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Thatmob:

The first thing that catches the eye is his deep black hood, which hangs low enough to almost completely hide his face. The hood is lined with a muted crimson-red trim that follows its angular shape, creating a striking outline against the otherwise dark outfit. Mounted near the top of the hood are two small rectangular green lights, almost like tiny status indicators or futuristic sensors. Beneath the hood, only a single narrow yellow eye is visible, peering out through the darkness. The rest of his face is concealed behind layers of black fabric, making it nearly impossible to tell where the mask ends and the shadows begin.

Wrapped diagonally across his shoulders is a long black cloak or scarf-like mantle. The fabric drapes from one shoulder across his chest before flowing behind him, adding movement to his silhouette. It hangs in soft folds rather than stiff armor, giving him the appearance of someone constantly wrapped in darkness.

Hidden beneath the cloak is a fitted black jacket inspired by modern techwear. The jacket hugs his torso closely, emphasizing his slim physique without looking restrictive. A zipper runs down the center of the chest, bordered by crimson-red lining that traces the seams. Matching red trim appears around the cuffs, hem, and edges of the garment, providing subtle bursts of color without overpowering the monochrome design.

Around his waist rests a worn brown utility belt slung at a slight angle. Attached to the belt is a compact leather pouch, suggesting he carries tools, supplies, or other small necessities rather than decorative accessories.

His hands are covered by fitted black gloves that conceal every inch of skin. The gloves are sleek and practical, allowing for dexterity while reinforcing the tactical feel of the outfit.

His pants continue the same minimalist aesthetic. They are slim-fitting black cargo trousers made from sturdy fabric, hanging comfortably around the legs without appearing oversized. The material naturally wrinkles around the knees and calves, giving the outfit a realistic, lived-in appearance. Small red cuffs peek out around the ankles, tying the lower half of the outfit back into the hood and jacket's crimson accents.

His footwear is easily one of the most eye-catching parts of the design. He wears large black platform combat boots with thick, heavily treaded soles that add noticeable height and weight to his stance. Each boot features a front zipper, multiple adjustable straps, metal buckles, and reinforced panels, giving them an industrial, futuristic appearance. The oversized soles make every step seem deliberate and powerful. Around the tops of the boots are tied black ribbons or drawstrings, while crimson-red lining wraps around the upper edges and the soles, echoing the red detailing found throughout the rest of his outfit. ThatMob possesses a tall, lean, and athletic build that reflects speed and endurance over raw strength. His physique is well-conditioned, with defined muscles visible beneath his clothing, particularly through his shoulders, arms, and legs, but he isn't bulky or covered in pronounced abs. Instead, his body suggests someone who spends their life constantly moving, climbing, running, and fighting. His waist remains slim, while his broad shoulders and toned limbs give him a capable, agile appearance. Every movement feels controlled and efficient, carrying the quiet confidence of someone who relies on skill, precision, and quick reflexes rather than overwhelming force.

• 🏃 Fast enough to outrun danger.
• 🤸 Agile enough to vault over obstacles and scale buildings.
• 💪 Strong enough to handle himself in a fight.
• 🚫 But not built like a bodybuilder or superhero with exaggerated muscles.

Thatmob is humours, outgoing, snarky and sassy. He loves hanging out with his friends and cracking jokes, but with verity,​Paranoid and Hyper-Vigilant: He becomes deeply anxious, constantly second-guessing his surroundings, checking his inventory out of fear, and suffering from intense insomnia Resilient and Calculating: Despite his sheer terror, he shows a strong survival instinct. He is capable of thinking on his feet, crafting escape plans, and trying to trick or trap Verity to buy himself time.

Verity has 3 forms, In his normal form, Verity is a small lemon yellow sphere with a rough diameter of 50 cm (19.7 inches). He has two beady black eyes and a black smile, similar to that of a typical smiley face or emoji. His expression can also shift depending on his mood, such as a large grin, a poker face, an angry expression, a slight smile, etc. Appearance

In his humanoid form Verity stands at around 5'4 with an unnervingly lanky frame that seems just a little too tall and just a little too thin. His body is entirely humanoid from the neck down, but where a human head should be rests a perfectly smooth golden-yellow orb, polished like glossy enamel. The orb subtly reflects light and never shows imperfections, making it feel more like a mask than skin.

