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agegyal · 2 months ago

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love this, always enjoy a good analysis of jeffery. need more of this … i need him, in a psychology-major-who-loves-over-analysing-the-characters-he-enjoys, way.

⦻ JEFFREY WOODS ⦻

⦻ interp and headcanons⦻

art by unpanzito here on tumblr — warning for mentions of abuse, mental illness, SH, obsession, and overall dark topics.

Because of how important Jeff's original story was (and still is) to me as a child, I have many things from the original creator's "canon". While his original story is being fleshed out with my personal ideas, I've mocked up what else I worked out for him. This is pretty long, and some grammar might be messy since I've been working on this all night and morning, and some things might be a bit redundant because my brain slipped a lot, but I hope y'all like my interp!!

PSYCHOLOGY

From the outside point of view, he could be seen as "edgy" or the classic "insane and unhinged"—although there is a perfectly logical and psychological reason as to why.

This is where the term "joker reject" comes into play. But he isn't a copycat or "rip off" of anything. He was just a boy (now man) full of anguish and trauma. His mind is a sheer maelstrom of chaos and pain.

His memory, while useful on occasion, is often full of re-runs of his past, his kills, or straight up blacked out. This affects his daily life, but unfortunately, it's a way for his damaged brain to protect itself—even if there isn't anything to protect itself from.

He never saw a professional, but if he were to see one, he would be diagnosed with the following:

Pseudobulbar Affect (PBA), Schizoaffective Disorder, C-PTSD, Major Depressive Disorder (MDD), BPD, Erotomania, Depersonalization/Derealization Disorder, and possibly Antisocial Personality Disorder.

PBA is the condition is a neurological disorder causing uncontrollable outbursts of laughing or crying unrelated to actual emotions, much like Arthur Fleck from the 2019 Joker.

He laughs, and sometimes cries, at random periods of time. In the middle of conversations (good or bad), while mouthing off to somebody, or even when he's just on his own. It often contradicts his own emotions, which is the entire point of the condition. It is often caused by chronic illnesses, but also traumatic brain injury—which is similar to his case.

His conditions are influenced by years of abuse (neglect, verbal, psychological, physical) and the untreated aftermath of such abuse. His full backstory is not fully fleshed out in my Slenderverse, not yet, but it does heavily involve the original theme of his story—although with harsher tones.

His severe mental decline is what led to his classic appearance now. He doesn't care about his own personal hygiene or how he appears to others. It's likely that the reason for his self-mutilation was because of a manic or dissociative episode. He became an image of his self hatred and rage and has lived in it ever since. This also includes the bleach.

The pain from the knife mutilating his face was nothing compared to the emotional and psychological distress he suffered. The taste of his own blood, the sharpness of the blade, the burn from the bleach—it all gave him a thrill.

“They love me. They just don’t know how to say it yet. But I can help them.”

His erotomania is another condition formed by his severe trauma, a defense mechanism twisted into delusion. When real affection was absent—when his touches were met with flinching, his words ignored, and his presence treated like a stain—his mind began to fill in the blanks. He started mistaking glances for desire, kindness for intimacy, and silence for hidden longing. To him, love isn’t a mutual experience. It’s a story he tells himself to survive.

And when that fantasy is threatened—when the person doesn’t “play along”—he doesn’t understand. He thinks they’re being manipulated, or scared, or punished by the world for loving him. So he acts. Possessively. Violently.

He believes obsession is love. That hurting someone else for them proves his devotion. That keeping them close—even if they scream—is mercy. Because he remembers what it felt like to be alone. And he swore he’d never go back there.

He's fascinated by death. Not just as a killer, but as an observer. Will sit by a corpse and talk to it. Will ask questions.

He mocks or intimidates people just to feel in control, especially those who remind him of authority figures, or bullies.

He lives compulsively, even when he doesn’t need to. It’s a defense. A game.

Alexithymia traits. He struggles to identify his own emotions, often expressing them as rage or laughter instead.

Auditory hallucinations. Not just voices, but noises. Static, dripping, heartbeats, or echoing footsteps.

Visual hallucinations. Faces in the mirror, eyes in the dark. Possibly tied to guilt or past victims.

Time distortion. Doesn’t always register days passing; he gets “stuck” in loops, especially after kills.

Somatic flashbacks. Physical responses (like nausea, chest tightness) triggered by smells, words, certain lighting.

