had stared at the menu for ten full minutes, only to proudly order "just a water" like she had done something revolutionary.

Like, sure, working at a café wasn’t the worst job in the world—there were no life-threatening situations (except for that one time Greg the Manager almost set the espresso machine on fire), and the pay was just enough to keep you from selling your left kidney. But there was something deeply soul-crushing about having to ask, “Would you like oat milk with that?” to people who wouldn’t hesitate to commit war crimes if you got their order wrong.

Still, you endured. Mostly because rent existed.

Now, with the lull between rushes, you were enjoying a rare moment of peace. There was only one customer in the shop: a guy sitting at the back, writing something aggressively in a notebook, occasionally stopping to stare into the distance like he was the main character in a tragic novel. You respected the drama.

Then the door opened, and you instinctively pasted on your Customer Service Smile™.

Two guys walked in. The first was a teenager with pink hair and a face that screamed "golden retriever in human form." He looked energetic, friendly, and like he’d never had a bad day in his life. He was smiling in a way that suggested he was either extremely friendly or about to ask if you had time to talk about your car’s extended warranty.

The second guy, though. Oh wow.

He was taller, older-looking, and had long black hair tied into pigtails. He walked in like a broken NPC. His movements were a little too stiff, like he was buffering between each step. Like he was following some kind of invisible instruction manual on "How to Act Like a Normal Person in a Café."

And was failing miserably.

His face was blank, aside from the faintly confused look in his brown eyes, and there was something weirdly intense about the way he stood there, as if he was waiting for someone to give him a quest.

You watched as the pink-haired guy - who had clearly dragged his companion here against his will - led them to the counter, grinning.

"Hello! Welcome to-" You trailed off when you saw the pink-haired one aggressively whispering something to his friend while gesturing toward the menu.

Pigtails nodded, his expression not changing even a little. "Understood. I will engage in an order transaction."

What.

Pinkie sighed. "Okay, man, just-just order like a normal person, alright?"

Pigtails turned to you. The eye contact was... unsettling. Not in a creepy way, but in a why does it feel like this man has never spoken to another human before way.

"Hello," he said, very seriously.

"...Hi."

"I am Choso. I would like a drink."

You blinked. "Uh. Yeah. That’s usually how this works."

Choso nodded slowly. Pinkie looked like he wanted to die.

"I will take... one coffee," Choso said, after a long pause.

Your deadpan stare could’ve rivaled the sun in intensity. "What kind of coffee?"

Choso blinked, staring at you like you had just explained quantum physics. Maybe he really wasn’t used to human interaction. Either way, it was kind of hilarious. "A normal coffee."

"There are a lot of normal coffees."

Choso looked at Pinkie, who was now staring at the ceiling like he was regretting every choice that had led him here. "Brother. What is a normal coffee?"

Pinkie groaned. "I told you, just say ‘latte' or a 'cappuccino.’"

"Latte or a cappuccino," Choso repeated, nodding.

"...Do you want latte or a cappuccino?" you asked. keeping your voice professionally neutral despite the immediate urge to start laughing.

Another long pause. Choso looked at Pinkie again. "Brother. Which one do I want?"

Pinkie ran a hand down his face. "Latte."

Choso turned back to you, face grave. "Latte."

You stared at him for a long moment, then pressed the button on the register. "Got it. One latte."

Pinkie, who you were now convinced was the only reason Choso had not accidentally wandered into traffic, exhaled like he’d just survived a war. "And I’ll take a cappuccino under Yuji, please!"

"Coming right up," you said, grabbing a cup.

As you worked on their drinks, you could feel Choso’s stare drilling into the back of your head. You stole a glance over your shoulder and, yep. There he was. Watching. Completely expressionless.

Yuji was whispering frantically. "Dude, stop staring, it’s weird."

"I am observing the coffee-making process," Choso replied.

"You’re making them uncomfortable."

Choso frowned. "I do not wish to cause discomfort."

"Then stop staring."

A pause. "Understood."

He pulled Choso toward a table by the window, where Choso sat so rigidly that it looked like he was about to be interrogated by the FBI. Yuji, in contrast, had already pulled out his phone and was scrolling through something with the casual ease of a person who had never been socially awkward in his life.