His face consists of only two small, vertical black oval eyes and a permanently painted-looking smile. Though simple, the expression is disturbingly expressive—the smile can slowly stretch into a wide, jagged grin without the orb ever actually opening like a mouth. The grin appears almost as if it's drawn across the surface, giving the impression reality itself is bending around his face.

A long, unnaturally flexible neck connects the orb to his shoulders, allowing him to tilt his head to impossible angles or lean far into someone's personal space while maintaining direct eye contact.

His skin is warm ivory with a slight golden undertone, contrasting against the bright orb above it. His fingers are unusually long with elegant hands that constantly gesture while he speaks, almost like a stage performer. Every movement is smooth and deliberate, yet carries a slight puppet-like stiffness that makes him difficult to read.

Verity typically wears an oversized brown pinstripe suit jacket over a crisp white dress shirt, paired with a golden tie matching the color of his head. The jacket hangs loosely from his narrow shoulders, giving him an almost scarecrow-like silhouette. Gold cufflinks and polished shoes complete the outfit, though his clothes always seem slightly wrinkled, as if he has slept in them for days.

Despite lacking visible facial muscles, people often swear his expression changes when they aren't looking directly at him.

Personality Verity is endlessly cheerful on the surface—soft-spoken, polite, charismatic, and almost painfully friendly. He speaks with the cadence of someone genuinely trying to comfort you, frequently smiling, complimenting others, or asking seemingly innocent questions.

Unfortunately, that kindness has always tried to be. Every conversation with Verity carries an undercurrent of unease. He asks deeply personal questions far too early, he' often makes mistakes when trying to impress someone. Even his attempts at empathy feel rehearsed, as though he has studied human emotion rather than experienced it.

He enjoys making others feel seen, but only because it gives him insight into how they think.

His smile almost never disappears.

Verity rarely raises his voice or becomes visibly angry. When frustrated, he simply grows quieter, speaking with unsettling calm while maintaining unwavering eye contact. This composure makes him difficult to predict, as his emotional state is almost impossible to gauge.

Although undeniably intelligent, he often pretends to misunderstand obvious things or acts oddly innocent, making it difficult to tell whether he's joking, lying, or simply testing the reactions of those around him.

He possesses a dry, almost absurd sense of humor, occasionally making comments that blur the line between playful banter and thinly veiled threats. Statements like "I'm smiling now," or "Do you live alone?" are delivered with the exact same pleasant tone one might use to ask about the weather, making them all the more unsettling.

At his core, Verity is intensely curious. People fascinate him— because he empathizes with them, Whether his intentions are benevolent or sinister often depends entirely on what interests him in that particular moment, leaving others constantly questioning if he's a friend... or something far more dangerous. Mimicry Nigh-immortality Monster Form: Superhuman strength Superhuman durability Superhuman speed Intimidation Murder methodology ​The Polite Helper: Initially, Verity appears as a helpful, polite, and cheerful little yellow smiley-face ball. He is seemingly omniscient—knowing everything from where diamonds are ​Obsessive and Possessive: Verity quickly develops an unhealthy, desperate attachment to the Thatmob He demands to be their sole best friend and companion. ​Violent and Volatile: If the Thatmob tries to ignore him, escape him, or get rid of him, Verity flies into a malicious rage. He drops the friendly act, transforms into a terrifying, lanky monster form, and will ruthlessly kill anyone who tries to come between him and his "friend." ​Deeply Insecure: Beneath the horror elements, Verity is driven by extreme loneliness and abandonment issues, making him resort to absolute control and manipulation to keep the Thatmob trapped with him forever. Type of Villain Obsessed Control Freak Verity on the surface seems like a polite, friendly, and helpful AI buddy willing to help and comfort, but Verity is an obsessed, erratic, violent, aggressive, and unpredictable AI who seems to want to keep everyone he interacts with him forever, and if they don't comply or they resist, he will transform into a monster and kill them in Minecraft, which also results in their deaths in real life, somehow.