Delusions of grandeur. Believes he’s a “chosen” figure, a monster with a divine or mythical purpose.

Body dysmorphia. Terrible dysmorphia. Sees himself as monstrous even in normal moments. May think his face is still burning.

Paranoia. This is already obvious, but it can be its own section as well. Thinks he’s being watched or followed, even by allies. Hates mirrors partly because of this.

HABITS

Growing up, there were strict lines Jeff wasn’t allowed to cross—whether by fear, by rules, or by emotional suffocation. He was told what to wear, what to listen to, how to act, and what kind of boy he should be. He wasn’t allowed to feel angry, only quiet. Not to cry. Not to talk back. He obeyed, until he couldn’t anymore.

Now everything he wasn’t allowed to do has become part of him—an act of rebellion and freedom.

He smokes like his lungs don’t matter. Sometimes cigarettes, sometimes weed—anything that dulls the noise or turns it into a slow static. He never used to inhale properly. Now he lets it burn.

He drinks until it stings his teeth and settles in his stomach like acid. He likes the feeling of spinning—it reminds him of losing control without the violence. He is a hardcore alcoholic because of this.

He blasts music—abrasive, bass-heavy, industrial or screeching metal. It’s noise that mirrors his insides. The lyrics don’t always make sense, but the rage does.

He breaks things for fun—mirrors, phones, whatever’s close. The crashing sound is almost comforting.

He watches violent horror movies obsessively. Not because he enjoys the gore—but because it feels familiar. The silence before the screams. The tension. Okay, maybe a little bit of gore.

Even the clothes he wears—bloodstained, scorched, too tight or too big—are a rejection of the boy he used to be. He's a mess on purpose. No one tells him what to be anymore.

He self-harms in multiple ways; carving symbols, biting his fingers, digging nails into skin. His pain is his power source.

Starves or binges randomly. Food control as self-punishment or reward. Often forgets to eat at all. He may have an eating disorder.

Lets grime build up. Refuses to shower unless it’s for symbolic reasons. Greasy hair, dirty hands, sweat-soaked clothes.

Destroys mirrors. He can’t stand his reflection. They’re either broken or turned to face the wall.

They said he was too sensitive. Too dramatic. Too broken.

So he became all of it, Loud and disgusting. Impossible to ignore.

Graffiti and vandalism. Leaves behind messages, symbols, his own name. Wants to be remembered and feared.

Sleeps in random places. Rooftops, train stations, abandoned houses, closets. Never the same place twice or for too long.

Walks barefoot in unsafe places. Glass, concrete, mud. Pain equals reality and control.

Watches disturbing content. Autopsies, crime scene footage, true crime interviews.

Studies old medical books or anatomy charts for fun or for precision. He likes knowing what everything does… and how to ruin it.

Keeps items that meant something once; a burned-out lighter, a charm bracelet, a cracked CD player. He can’t let go, even if he forgets why.

Talks to people who aren’t there; past victims, old versions of himself, imaginary lovers.

Acts out scenes he wishes happened; arguments, apologies, fantasies of someone choosing him. Over and over until it’s “right.”

Makes himself bleed on purpose during full moons, storms, or birthdays, personal holidays. Dates that meant something.

Whispers “go to sleep” to himself when he wants to disappear—not from others, but from himself.

Keeps trophies from victims, jewelry, phones, bloody photos, torn clothing. Sometimes he talks to them.

Writes obsessively in old notebooks, walls, or on his skin. Sometimes poetry, sometimes nonsense. Sometimes he writes love letters never sent.

Keeps fingernails uneven on purpose. One hand jagged, the other trimmed. For scratching vs. control.

Picks at scabs and scars. Compulsive, self-soothing. Doesn’t care if they bleed.

Eats raw things. Sometimes uncooked meat, sometimes just out of lack of care. It’s about texture and instinct.

Talks to knives. Names them. Ascribes personalities. The one he used “the first time” is the only one he won't let anyone else touch.

Sleeps with music playing. Usually violent or distorted. Silence is terrifying. He needs noise to feel real.

Steals clothes from his victims. Wears them over his own, sometimes sleeps in them.

Has a favorite victim type. Not by appearance, but by emotional pattern: kind, lonely, easily flustered.

