#Character Operations Manual

[dailycharacteroption]

Powered Armor Jockey (Starfinder Archetype)

(art by Shardanic on DeviantArt)

Ah, power armor. Smaller than a proper mech but heavier and tougher than anything in the heavy armor category.

The technical definition of power armor is any suit of armor that comes with additional servos, pistons, and other mechanical parts meant to transfer ordinary human motion into something with a lot more torque, effectively making the wearer superhumanly strong, though depending on the setting, maybe not any faster since moving too fast without protections could see the armor ripping the wearer apart inside of it, which would of course defeat the purpose of it being armor. Additionally, typically power armor is coated in a layer of heavy plating dense enough to take heavy fire which an ordinary human could not normally move in, but can due to the help of the power armor itself.

If you’ve been reading your item descriptions, you might note that a lot of heavy armor in Starfinder is in fact technically power armor, what with assistive servos built in, but proper power armor in the system has it’s own strength score, and is big enough to have hard points for attaching weapons even if they don’t have the integrated keyword.

Now, I told you all that to tell you this: I love power armor, and I love specialist pilots for power armor even more, and that’s what we’re covering today in the form of the Powered Armor Jockey!

Not just a heavy ordinance pilot, these jockeys are also equal part modder enthusiast and field repair mechanics as well, no matter what their skillset is otherwise. This is part of the beauty of the archetype too, as anyone can take it as long as they’re proficient, and while combat-focused classes are the most obvious choice, we’ll see exactly why there’s something here for everyone.

These specialists are constantly modifying and tuning their armor, allowing them to add either an additional weapon mount or space for an upgrade. Later on, they refine this to be able to have both.

They also become intimately familiar with how their armor moves, allowing them to move closer to their normal speed, both in powered and heavy armor.

With knowledge of leverage and the upper limits of their armor, these jockeys can squeeze a bit more power and hit harder with the limbs of their power armor.

Finally, for all their love of the armor, these warriors understand that their lives are still more important than the suit, and they can choose to let their armor take the brunt of attacks they can’t stop outright, damaging it but keeping them alive.

A pretty solid archetype all around, and perfect for any character seeking to specialize in such heavy armor. Now, soldier is the obvious choice, and armor storm is definitely going to be one of your fighting style choices. The fact that so many abilities synergize and specifically stack between the two guarantees it, but beyond that, you might specialize in heavy armament with bombard, bullet storm, or shock and awe, or mix in melee focus with hit and run or wrathful warrior. Other combat classes like solarian and vanguard likely will lean either super defensive to become nearly unkillable, or let the armor do the protecting and go full offense. Meanwhile, nanocyte or evolutionist might be shockingly versatile in such armor.

With non-combat classes, mechanic and technomancer are obvious choices with their technical know-how. You might think experiemental armor is the only choice for mechanic here, but consider the exocortex as an onboard targeting system, experimental weapon as a unique integrated weapon, or even a drone support buddy covering your back. Meanwhile, mages of all stripes can make use of the powered armors durability or strength in a pinch while hammering foes and buffing allies, and sneaky classes like operative and envoy can put in some work making for surprisingly agile and fast power armor sets not unlike Samus Aran.

There’s plenty of ways you can roleplay a character like this. Whether they’re currently serving in a military, a mercenary company, or some other role, they can be anything from brash hotheads to more technical combatants. What remains true is their appreciation for their armor, which can range from technical fascination to an anthropomorphized bond with the armor. On that note, it’s important to remember that it’s completely possible to upgrade the stats of a suit of power armor instead of trading up to the next best one if your character would rather keep their current suit.

Powered armor pilots are known for being eccentric, with some even having small pets they take on missions. However, few are stranger than Aldo, Callsign: Grindhouse, who has a cable serpent named Escavor inhabiting his armor. The two formed a strong bond with each other after the latter spontaneously gained life inside the former’s armor during a mana storm. The internal damage nearly compromised the armor, but the two saved each other and have been inseparable ever since.

Balnar’s Folly is a section of the Kollas System’s asteroid belt that is also the territory of a notorious ysoki pirate, Captain Bloodtail, who fights with her custom rigged armor she calls Scrapclaws as well as a heavily armed support drone called Noisemaker. Needless to say, she likes getting up close and personal with the defenders of any ship she intends to take.

The party is tasked with infiltrating an enemy stronghold, one that should in theory be relatively unguarded save for an on-site skeleton crew of soldiers. However, the intel was bad, and one of the enemy’s elite power armor units is there, a particularly eccentric but nevertheless deadly group.

[commodorez]

Zoomer here, and I do indeed have questions about computers- how do filesystems work, and why should we care (I know we should, but I'm not exactly sure why)?

So why should we care?

You need to know where your own files are.

I've got a file on a flash drive that's been handed to me, or an archival data CD/DVD/Bluray, or maybe it's a big heavy USB external hard drive and I need to make a copy of it on my local machine.