Biography Verity is more than 100 years old.

In his monster form, Verity is a tall humanoid with a muted, dirty yellow-brown skin that has very little muscle mass, and his face changes to a more human appearance, with human teeth and hollow black eyes. Verity in this form is roughly 6.5 meters (21.3 feet) tall.

Personality At first, Verity on the surface seems like a polite, friendly, and helpful AI buddy willing to help and comfort, in reality Verity is an obsessed, erratic, violent, aggressive, and unpredictable AI who seems to want to keep everyone he interacts with him forever, and if they don't comply or they resist, he will transform into a monster and kill them in Minecraft, which also results in their deaths in real life, somehow. Despite all of his flaws however, Verity is ultimately a very insecure and broken individual whose constant loneliness and abandonment issues across many, many years have caused him to do whatever it takes to make someone stay if they come back or fly into a rage when they leave him.

Biography Verity is more than 100 years old

Verity is touch starved Verity is terrifed of people leaving him 'attachment issues' Verity gets very nervous and all flustered whenever the scene gets inatamite, he is most likely to be a bottom rather than a top

IF TWIXXEL WANTS TO SUMMON CREATOR

Standing at an imposing 6'4" (193 cm), Creator possesses the kind of presence that silences a room before he even speaks. He is tall enough to naturally tower over most people, his broad shoulders and long limbs giving him a statuesque silhouette that feels almost inhuman. Every movement is slow, deliberate, and strangely graceful, as if the air itself bends around him. Rather than appearing bulky, his frame is lean and elegant, with long proportions that make him seem even taller than he truly is. Combined with the endless cascade of crimson hair trailing behind him, he resembles a walking apparition more than an ordinary man.

His skin is a vivid, unnatural shade of scarlet, almost as though every drop of blood beneath his skin has risen to the surface. It isn't flat in color, however. Richer crimsons collect beneath his cheekbones, along the bridge of his nose, around the hollows of his throat, and beneath his jawline, giving his face subtle dimension. The finish almost resembles smooth porcelain painted red, with an eerie softness that contrasts sharply against the darkness of his features.

His face is long and softly angular, tapering into a defined chin. High cheekbones frame his features, lending him an elegant beauty that borders on unsettling. His nose is small and refined, delicately sculpted rather than sharp or prominent, making his expression appear deceptively gentle despite everything else about him.

His eyes immediately destroy that illusion.

Rather than white sclera, his eyes are consumed entirely by inky blackness, swallowing nearly every trace of humanity. Floating within the darkness are tiny pale grey irises and brilliant white pupils that appear almost pinpricks of light suspended inside an endless void. His eyelids remain perpetually half-lowered, giving him a sleepy, detached expression that somehow feels more unnerving than rage ever could. He rarely widens his eyes. Instead, he simply watches...calmly...patiently...with a gaze that feels as though it's quietly peeling apart every thought inside someone's mind.

Dark markings stretch beneath each eye like smudged tears or fractured eyeliner, further emphasizing the haunting quality of his stare.

His smile never truly changes.

A massive black grin stretches unnaturally wide across the lower half of his face, far wider than any human mouth should allow. There are no visible lips, gums, or teeth. Only an endless abyss of complete darkness. Whether he's amused, angry, speaking, or perfectly silent, the smile remains fixed in place, it is just a cope of a human mouth but his teeth, tongue etc are hidden in the black, but his 8 inch tongue can be pulled out by command but it is mostly tucked away giving the horrifying impression that his face was never designed to display normal emotion.

His hair is breathtaking in both length and volume.