You caught Choso glancing around the shop, his brows slightly furrowed, like he was still adjusting to the idea of being here. The more you watched him, the more he reminded you of a stray cat—tense, a little lost, and not entirely sure whether he wanted to trust anyone.

Shaking your head, you set about making their drinks. It wasn’t until you brought them over that you noticed Choso still hadn’t moved from his original rigid sitting position. You slid his drink in front of him and waited, curious to see how this played out.

He stared at the cup. Slowly, his eyes lifted back to you. “What is this?”

You stared back. “Your latte.”

Choso blinked again. “Do I drink it?”

Yuji nearly choked on his cappuccino. “Of course you drink it! What else would you do with it?!”

Choso, apparently, had to think about that.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yes, it’s for drinking. But if you’d rather throw it on the floor, I won’t stop you.”

Choso took a long, considering pause before, finally, picking up the cup. He took a careful sip.

Then froze.

Yuji leaned forward. “You like it?”

Choso’s fingers curled around the cup, his blank face shifting just slightly, eyes widening, shoulders lowering. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked… moved.

"Brother. This is satisfactory." he murmured, almost reverently.

Yuji pumped his fist. “See? Told you you’d like it!”

Choso looked at you. "Barista. This is satisfactory."

"Uh. Thanks."

Choso nodded solemnly, like you had just exchanged some kind of sacred vow.

You raised an eyebrow, unable to resist the urge to ask. “You’ve never had a latte before?”

Choso shook his head.

Yuji sighed. “He’s been missing out on a lot of stuff.”

That much was obvious.

Still, you watched as Choso took another sip, eyes half-lidding as he savored it. For someone who barely seemed present in his own body, he was taking this latte very seriously. It was almost kind of… cute? In a weird, vaguely unsettling way?

You shook off the thought, taking your place back behind the counter. Missing out on a lot of stuff though? What did that even mean exactly? Had he been living under a rock? In the mountains? Was he raised by wolves? Should you be concerned?

When they finally left, Yuji waved cheerfully. "Thanks for the drinks! We’ll be back soon!"  

Choso paused at the door, looking at you like he was trying to process something. Then, after a long moment, he gave a slow, awkward nod.  

“Farewell, barista.”  

With that, they were both gone, Yuji chattering on about who-knows-what while Choso followed, silent and looming.

You let out a breath.

What the hell was that?

[spitefulsatanfics]

🕯️🎼 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚 𝑰𝒎𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 🎼🕯️

“Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole.” — Dean Winchester, Supernatural

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Hunter!Y/N (She/Her Reader) From: Supernatural (TV Series) Tone: Fluff, Feel-Good Romance, Domestic Romance, Humor, Lovesick!Dean, Found Family, Birthday Feels, Emotional Softness Rating: 17+ Warnings: Language, emotional vulnerability, domestic fluff overload, Dean’s aggressively obvious love language Based on: Supernatural, Season 11–12 (Canon-Adjacent, Rated 17+) Word Count: 6,812 Synopsis: Y/N doesn’t expect anything for her birthday—hunters don’t do cake and candles. But Dean Winchester has a funny way of rewriting the rules. And when your gift comes on four wheels and looks suspiciously like his Baby? Well. That’s Dean for I love you. 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚋𝚢: 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙳𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚕 ♡ 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗 & 𝚙𝚞𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍: 𝙼𝚊𝚢 𝟸𝟿, 𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟻™

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The idea starts on a Tuesday. Cold beer in hand, classic rock humming low through the bunker’s speakers. Dean’s alone in the garage, turning a wrench over something busted on Baby’s undercarriage when it hits him—not the idea, not yet. Just the thought of her.

Y/N.

She’s somewhere upstairs, probably cleaning her guns or arguing with Sam over some lore. Probably rolling her eyes at something Dean said earlier. Probably still thinking birthdays don’t mean a damn thing to hunters.

Which is bullshit. And he’s gonna prove it.

It starts small.

A search. Then another. Then five. Craigslist, junkyards, forums full of greased-up freaks with busted knuckles and rusted dreams. Dean burns through listings like salt on a grave, until one night—two weeks before her birthday—he sees her.

Not Y/N. The car.

A 1967 Chevy Impala. Same body. Same soul. She’s rough around the edges, all grit and potential, sitting under a tarp in a field two states over. The guy selling her doesn’t know what he’s got. Dean texts him at 2AM and buys it blind.