Draws childish or surreal things. Stick figures, spirals, things with too many teeth. Sometimes cute animals crossed out violently.

Carries around odd tokens. Buttons, a cracked watch, a piece of stained lace. He doesn’t know why anymore.

Talks about himself in third person when dissociating.

Smiles at corpses, tries to force their mouths into smiles too, sometimes.

Breaks his own fingers during panic attacks—has to snap something.

Scratches walls while walking, especially in tight spaces.

Doesn’t like being touched on the neck, will react instantly and violently.

Has a favorite knife and a backup. The backup is duller on purpose.

Breath-holding when stressed; He’ll unconsciously hold his breath for too long. Has passed out before.

Chronic insomnia. Sleeps in 2-3 hour bursts if at all. Wakes up mid-scream or mid-laughter.

Uses broken glass as tools. Doesn’t always rely on knives. Glass, rusted metal, and even his own nails are tools.

Hoarding behavior. Keeps random trash with sentimental weight. Broken headphones. Gum wrappers. A single shoelace.

Blood letting “calendars”. Scratches tally marks in the wall or on himself to count something. Sometimes doesn’t remember what.

Animal mimicry; Growls. Snarls. Clicks his teeth. Especially when cornered or overstimulated.

Echolalia. Repeats the last word or phrase others say, mockingly or mechanically, like a broken tape recorder.

Burn fetishes. Lights fire just to watch it, sometimes burns his fingertips to feel something.

Writes coded messages, in spirals, backwards writing, or made-up alphabets. Claims it’s just “something pretty.”

Scent-based memory; Smells like bleach, rust, cigarettes. Associates smells with people or events. Uses that to “track” feelings.

Talks to corpses like they’re roommates. May leave them posed, put things near them, even apologize to them before sleeping nearby.

Jeff is, in clinical terms, a mission-oriented disorganized serial killer with strong psychosis and delusional fixations. He doesn’t just snap—he builds. He stalks, imagines, crumbles, and strikes. His kills aren’t random, but the reason why he kills can shift depending on his mental state that day.

Stalking habits: He doesn’t stalk in a traditional way. He lurks. Observes. Sometimes from outside a window, sometimes for weeks. He might leave cryptic things behind—dead animals, broken belongings, a stolen shirt returned with cuts in it. To him, it’s flirting.

Rituals before killing: Might clean a knife obsessively, recite phrases, smear something on himself (blood, ash, paint). It's compulsive and grounding.

After kills: May fall into a depressive or manic state, laugh uncontrollably, or whisper apologies. May not remember the kill. May treat the body like it’s still alive.

Treats each kill like a “love letter”; Often leaves behind messages, drawings, or carefully posed bodies.

Places fingers over victims’ mouths before killing. “Shhh. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Has to be seen by the victim before killing. Needs their recognition. Their fear.

Will sometimes spare people who “remind him” of someone lost. Not out of mercy. More like confusion.

Will speak to the victim as if they’re already dead during stalking. “You don’t even know you’re gone yet.”

Seeks out intimate spaces. Bedrooms, bathrooms. Places people are vulnerable. It’s a form of control.

Triggers (Things that may drive him to violence)

Mockery. Being laughed at, especially about his voice, appearance, or mental health.

Perceived betrayal. Someone lying, ghosting, or “leaving” him in any way.

Authority or control. Someone trying to dominate him or talk down to him.

Romantic rejection. Especially if erotomania is involved. Even just brushing him off gently can snap the wire.

Touch without consent. Unexpected or forceful touch can bring flashbacks and instant violence.

Seeing someone cry because of him. It enrages him, but also deeply confuses him.

Being ignored mid-sentence. Makes him spiral. “Don’t pretend you didn’t hear me.”

Clean, well-lit rooms. Reminds him of hospitals or places where he was “fixed.” Hates them.

Hearing certain songs. Especially childhood ones. Will freeze or start panicking if one comes on.

People pretending not to be afraid. He knows when someone’s faking. He’ll punish them for it.

Voice + Speech Patterns

Raspy yet deep—possibly due to damage from bleach, smoke, and screaming.

His laugh cuts into conversations like a glitch—high-pitched, breathy, or gasping.

May talk to himself mid-conversation, like correcting his own thoughts.

Speaks in second-person sometimes ("You told me you'd stay...but you lied, didn’t you?")

Mumbles or hums under his breath when anxious.