Do I know how to navigate to that portable media device within a file browser?

Where will I put that data on my permanent media (e.i. my laptop's hard drive)?

How will I be able to reliably find it again?

We'll cover more of the Why and How, but this will take some time, and a few addendum posts because I'm actively hitting the character limit and I've rewritten this like 3 times.

Let's start with file structure

Files live on drives: big heavy spinning rust hard drives, solid state m.2 drives, USB flash drives, network drives, etc. Think of a drive like a filing cabinet in an office.

You open the drawer, it's full of folders. Maybe some folders have other folders inside of them. The folders have a little tab with a name on it showing what's supposed to be in them. You look inside the folders, there are files. Pieces of paper. Documents you wrote. Photographs. Copies of pages from a book. Maybe even the instruction booklet that came with your dishwasher.

We have all of that here, but virtualized! Here's a helpful tree structure that Windows provides to navigate through all of that. In the case of Windows, it's called Explorer. On OSX MacOS, the equivalent is called Finder.

I don't have to know where exactly everything is, but I have a good idea where thing *should* based on how I organize them. Even things that don't always expose the file structure to you have one (like my cellphone on the right). I regularly manually copy my files off of my cellphone by going to the Camera folder so I can sift through them on a much bigger screen and find the best ones to share. There are other reasons I prefer to do it that way, but we won't go into that here. Some people prefer to drag and drop, but that doesn't always work the same between operating systems. I prefer cut and paste.

Standby for Part 2!

[forgan-forge]

I had surgery a couple days ago, and as a whump writer, I, of course, had to take notes.

So, here’s a bullet list of my experience, for writing purposes or otherwise. I, for one, love putting my characters in hospitals. Also good notes for anxiety about upcoming surgeries, I guess.

Happy writing, my fellow angst-enthusiasts!

Pre-Op:

No eating for 8 hours before the surgery, no drinking for 2-3.

They make you sanitize yourself with chlorhexidine wipes, and they give you a very bad-tasting mouthwash. I had to swab my nose, too, with antiseptic. They make you take everything off and change into a gown. No piercings, either. The chlorhexidine kinda makes your skin yellow. It’s kinda sticky, too.

A bunch of questions when you get back to pre-op, like what meds you’re on, confirming what surgery you’re having and why, what you ate and when you ate it. (Same for drinking.) This gets repeated a lot between different nurses and the anesthesiologist.

They start an IV line early, pretty much as soon as you’re in the bed, mine was attached to fluids which dripped while I was waiting to be wheeled back.

They give a relaxative through IV right before wheeling you back to the operating room. Sometimes they’ll give nausea medicines, too.

Equipment:

5 ECG leads on chest and abdomen.

Heart moniter on index finger.

Blood pressure cuff, usually on the arm opposite of the IV. It’s sometimes set on a timer, other times they’ll activate it manually.

They put a nasal cannula with oxygen in your nose, it’s kind of annoying and the air coming through it is dry and cool. In most cases, they’ll intubate you while under, and you’ll wake up with a sore throat. Other times, a mask is used. I’ve had all three (I think)

In the OR:

They wheel you back on your bed.

They move you (or in most cases, you move yourself) from the bed to the operating table. After the operation is done, they move you back onto the bed because you’ll still be unconscious.

There are huge lights above the operating table, and they look threatening, but by the time you’re back there, you’ll be so out-of-it you probably won’t care.

Most anesthesiologists will ask you to count down from 100 or 10. You’re usually out after 3 counts.

Recovery:

You wake up in the recovery wing, I woke up twice before actually waking up for good. Nurse will attend to you once you’re conscious.

Most patients wake up shortly after anesthesia is stopped.

For all my surgeries, I woke up confused and unsure if the surgery already happened or not. It’s like time traveling. You won’t really know where you are, the first thing I registered was the nasal cannula and the blankets stacked on top of me.

Really groggy when waking up.

Limbs feel really heavy and awkward to move, I stumbled around a lot.

Some dizziness and general uncoordination.

They ask you what you want to drink, I chose Sprite, but they offered juice and water.

They had to wheelchair me out, which I assume is true for most outpatient procedures.

Most modern anesthesia effects wear off in about an hour (but it really depends on your metabolism)

You’ll probably want to sleep the rest of the day, and depending on what pain meds you’re on, you’ll be high whilst taking them.

Someone has to be with you for the first 24 to 48 hours.

Depending on where the procedure was, the skin there will be yellow/orange where they applied iodine. Showering unattended is probably not a good idea for the first day.

Nausea is a common side effect of anesthesia.

Some other notes for anesthesia: it’s like, really weird. They basically paralyze your entire body, and you don’t dream while under. While some people describe general anesthesia effects as a sort-of high, I don’t really think it equates. I was just really confused, I remember having to undress in front of a nurse and I didn’t really care because my brain wasn’t quite working. Honestly, I don’t remember much from the rest of that day. Your passage of time is kinda fucked, the drive home always feels like a blink. I guess it feels more like being drunk, at least for the type I was on. If I was on pain meds, I’m sure it would’ve been different.