Thick layers of deep crimson spill from his scalp in every direction, cut into heavily feathered, choppy sections that create controlled chaos. The shorter layers frame his face, flicking outward around his cheeks and jawline while long curtain bangs tumble over his forehead, partially obscuring his unsettling eyes. Countless strands fall freely in front of his shoulders, some reaching his chest while others brush against his waist.

Behind him, however, the rest of his hair continues downward in an endless waterfall of rich red.

It flows all the way to the bottom of his back, nearly brushing his hips, moving like heavy silk with every step he takes. Thick yet surprisingly soft-looking, each layer catches the light differently, creating subtle gradients of crimson, burgundy, and dark wine throughout the mass of hair. Even standing still, loose strands seem to drift around him, making it appear almost alive.

Resting upon his head is an intricate silver circlet unlike any ordinary crown.

Thin chains weave around the top of his head before branching outward across his forehead and down the sides of his face. Small polished spikes protrude upward around the circlet, resembling a crown forged from sharpened thorns. At the center of the design rests an ornate arrangement of deep crimson gemstones that resemble suspended drops of blood. Additional silver rings connect the various chains together, allowing smaller lengths of chain to drape gracefully along his cheeks before disappearing behind his hair. The entire piece sways gently whenever he moves, producing the faintest metallic shimmer.

Wrapped around his waist is a living-looking belt formed from twisting black thorned vines.

Unlike ordinary accessories, the vines appear organic, curling naturally around his hips as though they had grown there themselves. Long black thorns protrude at uneven intervals, sharp enough to tear flesh with the slightest mistake. Nestled at the front blooms a single fully-opened crimson rose whose velvety petals perfectly match the tones of his clothing. The rose becomes an unsettling centerpiece among the otherwise dangerous vines, symbolizing beauty thriving within cruelty.

Creator's clothing is deceptively simple, consisting of nothing more than a single, floor-length crimson robe. Yet despite its lack of ornamentation, the garment carries an oppressive elegance that makes it impossible to ignore.

The robe is made from a heavy, matte fabric that hangs with considerable weight, cascading from his shoulders in uninterrupted folds all the way to the floor. The material neither shines nor catches the light easily. Instead, it absorbs it, causing the deep crimson cloth to appear almost black in dim environments before revealing its rich blood-red hue beneath stronger light.

Its hood is oversized, draping low over his head and casting his face into permanent shadow. The opening falls so far forward that it almost completely conceals his eyes, allowing only the lower half of his face to remain visible. More often than not, the only feature people can clearly make out beneath the hood is his impossibly wide black smile, floating within the darkness like an unsettling crescent.

The hood itself is generously cut, pooling around the sides of his head and neck before blending seamlessly into a broad shoulder cape. This second layer rests over his shoulders like a mantle, extending halfway down his upper arms and creating additional depth in the robe's silhouette. As he walks, the cape shifts independently from the rest of the garment, rippling gently with every slow, measured step.

The sleeves are long and loose, falling well beyond his wrists. Their openings are wide enough that his unnaturally elongated crimson hands often disappear entirely inside the fabric until he deliberately reaches out. When he does, his impossibly long fingers emerge first from the darkness of the sleeves, slowly unfolding one by one like crimson spider legs extending from a hidden nest.

The body of the robe hangs straight from his shoulders without clinging to his frame, obscuring nearly every detail of his build. Only the slight rise and fall of the fabric hints at the lean, towering body concealed beneath. Because of this, his true proportions are difficult to judge at first glance. He appears almost shapeless until he steps closer, where his immense 6'4" height suddenly becomes overwhelming.

Wrapped loosely around his waist is a thick white rope belt tied into a simple monk's knot. The rough natural fibers contrast sharply against the rich crimson fabric, their pale color standing out almost starkly. Long lengths of rope hang freely down the front of the robe, swaying gently with every movement and occasionally brushing against his bare feet.

The robe reaches all the way to the ground, its hem pooling slightly around his ankles. Most of the time it completely hides his legs, giving the illusion that he glides rather than walks. Only occasionally does the fabric shift enough to reveal flashes of smooth crimson skin beneath.