When in a “killing state,” he becomes dramatic—mocking, sing-songy, calm in a way that should be comforting, but isn't. Other times he's just plain erratic and unpredictable.

Jumps timelines mid-sentence: “You said you wouldn’t—no. You’re not her. You’re not her but you’re wearing her eyes.”

Mixes reality and delusion seamlessly: “You looked at me the same way she did. You remember her, right? The woman in the red coat. You have to remember her.”

(There was no woman in a red coat. Or maybe there was.)

Sudden volume shifts—whispers a sentence, then yells a word, or vice versa. Completely unpredictable.

Rambles to himself when no one’s listening. Mostly muttered reflections, self-corrections, or dissociation-induced thoughts: “Don’t twitch. She twitched. That’s how I knew she was lying. Liars twitch.”

Repeats phrases until they lose meaning: “Go to sleep. Go to sleep. Go to sleep—” (tone changes from soothing to aggressive to frantic.)

Uses sickly-sweet tones while threatening: “Awww, don’t cry now. We were just starting to have fun.”

“You’ll be alright. Just pretend it’s love.”

Imitates other people mockingly–especially therapists, police, family: “’He just needs help.’ Yeah? Funny how they never helped, just shoved pills in my mouth and called me better.”

Laughs inappropriately mid-sentence or during emotional dialogue: “I didn’t mean to—heh—but you should’ve seen her face.”

Talks to his “love interests” like they’re already together even if they’re strangers: “You don’t need to talk. I know what you’re trying to say. I always do.”

Uses possessive pet names no matter how long he’s known the person: “Sweetheart,” “doll,” “my little angel,” “mine.”

Talks about love like a threat.

Talks in second or third person when distressed: “Jeff doesn’t like this.” / “You’re fine. You’re okay. You’re not even real right now.”

Shifts between sounding adult and sounding like a kid – sometimes mid-thought: “I said don’t touch me—!…sorry. Sorry. That just...reminded me.”

Counts under his breath when overstimulated or trying not to kill: “One, two, three, four…breathe. Breathe. Smile.”

He also has a number of repetitive phrases.

“Go to sleep.” (Of course.)

“Don’t flinch.” (Usually said to others. He hates flinching—it’s rejection.)

“Smile wider. No, wider.” (Sometimes said in the mirror. Or to victims.)

“She saw me. She saw me.”

“What was her name again?” (Said with disturbing fondness. Probably about someone he probably killed.)

Hiccuping or stammering under stress, especially when confronted with authority or a love interest.

Misuses idioms or metaphors. Says them wrong and gets angry when corrected: “Curiosity didn’t kill the cat. I did.”

Deliberate misnaming. Calls people by the wrong name or a nickname to confuse or belittle them.

“Triggered scripts”: Has memorized lines he repeats during certain emotional states, as if reading from a script.

Shifts into childish speech under high stress. Uses baby talk or whiny tones that abruptly cut back into his normal voice.

Refers to his knife as “his voice”: “She talks louder than I ever could.” Might even say it “sings.”

Repetition of traumatic phrases: “Why’d you make me do it?” or “Am I still beautiful, mommy?" Common during breakdowns.

THE SLENDERMANSION

Jeff’s presence in the mansion is like having a stray dog with rabies. Slenderman may tolerate him��not because he’s loyal, but because he’s useful.

He sees Slender as a god or fucked up father figure he both resents and depends on.

May get jealous of other proxies or feel replaced easily.

Doesn’t like being referred to as a pet or proxy, even if he acts like one.

Wanders in and out of the mansion, sleeps in the basement or roof. Often found where no one else dares to be.

Has no official room. His presence is found through blood trails, cigarette burns, or distant laughter.

Yes, smile dog is a companion in this interp.

Unspoken truce with other proxies. He has codes with them. Small gestures mean “stay away” or “help.”

Keeps bones or bones fragments in his corner of the Mansion. He may even “name” them.

Feral behavior if cornered inside the mansion. Will lash out and act like an animal until left alone.

Genuinely afraid of Slenderman when he’s in a “bad mood”. Thinks he can “hear” his thoughts sometimes.

Tolerates Sally. Hates being reminded of what he used to be. Might act like a big brother one day and violently distant the next.

Fights with Masky often. Projects authority figures onto him. Believes he’s a “wannabe cop.”