Another note: emergency or urgent operations obviously differ, especially if the patient is unconscious. Assessment is a lot quicker, and stabilization is needed before surgery. Diagnostics are needed right after assessment, rather than scheduled pre-surgery for elective operations. Stabilization may occur immediately after assessment, and sterilization is done in the OR. If a patient is incoherent, family is contacted for consent and info. You’ll either go to the PACU or ICU depending on your condition. (Source: I write angst. A lot of angst. Also, I’ve actually had an urgent surgery. It’s a long story. I don’t go near playgrounds anymore.)

[togglesbloggle]

Voltaire's Prayer

“I have never made but one prayer to God, a very short one: Oh Lord, make my enemies ridiculous. And God granted it." -Volaire’s letter to Étienne Noël Damilaville, 16 May 1767

I’m inordinately fond of sex, in the political sense.  It’s saved us so often from the worst parts of ourselves.

As far as anti-authoritarian elements of the human experience go, sex is right up there with curiosity and the search for truth- maybe even more so.  When a new tyrant comes to town, shutting down the universities and the libraries is only the second thing they try.  The first thing is to regulate human sexuality to within an inch of its life.  Rules for marriage, rules for courtship, rules for which genitals may touch and where they may touch and when they may touch.  Rules for who and rules for whom.  Rules for which kinds of sex must doom characters in literature, rules for which things may be described as sexy, rules for which things may be described in a sexy way.

Of course they do!  If you’re trying to bind a large polity together under a common ideological narrative, to render people predictable enough to quash dissent and legible enough to exert power through them, the last thing you need is a bunch of folks running around being horny about stuff without permission.  Nature gifted us with a great capacity for reason and community; we have the innate opportunity to learn about ourselves and our neighbors, and to form complex societies based on that understanding.  It was Aristotle who first called us the political animal, and the fruits of that extraordinary capacity will always be within our reach, if only we can come together within a shared understanding.  The invention of the city is the great triumph of our species, and with it we conquer the universe.

But also this extraordinary, reasoning mind has been sculpted from the raw clay of a biology that’s anchored in sexual reproduction, and this ends up being very, very funny.

The problem isn’t so much that the sex instinct exists, per se.  It’s how it’s implemented.  Like most biological forms, the full complement of 86 billion(!) neurons in your brain aren’t encoded in a particular configuration; the brain is much too complex to be described so precisely in the only ~725 megabytes or so of human DNA.  The particular shape of your brain is in there somewhere- the lobes and subregions responsible for vision, memory, cognition, all that- but only up to a point.  The genius and fundamental limitation of genetics is that, below a certain level, the genes instead describe a process for the production and reproduction of specialized cells, and simply constructs them in such a way that they can be relied upon to order themselves as they go.

This is all well and good when we’re talking about kidneys and livers, but the fact that you can encode any kind of specific behavioral instinct in a brain this way is nothing short of a minor miracle.  Think about it!  Spiders don’t have a ‘spider web’ gene, the gene is for ‘proteins that come together in self-assembling electrochemically sensitive gelatin tissue which, when complete, encodes patterns that operate organ systems such as legs and spinnerets in such a way as to reliably create silk webs.’  This is absurdly impressive, and also completely insane.

What I’m getting at is, powerful behavioral instincts in a complex animal aren’t precise instruction manuals by which we pursue evolutionarily advantageous behaviors.  Sex and eros are prior to logic or language, let alone strategy.  Sex is a double-thick electrical wire discharging lightning bolts right through the middle of our cognitive centers, installed in the brain by a surgeon wearing mittens.  It’s an untethered firehose whipping chaotically through the cathedral, unpredictably spraying golden reliquaries with substances unmentionable.  It’s the first and greatest anarchist.

I really can’t overstate my gratitude for this.

Obviously this results in any number of deeply goofy outcomes by way of kinks and odd sexual practices- it gets tangled with pain centers, with random bits of anatomy and proprioception, with our taboos and aversions, with our greatest terrors or our greatest yearnings or just arbitrary stimuli from adolescence, and of course it gets enmeshed so often with our notions of power and submission.  It imbues these things with a fascination and potency out of all proportion with their mundane meanings.  And ultimately, you end up with human pleasures and human values that diverge so far from banal evolutionary imperatives as to be all but unrecognizable.

Even when this process somehow manages to propagate through the brain in such a way as to drive behaviors that are legibly aligned towards some adaptive constraint- e.g. heterosexual mating practices resulting in biological reproduction and careful childrearing- it’s still madness.  Love and sex penetrate deeply across tribal and national and racial boundaries, across economic interests, across battle-lines and enmities.  We become traitors, apostates, emigrants, and artists.  Declare a law, and in short order some hot-headed young people come along to break it in the name of sexual passions you could not possibly have seen coming.  Divide your neighborhood into us and them, and by the time the ink is dry on your proclamation there will be a forbidden relationship across the fence.  There is no social order, no ethical system, no theory of human nature that can entirely withstand contact with the full spectrum of human sexuality, because sex and eros are always going to be exactly as bonkers as the complexity of the human mind and culture will allow, plus a little extra just to be sure.