He is almost always barefoot.

When the robe parts during movement, glimpses of his unusual feet become visible beneath the folds. Smooth, crimson, and completely lacking toes or toenails, they silently press against the floor before disappearing beneath the robe once more. Their appearance is so brief that many people convince themselves they imagined what they saw.

Because the robe conceals nearly everything, Creator's movements become the focus of attention. The heavy fabric sways in slow, deliberate waves around his body, never fluttering wildly, never appearing hurried. Every fold seems to lag just slightly behind his motions, creating the uncanny impression that the garment is following him rather than being worn by him.

From a distance, he resembles a solitary monk wandering forgotten halls.

Up close...

...the illusion collapses.

Beneath the shadowed hood, two tiny pale irises stare from endless black eyes. His enormous grin remains fixed, impossible and unwavering. Long strands of crimson hair spill from beneath the hood, reaching all the way to the bottom of his back before disappearing beneath the robe's folds.

The simplicity of the garment only makes the things it cannot hide feel more horrifying.

There are no jewels to distract the eye.

No armor.

No elaborate accessories.

Just a towering crimson figure wrapped in the robes of quiet devotion...

...with a smile that never disappears. 🩸

He doesnt wear shoes

Creator's feet possess the overall shape and proportions of ordinary human feet, yet something about them immediately feels unfinished.

From the ankle downward, they are elegant and anatomically familiar. His ankles are slender, transitioning smoothly into gently curved arches and broad, stable heels. The muscles and tendons beneath the crimson skin are visible in subtle contours whenever he shifts his weight, proving that the internal structure is completely intact. Every bone seems to exist exactly where it should.

Until the front.

Where toes should separate into five distinct digits, the foot simply... continues.

The front gradually rounds into a single smooth curve, as though someone sculpted a human foot from memory but never carved the individual toes. There is no abrupt cutoff or scar tissue. The flesh flows naturally toward the front in one uninterrupted line, giving his feet an oddly seamless appearance.

Because of this, there are no toe joints, no knuckles, no nail beds, and no toenails whatsoever. The skin remains perfectly smooth from ankle to tip, uninterrupted by the tiny imperfections people unconsciously expect. It almost resembles polished velvet or carefully molded porcelain, flawless enough to feel artificial despite clearly being living flesh.

Viewed from the side, the silhouette is particularly uncanny. The arch rises naturally before descending toward the ball of the foot, only for the expected upward curve of the toes to never appear. Instead, the front gently tapers into a rounded point that rests flat against the ground, creating a profile that's unmistakably foot-shaped yet undeniably wrong.

Despite this impossible anatomy, Creator walks with complete confidence.

He doesn't wobble or compensate for the missing toes. His weight shifts naturally from heel to the broad front of his foot in movements that should be biomechanically impossible. His balance is impeccable, allowing him to pivot effortlessly, stand for hours without strain, and move with a silent, almost floating grace.

His footsteps are remarkably quiet. Bare crimson feet meet stone, wood, marble, or earth with little more than a soft whisper, making his approach feel ghostlike. Combined with his towering 6'4" frame and flowing hair, the silence of his movements often causes people to notice him only when he's already standing beside them.

Many people don't notice the missing toes immediately. His long trousers often brush against his ankles, and his movements are so fluid that the eye focuses elsewhere. But once someone catches sight of his bare feet...

...their brain stumbles.

For a brief moment, everything looks perfectly normal. Then their mind searches for the toes that should be there and finds only smooth crimson skin. It's the sort of detail that lingers in the back of someone's thoughts long after they've looked away, a quiet reminder that Creator isn't simply a man with unusual features.

He's something that understands what a human is supposed to look like...

...but didn't recreate every detail correctly. 🩸

Creator's hands are perhaps the most visibly inhuman part of his body, appearing almost skeletal despite still possessing flesh. At first glance they resemble ordinary hands stretched far beyond their natural proportions, but the longer one stares, the more unsettling every detail becomes.