And then the real work begins.

° ° °

He drives out in secret. Lies through his teeth to Sam—some solo salt-and-burn he’ll "handle quick." Three days. Two gas station burritos. One overheated radiator. But Dean gets her home.

The new Baby’s a mess. Her engine rattles, her upholstery’s torn, and there’s a damn wasps' nest in her glove compartment. But Dean looks at her like he’s found treasure.

Because this isn’t just a car.

This is how he says I love you.

° ° °

Every night, after hunts, after meals, after Y/N crashes early with bourbon and a book, Dean sneaks back to the garage.

He spends hours in the quiet, sleeves rolled, music low, fingers working through wires and carburetors. He polishes chrome and reupholsters seats. Customizes her stereo with a killer cassette deck. Installs hidden weapons compartments under the trunk lining.

It’s muscle memory and magic. Blood, sweat, and Motor City soul. And through it all, he’s smiling like an idiot.

Because he can already see her face.

° ° °

Her birthday morning comes like any other—except it isn’t.

Y/N stumbles into the kitchen in a flannel too big and socks too mismatched, bleary-eyed and unprepared. She’s halfway through a coffee pour when Dean appears behind her, suspiciously chipper.

“You busy today?” he asks, casually sipping his own mug.

She narrows her eyes. “Define busy.”

“I need you outside.”

“Dean, if this is another ‘teach me how to rebuild a carburetor’ stunt—”

“Just trust me.”

She does. Of course she does.

He leads her down to the garage, heart hammering like he’s about to pop the question instead of pop the trunk.

The air still smells like fresh gravel when he stops her short.

“Hands out,” he says.

She raises a brow. “Dean—”

“C’mon, birthday girl. Humor me.”

Sighing, she offers her palms, and he drops the keys into them—cool metal against warm skin.

Then—

“Open your eyes.”

° ° °

There she is.

Black as night. Clean as sin. Gleaming like a mirror to Dean’s own Baby—but with her own spark. Her own life. A twin, but not a clone.

Y/N’s mouth parts. No sound comes out.

“You didn’t.”

Dean’s grin is all pride and grease-stained love. “Oh, I did.”

She circles the car slowly, reverent hands brushing the hood, the doors, the chrome.

“You built me my own Baby?”

Dean shrugs. “Figured it was easier than saying things out loud.”

Y/N turns to him, eyes soft and glassy. The kind of look that melts something inside him—something he's kept bolted tight for years.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispers.

“An idiot who loves you,” he says.

Then she tackles him.

° ° °

They take her out that night.

It’s a salt-and-burn an hour out, nothing dangerous—just a chance to let her drive. Let the new Baby get her wheels bloody. Let Dean watch her behind the wheel like it’s the sexiest damn thing he’s ever seen.

Which it is.

“You ever tell me,” he drawls, sunglasses perched, “how stupid-hot you look driving a '67 Impala?”

Y/N snorts. “You ever shut up?”

“Only when I’m kissing you.”

She quirks a brow. “Then stop stalling, Winchester.”

They don’t make it past mile marker fifty before pulling over.

° ° °

The moon’s high. The sky’s velvet. And they’re sprawled in the backseat like a cliché and loving every second.

Her legs are over his lap, his fingers trailing slow circles along her knee. There’s music playing—some old Zeppelin track that bleeds through the speakers like smoke. Their breath mingles in the dark, warm and unhurried.

“You know this is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” she murmurs.

Dean leans in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just wait till next year. I’m thinking matching flamethrowers.”

She laughs into his chest.

They stay there for hours—talking, kissing, existing in a world that, for once, doesn’t want to burn them down.

° ° °

Back at the Bunker, they stumble into the kitchen at 2AM, half-drunk on love and moonlight. There’s cold pizza and warm beer and a silence that’s safe, full.

Y/N leans on the counter, watching him.

“You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

Dean shrugs, suddenly shy. “Yeah, I did.”

She smiles. “You could’ve just said ‘I love you.’”

“I did,” he says, walking up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Every bolt. Every polish. Every hidden blade in that trunk. It all said it.”

Y/N kisses him.

Not like a thank-you. Not like a birthday gift.

Like she means it. Like he means it.