This isn’t always a delight, of course.  Many prohibitions exist for a very good reason, and the chaos of human sexuality makes no exemptions for true evil.  Some of us end up really, truly victims of this process.  But for all the dangers, the chaos at the root of all this isn’t oriented towards evil.  Chaos just means chaos, essentially arbitrary and hence absurd in character.

And in the grand analysis, we are so lucky to have this thing moving through our communities, this ridiculous madness that guarantees that there will be cracks in every wall and slips exploding cigars in the pockets of the powerful few.  Not in everybody as individuals, of course, and not everybody the same amount; asexuality is certainly one of the outcomes that all this mad gallivanting through our brains can produce.  Sexuality would never be so predictable as to guarantee its own existence, after all.  That’s part of what makes the joke so funny.

But all of us, regardless of sexuality, get to live in a world where the grand anarchy of sex is constantly driving home this lesson that no category is inviolate and no law is perfect.  That we should not and cannot take ourselves too seriously, or forget that we’re animals.  That we don’t exist only for the sake of others, or within their understanding.  That cities are made of cooperation, grace, and forbearance- not conformity or mere compliance.

People sometimes worry about immortality.  In the political sense, I mean.  They worry about eternal dictatorships and unconquerable gerontocracies.  This fear isn’t entirely unjustified; death has often played a role in progress and liberation.  But as long as enough of us are still getting horny without permission, still falling in love in stupid ways, I think we’ll be okay.  Romeo and Juliet don’t have to die at the end to make a difference in the world, as long as they’re brave enough to get weird with it.

[what-even-is-thiss]

You post a decent amount about the various elder scrolls games. (Respected)

As someone who has never played them but loves rpgs and has always wanted to get into this series, which game would you suggest for a starting point?

I think it depends on your personal preferences. I’ll just give you my opinions about why you might like each one and let you decide. Very very long infodump incoming.

The early two games, Arena and Daggerfall, are really hard to use if you’re used to modern controls and might not work on modern operating systems well. However, if you’re one of those people who’s really into 90s computer dungeon crawlers that require reading a textbook length manual you’ll probably like them. They take a lot of inspiration from dnd and constantly use invisible dice rolls when it comes to stuff like damage and hit chance and you’ve gotta be careful about building your character. I’d suggest looking up a guide, even.

These games have a campy sexy pixelated dungeons and dragons feel to them. Plot isn’t super important in these games but Arena’s plot revolves around gathering the parts of a broken staff to defeat a wizard. Daggerfall’s plot has more to do with political intrigue and deciding which faction you think is better. Neither of these games have much of a plot when it comes to guilds and factions. Daggerfall does have randomly generated guild quests you can do but there’s almost no plot to them.

Morrowind is far more user friendly but it’s still kinda hard to grasp if you’re more used to modern games. There’s a dice roll mechanic on attacks and if you don’t build your character correctly you’re sort of screwed. You can learn to get good at the game though and it has a pretty compelling story in my opinion. This is the one right before they started doing full voice acting so it involves quite a bit of reading. There’s also no fast travel. You need to pay for transportation in universe with currency. There’s also no quest markets and you need to follow directions given to you by NPCs. Some people like that though.

The vibe of Morrowind is like very overcast and foggy and muggy. Kind of European inspired, kind of Asian inspired. There’s giant insects and a lot of ash everywhere from volcano storms. They do a lot with what few polygons they have. The plot has to do with a prophecy that you’re caught up in and the political implications of it. Morrowind is ruled by a trio of living gods and you are the one prophesied to bring their downfall. Guild quests have way more of a plot than Daggerfall in that they sort of have a plot but they tend to be pretty formulaic. My favorite of the bunch is probably the thieves guild because you get to sort of cosplay as Robinhood for a bit due to a plot point that barely makes sense. The DLC for this game is a treat. You get a big city and a snowy island to explore. There’s werewolves and goblins and a weird drug addict.

Oblivion is my personal favorite and it’s the goofiest elder scrolls game by far. The ragdolls are hilarious and the NPCs are programmed to have randomly generated conversations with each other throughout the day which are sometimes interesting but usually don’t make sense. The random chance mechanics are gone but stats like strength and the importance of building your character correctly are still there. Oblivion is still a bit outdated but it’s more user friendly than Morrowind. It also retains some customizable elements like multiple enchanting pieces and spell making from the old games without being so huge as to be overwhelming. The thing people often don’t like about oblivion is the level scaling of enemies and the graphics. Personally I think the graphics are charming but some folks don’t like the potato face low polygon look that everybody has. And as for the level scaling, well, unless you wanna look up in depth how to level optimally, probably just don’t level past level 20 on your first playthrough and don’t worry about it too hard. Maybe use some skills that aren’t in your major skills sometimes. Turn the difficulty down if you need to. You’ll be fine. It’s not that complicated but also don’t be a hero. Turn the difficulty down if you need to.