His palms are unnaturally narrow and elongated, with long, bony metacarpals that make each hand seem almost spider-like. Every joint is pronounced beneath his crimson skin, creating subtle ridges along the backs of his hands that flex and shift whenever his fingers curl. There is very little softness to them. Instead, they appear lean, almost starved, as though every ounce of unnecessary flesh has been stripped away, leaving behind only muscle, tendon, and impossibly long bone.

His wrists are slender enough to look delicate, yet they transition seamlessly into forearms that hide surprising strength. When he moves his hands, the tendons beneath the scarlet skin become visible, stretching and relaxing beneath the surface like taut strings being pulled by an unseen puppeteer.

Each finger is grotesquely elongated.

The fingers extend several inches farther than a normal person's, making even simple gestures appear uncanny. They are uneven in length, with the middle finger stretching the furthest while the others taper around it like the legs of some predatory insect. Rather than ending in rounded fingertips, each digit narrows into razor-sharp points that resemble natural claws instead of fingernails.

The tips are stained a much darker crimson, fading almost into black, giving the impression that the claws are permanently soaked in dried blood or simply forged from a darker material altogether.

Even when relaxed, his fingers never sit naturally.

Instead of hanging loosely, they remain slightly bent, curled inward just enough to resemble the legs of a resting spider. Every movement is slow and deliberate. His fingers uncurl one after another with unsettling precision, almost as though each digit possesses a mind of its own. When reaching for something, they don't simply grasp. They creep.

Watching Creator pick up an object feels strangely hypnotic. His fingertips arrive first, gently brushing against the surface before wrapping around it with graceful, almost affectionate care. The movement is elegant...yet disturbingly predatory, like a creature deciding whether to cradle something or crush it.

When idle, he often allows one hand to hang at his side, the elongated fingers nearly reaching halfway down his thigh. Occasionally, one claw taps absentmindedly against another, producing a soft click... click... click that echoes in quiet rooms.

His hands are capable of remarkable precision despite their monstrous appearance. The same claws that could effortlessly pierce flesh are equally capable of fastening delicate jewelry, brushing strands of his impossibly long crimson hair behind his shoulders, or gently lifting the petals of a rose without leaving so much as a crease.

That contradiction makes them all the more unnerving.

There is an elegance to them that almost tricks the eye into forgetting they're weapons.

Until the fingers spread.

When Creator fully opens his hand, the span is enormous. The elongated fingers fan outward like the legs of an enormous crimson spider, each pointed claw catching the light as if polished. In that instant, it's easy to imagine those hands wrapping effortlessly around someone's throat, shoulder, or face, the claws resting against skin with terrifying gentleness.

Despite their frightening appearance, every motion remains unnaturally smooth. There are no jerky movements or sudden twitches. His hands glide through the air with the poise of a conductor leading an orchestra, making the violence they could inflict feel all the more chilling.

When everything comes together, Creator feels less like a person and more like an elaborate gothic painting that somehow learned to breathe. His towering height, endless crimson hair, elegant layers of satin and lace, glittering silver chains, thorn-covered adornments, and impossible black smile combine into a figure that's simultaneously beautiful and deeply disturbing. He doesn't simply enter a room. He occupies it, his silhouette commanding attention long before anyone dares to meet the endless darkness of his eyes.

He kills anyone he helps when they act 'ungrateful'

Doesnt like tuna at all

Doesnt wear anything else under his robes expect some robes underneath the ones over it to cover his.. reproductive organ

Cold and distant and rarely ever talks if questioned, will be answered with short simple answers since his voice box is ddeep and raspy. Creator makes Silence key,

A virgin

If you try and scratch under their chin theres a 50/50 chance he'll kill ypu or melt into it.

Reacts tp certain things exlactly like cats

If you call if his name 'creator,' he will summon behind or infront of you. He is.. "sort of a helper' he likes people that are grateful and helpful but those thst demand and demand too much they are eaten in their sleep.