Jeff wanders like a feral dog. Nobody really knows when he’s there or not unless he makes his presence known.

Eats food others brought in, even if it’s half-eaten or obviously not his. Drinks cold coffee left out too long. Sometimes leaves his own blood in mugs and laughs about it.

Occasionally sits at the kitchen table at 3AM, talking to no one. If you acknowledge him, he won’t respond. But he knows you saw him.

He hoards stolen things from others in the mansion—Clockwork’s hoodies string, Toby's goggles, BEN’s broken controller. Not out of malice. Just because.

He carves names into the walls—sometimes of people in the house, sometimes unknown ones. Crosses out the ones who “left.”

Has a hiding spot only Smile Dog knows. If anyone finds it, he destroys it and relocates.

Despite his instability, he occasionally “trains” younger proxies in brutal, unorthodox ways—he’ll throw them into fear scenarios just to “toughen them up.” It’s a twisted sense of mentorship.

Slenderman keeps him on a long leash, metaphorically. He doesn’t follow orders unless he feels like it, but when he does, it’s with disturbing overkill.

BEN and Jeff have a rivalry, like siblings forced to share a room. BEN trolls him, Jeff responds physically—ripping cords, smashing keyboards, etc. They don't hate each other, though.

Jeff is obsessed with Kate, but not in a healthy way. It's a mixture of fixation, possessiveness, projection, and twisted admiration, although the genuine craving for affection is there.

Calls her things like "ghost-girl", "chaser-baby", "my shadow twin"—weird pet names only he thinks are cute.

He follows her silently, watching her on hunts. Never interferes unless he thinks she’s in danger. Then he snaps.

Leaves little "gifts" in her room: wilted flowers, knives shaped like crescent moons, locks of his own hair, bloody notes that read “you’re the only one who understands.” and other corny shit.

Gets extremely jealous if Kate is seen talking to someone else too long. Especially if it’s Masky, Hoodie, or another male proxy.

Once flipped a table during dinner when Kate ignored him. Then calmly picked up the plates and placed them back down, still seething.

Tells people they’re “soul twins” because they both “chase what they’ll never catch.” Kate finds this annoying and disturbing.

Sometimes Kate humors him because she feels bad for him…other times, she threatens him outright.

He once carved her name into his arm in front of her. She didn’t speak to him for weeks afterward.

In his eyes, Kate is the only real person in the mansion. The rest are noise.

Sally is weirdly fond of him—thinks he’s funny like a scary cartoon. He plays along, softens slightly with her, but also says incredibly inappropriate things sometimes. (Not sexual, of course not, but things like “if I died, would you haunt me?”)

Clockwork hates him. Finds him unstable and dangerous. They've gotten into brutal fights that almost left one or both unconscious.

Toby is intimidated, but fascinated. Jeff sees Toby as a “baby rage-machine” and mocks him for his tics until he gets punched.

Eyeless Jack and Jeff have an agreement—Jack patches him up if he shuts up. Jeff doesn’t. Jack still patches him up, usually annoyed.

Slenderman occasionally “reins him in” telepathically, or sends proxies to drag him back when he’s gone rogue for too long.

His scent lingers in places he’s been—blood, smoke, rot. Proxies know not to enter rooms with that smell.

His “nest” is full of torn fabrics, bones, stolen pillows, and old Polaroids. There’s barely enough room for him to curl up inside it.

Sleeps in cold spots—the attic, crawlspaces, or with the windows wide open even in the dead of winter.

The basement walls have claw marks, some say they’re his, others say it’s something else he brought back with him.

He will occasionally talk to his reflection in a mirror, despite his hatred for it. He usually ends up punching it, though.

Refers to the Slender Mansion as “home” but never says it like it’s comforting. Says it like a threat.

Keeps chalk drawings under the staircase—outlines of bodies, smiley faces with fangs, Kate’s silhouette.

Sometimes dances alone in the hallway. No music. Just dancing to something in his head.

“Feeds” Smile Dog scraps of something that isn’t meat. No one asks.

Occasionally writes notes and tapes them to people’s doors, always in red pen. They say things like:

“I watched you last night. You flinch in your sleep.”

“You smell different today. New shampoo?”

“She’s not yours.”

More to be added! If you have any questions, feel free to ask! I love my burnt sausage so much. <3

#𐔌 . ⋮ morin rambles

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