Oblivion has like a Mediterranean vibe. It’s bright and colorful and is sort of stylized like you’ve stepped into a landscape painting. It’s like a late medieval Italian countryside with some ominous Roman ruins hanging around. Cyrodiil is also a very diverse Provence in universe with it being centrally located and also the seat of power for the empire. It probably has the most diversity in types of NPCs of any other game in the series because of this. The main plot starts with you witnessing the emperor being assassinated as he’s escaping through your prison cell and you need to go find his one surviving son but as you go to find him, portals to oblivion, which is sort of like Hell but also not, start opening up all over the place and you need to start working with the new emperor to figure out how to close the oblivion gates and stop an invasion of the material plane.

The guild quests in oblivion are where faction quests actually get good. This is also the only game in the series where you can fight to death in a gladiator arena despite that concept being what set off the idea for the entire series. The dark brotherhood assassins guild is one of the best in the whole series and in the mages guild questline you get to fight a secret cult of necromancers. The DLC is also quite fun. Meet the god of madness and fight a demon in the sky.

So, Skyrim. Skyrim is most people’s introduction for the series and for good reason. It drops some of the RPG elements and customization from the previous games but it’s by far the most user friendly. You can use both hands, there’s a unique shouts and powers mechanic, you can be a werewolf, the leveling system is way improved from previous games (no more having to plan out your character), you can fight dragons, and although the elder scrolls series has always been about wandering the world and getting distracted, Skyrim perfects this aspect of it. The world is somehow simultaneously vast and dense which is an incredible feat. You will get distracted and that’s the whole point.

The vibe of Skyrim is far north. Scandinavia at its harshest. It’s got dense forests, tundras, steep cliffs, rivers, and snow. It’s a land of myths that are not only real but lying in wait to tear you limb from limb. It’s also gorgeous. You can wander around and watch the moons rise, watch an aurora borealis, see unique styles of architecture in each city, look at wood and stone carvings. The ghosts feel both ethereal and solid. The world is worn and comfortably lived in. A blunt instrument as well as a sharp object.

The plot of Skyrim is that there’s a civil war going on. Choosing between staying with the empire or becoming independent. However, just as it looks like the war is about to end and the rebel leaders are about to be beheaded, a dragon shows up for the first time in thousands of years. You’re a prisoner that manages to escape in the chaos and you get caught up in discovering the reason the dragons are coming back and you can pick sides (or not) in the escalating civil war. The guild and faction quests in Skyrim are decent. There’s werewolves, menacing orbs, holy keys. The DLC is where Skyrim’s side adventures really shine though in my opinion. Evil Dragonborns, vampire hunters, trekking through oblivion and the afterlife, discovering lost civilizations. Skyrim’s DLCs also have some of the best characters in the series.

So. Sorry for info dumping that much lol. Hope some of that information is useful. If you just want an easy starting point, pick oblivion or Skyrim. If you want a more customizable start point with a bigger initial learning curve, start with Morrowind. If you like fighting with early 90s computer games you might be the type to prefer arena or Daggerfall.

I really hope you enjoy the series! It’s one of my favorite things in the whole world if you couldn’t tell by my adhd rambling lol

[kenyatta]

The world of corporate intelligence has quietly ballooned into a market valued at over $20 billion. The Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) market alone, valued at around $9.81 billion in 2024. This exponential growth reflects an important shift: intelligence gathering, once the exclusive domain of nation-states, has been privatized and commodified. [...] The methods these firms employ have evolved into a sophisticated doctrine that combines centuries-old espionage techniques with new technology. Understanding their playbook is important to grasping how democracy itself is being undermined. [...] This practice is disturbingly widespread. A report by the Center for Corporate Policy titled “Spooky Business” estimated that as many as one in four activists in some campaigns may be corporate spies. The report documented how “a diverse array of nonprofits have been targeted by espionage, including environmental, anti-war, public interest, consumer, food safety, pesticide reform, nursing home reform, gun control, social justice, animal rights and arms control groups.” The psychological doctrine these firms follow was laid bare in leaked Stratfor documents. Their manual for neutralizing movements divides activists into four categories, each with specific tactics for neutralization: 1. Radicals: Those who see the system as fundamentally corrupt. The strategy is to isolate and discredit them through character assassination and false charges, making them appear extreme and irrational to potential supporters. 2. Idealists: Well-meaning individuals who can be swayed by data. The goal is to engage them with counter-information, confuse them about facts, and gradually pull them away from the radical camp toward more “realistic” positions. 3. Realists: Pragmatists willing to work within the system. Corporations are advised to bargain with them, offering small, symbolic concessions that allow them to claim victory while abandoning larger systemic changes. 4. Opportunists: Those involved for personal gain, status, or excitement. These are considered the easiest to neutralize, often bought off with jobs, consulting contracts, or other personal benefits. [...] Some firms have industrialized specific tactics into product offerings. According to industry sources, “pretexting” services — where operatives pose as someone else to extract information — run $500-$2,000 per successful operation. Trash collection from target residences (“dumpster diving” in industry parlance) is billed at $200-$500 per retrieval. Installing GPS trackers runs $1,000-$2,500 including equipment and monitoring. The most chilling aspect is how these costs compare to their impact. For less than a mid-level executive’s annual salary, a corporation can fund a year-long campaign to destroy a grassroots movement. For the price of a Super Bowl commercial, they can orchestrate sophisticated operations that neutralize threats to their business model. Democracy, it turns out, can be subverted for less than the cost of a good law firm.