When they part, Dean rests his forehead against hers.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

She grins, eyes shining. “Best damn one I’ve ever had.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

🛠️ 🖤 𝙀𝙣𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙇𝙞𝙣𝙚. 𝙋𝙤𝙥 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙏𝙧𝙪𝙣𝙠. 🖤 🛠️

[dailydoseoffanfics]

*punches my fist through the dirt* GUESS WHO'S BACK FROM THE DEAD ?!??! AND I'M SHARING SELF-AWARE FORSAKEN AU CRUMBS !!!! (like only 1 crumb)

it's just reader's design for my self-aware forsaken au (or [PLAYER] doesn't really matter lol) HOWEVER QUICK DISCLAIMER THAT THIS ISN'T REALLY THE OFFICIAL DESIGN, IT'S JUST HOW I PERSONALLY SEE READER AS IN THIS AU. Reader is supposed to be us after all, so feel free to imagine how you interpret reader as :)

Images + lots, and i mean, LOTS of yapping + concept arts under the cut!

Reader's (or [PLAYER]'s) design!!11 woah!!!!

honestly the only reasons why i created this design for reader is because 1. i can't really imagine reader in a blank state (which is just the average grey skin with only the "y/n" sign slapped on their face) and even if i did it just would look.....out of place. fOR me at least.

2. i just like giving [PLAYER] some style.

General info:

Pretty much this is what you look like from the survivors'/killers' point of view. What i'm trying to say is that this reader and you are the same person, just in like. uh. different fonts. (ihopeyougetwhati'msaying) LIKE, you're still you in the real world and you're still human, but in game, since canonically in my au you're seen as some kind of outwardly force, your form is morphed into this.... humanoid-like person that barely anyone can see.

Since it's stated that the survivors and killers can see your silhouette somewhat, I like to imagine that the only way they can clearly see this form is yours is when they're having dreams about you.

Design Notes:

Originally, [PLAYER] would have a fringe hat, because I thought it looked cool and also to have [PLAYER] get mysterious™ points, but after drawing it out, I realized that "okay this is pretty time-consuming i ain't drawing allat 😭😭" so i just stuck to a veil hat instead. which honestly looks better imo.

1.5. I wanted to make [PLAYER]'s design not too simple to the point it looks bland (for me at least) but not too complicated to the point where there's like 109823912389 details put into it either. It's pretty much why [PLAYER]'s color palette just consists of red, white and shades of black.

2. Also, there were originally gonna be flowers on [PLAYER]'s hat. Specifically red alstroemeria, black iris and red geranium. Red alstroemeria cuz generally they symbolize friendship, love and strength (red in this case meaning passion), alstroemerias are typically used as friendship and romantic flowers and my intention for this au of mine is to be interpreted as romantic but can also be seen as platonic (but let's be real i think it's going toward the romance direction...) so i thought it would be neat to put that flower in

Black iris because generally they symbolize hope, but black in this case symbolizes power and the unknown.

And red geranium cuz generally they symbolize joy and happiness, red in this case symbolizing protection. Also associated with immortality and prosperity (Two Time gonna have a field day with this.....kinda.)

At some time, I thought about replacing these flowers with just a red rose and a sunflower, but I decided to just not add any flowers and just stick to like. a bow.

3. Generally, all these 3 colors, black, red and white symbolize power in a way (black to make [PLAYER] look mysterious, red to symbolize...power, and white can be associated with good, so I chose that color.)

3.5. These colors would make like a really stereotypical villain that's all evil and stuff (think of like those villains that only has red eyes with their entire body just being a solid black color), so i chose these colors because at first glance, [PLAYER] DOES look intimidating, but when you get to know [PLAYER] they're actually just a really chill guy. (don't judge a book by its cover!!!)

4. I gave [PLAYER] a void-like look to emphasize their "outwordly" form. I just thought it would be neat.

5. I made their outfit resemble [PLAYER]'s personality in a sense. They're wearing a suit which symbolizes power and control, but I gave [PLAYER] poofy sleeves to highlight [PLAYER]'s goofiness and overall carefreeness. Also gave [PLAYER] these long flowy ribbons to like uhhh....highlight [PLAYER]'s charisma in a way.

Annnnd concept art time!

Annnnd the flat colors if you guys want!