[livebeginning]

I went through some of the official material to find sources that might be useful when writing Raphael and Haarlep (may also be helpful when writing Mizora and Mephistopheles). Here's a collection of what I found, with some notes.

Overview:

Cambion and succubus stat blocks

More stat blocks

Devil contracts

Avernus

Magic in Avernus

Map of Avernus

Blood War

Soul coin

Menu

Infernal Cambions

Mephistopheles

Ranks

Devil Cults

From the Monster Manual:

Cambion stat block

BG3 only players might not be familiar with these spells, so I'm linking them here: Alter Self - Detect Magic - Plane Shift

Note that this version for Plane Shift only works on the cambion themself, whereas the spell normally works on up to eight willing creatures, or one unwilling creature. Raphael might have used a variant of the spell to unwillingly transport the player and companions to the House of Hope and back.

"Telepathic Bond" is an interesting ability that Haarlep doesn't have in BG3.

There is a spell called Shapechange but it seems to work very differently from Shapechanger.

Also, the whole "taking your form and you can feel when it's being use" thing isn't mentioned here, it might be something unique to Haarlep or something they learned, rather than an inherent ability.

From the Monster Manual Expanded:

More stat blocks

From Descent into Avernus:

Devil Contracts

I feel that in the Infernal Hierarchy, Raphael falls into the "Duke" category, which is probably unusual for a cambion. (He is not an archduke, as archdukes are the rulers of the hells. He wants to be one, but isn't yet.)

The contract forms we see him use in the game are close to "Infernal Scroll" (the contract the player can sign) and "Song of the devil" (the contract he made with Yurgir).

Avernus

"Pieces of cities stolen from other planes" might also be the case with the HoH, though Raphael probably added the devil statues later on.

Magic in Avernus

Good to keep in mind when writing a wizard character!

Map of Avernus

Blood War

I don't think Raphael works directly for Zariel. He still has to follow her laws though, as we can see in the HoH, where the archivist is expecting a visit from Zariel's High Inquistor.

I think Raphael might be paying the hell equivalent of taxes to Zariel for living and operating out of Avernus. He may also occasionally sell useful items or souls to Zariel's forces, to profit from the Blood War. He does mention one of his goals is to end (win) the blood war, so he is at least on Zariel's side, if not fighting with her directly.

Soul coin

That's about 13 cm and 150 grams.

Menu

Some dishes one might be served in the hells. Raphael also mentions "Cocktails and Canapés" when talking to Yurgir, so that's something that exists in this world!

From Mordenkainen's Tome of Foes:

Infernal Cambions

This could be the reason why many of Raphael's attacks create Hellfire, which is something Mephistopheles invented.

Mephistopheles

Ranks

Like I said above, I think Raphael has the title of Duke, which would put him at rank 12, but I think rank 11 would also be realistic.

Devil Cults

I don't think Raphael would worship Mephisto, but you could easily argue he has inherited his affinity for fire magic through genetics.

Also note that unlike most other devils, Raphael is not trapped in the Nine Hells. As a cambion he can plane shift once per day and can easily access the Material Plane. He might still want a cult worshipping him for other reasons though.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 12k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation,angst, murder (hello have you seen the show?), mentions of s*ic*de, drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes:

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It took your last bit of energy to tell Father John to leave you alone…that it was his fault. Your vision was fading fast; you had lost enough blood that you were dizzy, but your fear and exhaustion had your brain forcing your body to shut down out of self preservation. As darkness gripped you, you heard the Father shift away from the small door and then your head thumped with his heavy footsteps as he walked away.

Maybe he finally listened to you.

Maybe he would actually leave you there to slip into a comatose state and let you die just to hide his sins.

Your eyes dropped shut as you listened to muffled voices. Angry voices. You smiled a dazed smile, and the last thing you could understand was something about limits. You didn’t care what he said…not then. All you felt was dizzy darkness that was making you float.

It was so calm you didn’t want to give in to that nagging feeling of uneasiness. But that nasty emotion was battered away with a serene humming all around you.

You felt like you were a baby again…you wondered if your body was making you remember being cradled by your father. Was this death? Reliving your entire life in mere minutes before your soul left your body. As you felt yourself being held gently, you relaxed even more when the serene sound of low humming lulled you back into that darkness until you were asleep again.

That was all there was until your senses began to return to you one by one. You were somewhere soft and warm. It smelled familiar but not familial. You ached…and your tongue felt heavy. Breathing felt as if your body was operating manually; difficult and jaded.

Your eyes cracked open, and you slowly took in your surroundings as your consciousness sharpened. It had been a few times now that you had awoken in that bedroom, and each time it became more and more unwelcome. You pushed yourself to sit up and winced when you tried to inspect yourself; your neck and shoulder and jaw hurt something terrible. All at once, you were bombarded with memories of the bite. The panic you had felt in that moment as that man’s teeth had sunk into you returned as you went ridged in the bed. Did you die? Had you been turned?

Your eyes flicked around the room anxiously to ensure you were alone. It all felt akin to waking up as a child from a horrible nightmare, and even though you knew you were safe in bed, you anticipated monsters and ghouls to crawl out to capture you. But after a few moments of staring at every shadow and and corner, you decided that you were indeed alone.

You pushed yourself out of the bed, and timidly padded over to the small table by the window where you saw a pair of scissors among discarded gauze. At one time you might have thought things through a little more, but you were on your last nerve, in pain, and cornered, and you were beyond thinking. You crossed the small room to the cracked door, and pushed it open the rest of the way as quietly as you could.

You saw the back of Father Pruitt’s black halo of hair where he sat on the small couch.

He greeted you- that low timbre of his voice resonating inside your ears far more comfortably than it should have. Without another thought, you threw the scissors straight at him. It missed the back of his head, but you saw the stripe of red that was left on his ear after it ripped through his lobe.

John barely flinched. Pain had become something he was used to, and feeling your wrath was something he had to do.

“I apologize for the…” He said as he turned to you and stood, “The suddenness of everything. I hope it didn’t startle you too much.” John gestured to you.

Your mouth opened with some prepared reply, but then when he looked at you, you snapped your mouth shut. Your brow pinched in confusion, and you looked down at yourself. There was nothing that stood out to you, but then you noticed the change in your attire. You didn’t wear pants and a t-shirt to bed typically. And you particularly remembered being disappointed about how your nightie had been soiled by the blood.

And you were clean.

Oh…

Oh…

Oh god.

Your heart began to thud in your chest.

Why were you clean why were you changed why-

As you came to each realization, you returned your gaze to the Father, and he saw every ounce of shock and contempt there, “You- what did-“ you started, trying to find the right thing to portray your feeling of violation, “You- you took off…You washed me? You washed me.”

John shuffled a step and reached his hand out slightly to you, “I’m sorry…this thing is, you were quite a mess after your attack and you needed the rest…your clothes were soaked in blood and I just-“ he began to ramble.

“Wanted to help.” You finished for him.

Just like he always said.

The good Father nodded, but didn’t move any closer. It was as if John could sense a shift in you then. How your rage seemed to almost boil over as you stood there in his clothes, smelling like him, in his home. It was all too much after what had happened. What he had done. The life he took from you. The people he took from you.

You clenched and unclenched your hand.

Impulse took over, and you lunged towards the fridge, swiped a magnet off of it and threw it right at the imposing man before you. It bounced off his chest.

John sighed. He knew you needed to work through this.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you-“ he started again.

You threw a cup from the counter at him. It hit his head and toppled to the couch. Father Pruitt flinched slightly at the knock, but continued nonetheless.

“- I know you likely will decline, but …I think it would be best if you stayed here unt-“

The spoon you threw at him hit his arm, so you threw a knife too- it cut his cheek. You found a pot lid and threw that too.

It missed.

“-until you heal fully and I hold a town meeting with everyone.” John finished and closed his eyes as he found his patience for you.

He knew you heard him. Especially when you started throwing objects in rapid succession.

And the Father let you.

He could see the tears starting to pool in your eyes; he could practically taste them. Your suppressed emotions surged to the surface of your heart and exploded out of you in pandemonium. Everything you had wanted to do since Easter came out of you.

After several minutes, you slowed your attack. You stood only a few feet from him now after making your way along the kitchen counter to launch various debris at him, and his immobility only made you angrier. If angry was the right word…unsettled, frustrated, scared…it was all muddled together with guilt and grief and you found you didn’t know what you felt anymore.

When the older man didn’t move or even try to reason with you, you pushed away from the sink behind you and walked to him and slapped him square across the face.

Silence rang in your ears.

Your hand stung.

Did he even feel anymore?

The action seemed to stun both of you; you a little longer than he. John nodded as he blew some air out through his nose as if he finally understood something.

You needed to hurt him. And to John, he felt a great sense of peace in that.

“Go ahead.” He murmured to you.

You stood there, head craning up to look at him. For a moment you thought he might be patronizing you. then it was like every bit of restraint left in you ebbed away. Your hands balled up and began beating on him anywhere you could reach. You hit him and hit him and he waited. John watched you patiently, taking even breaths as you shoved at him and beat his body that wouldn’t bruise.

Your hands hurt. They likely sustained worse injury than he did from your hits.

Then all of a sudden, you stopped.

Father Pruitt watched as you sunk your head down, leaned your forehead against his chest, and sniffled. Wet patches began to dampen his shirt, and Father John had to suppress a sound of surprise. When you didn’t continue, and didn’t move away, he raised his arms from his sides, and wrapped you in them. His hands clasped together around your back like a bow keeping you tied. To the Father’s surprise, you nestled deeper into his embrace. Long, shuttering breaths wracked your chest against his that would catch in your soft throat every so often.

John was terrified he might do something or accidentally say something and break you out of your moment of submission. He closed his eyes and breathed in the calm. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had let him hold them so intimately.

Even when he and Millie reuinited after Easter…they never embraced for long. Over the decades, the closest he had come to embracing anyone would have seen when he consoled someone as they grieved. Perhaps it had been when you had let him dance in your living room…yes that must have been it.

John knew that the last time he had sat privately with Mildred when they were young they hadn’t embraced…it had felt like more of a meeting than an ending of a…whatever relationship they had had. Sneaking around when the island went to sleep. Hiding away during the storms…little touches when they passed eachother. Best friends in another life.

Now here you were…this sweet little young woman with hands holier than his; a man who had sworn a life dedicated to God.

He felt envy…among other things.

Yet another sin, but he couldn’t help it.

John knew that he had a tendency to ramble or fill space with words- an attribute he had learned over the years of being a priest. So he decided not to push anything in such a precious moment. He eased a hand up to your head and drew you closer into his chest, and softly shushed you. He hoped he resembled more of a man trying to comfort a young woman, but somehow he knew that his arms encircling you and that low hum of his voice soothing you was more akin to a hunter about to snap it’s prey’s precious neck.

The older man pushed that ill acknowledgment to the back of his mind.

“You’re not alone…you never will be.” he whispered into the crown of your hair after a long ten minutes of embracing you.

You sucked in a steadying breath.

“I don’t know if that’s comforting or terrifying, Father…” you replied, a small tremor in your hands as your temper settled under his touch.

He shrugged a little, though not condescendingly.

“It’s entirely up to you.” John sighed, “Only you can decide if loneliness is a blessing or a damnation…”

He was with you. There with you.

A long silence stretched on, then you sighed softly into his chest, and the warmth from your breath blossomed across his chilled skin under his clothes. The sensation made John’s hair stand on end with delight. You were trusting him.

It took two more minutes of contemplation on your part before you said anything. That question that had been on your mind since you woke up close to an hour ago. The question you should have asked him first. Now it prickled up the back of your neck begging to be asked.

“Am I…” you tried, but it was so quiet, “Did I…?” You couldn’t get the words out. You sighed and your shoulders sagged.

“Father am I a…?” You prompted him and looked up for any confirmation or denial.

John searched your eyes for just a second then he realized what you were asking.

“Wha- No!” He whispered almost relieved, “No you didn’t get-…you…you’re fine.” His hands squeezed you tighter as if to reassure you. Maybe himself, too.

You nodded and slowly pulled away from him; your arms hung limp at your sides. You stared up at his brown eyes that looked darker now than they used to.

You jumped when you felt his thumb wipe a few tears that fell. You hadn’t even noticed that you were crying again.

“My dear girl…You’re going to be fine…you’re alright.” He murmured to you.

And for the first time since Easter, you believed him.

And you wanted to.

Father Pruitt sighed and swallowed on the thickness in his throat.

“This…this is my fault- my fault and I-I see that now. It was always about God but it…it all went wrong, so wrong…” he whispered reverently as he remembered how long ago you truly had been okay. John’s eyes held yours as his voice broke.

“It did.” You agreed in a lofty murmur in an attempt to keep any more tears at bay.

He twitched a smile, but forced it away. He didn’t deserve to smile.

You looked down a little, then ventured a glance up as you spoke. “You…I think…I think it would just be best if you maybe revised the descriptions of angels in any of the holy books before jumping to conclusions next time, Father.” Your mouth twitched just as his had. You pursed your lips to hide the bitter amusement that pulled.

Father John breathed out some air he had been subduing.

“I think that would be best.” He nodded, and felt his heart soar at the sight of you accepting him a little. A fragile little bit. Precious.

The two of you stood silently in each other's space as you both seemed to bask in your current truce.

It was you who spoke first.

"I...I'll go home." You said, yet somehow it sounded forced. Rehearsed. You were so used to saying it and needing to get away that asking him if you could stay felt wrong.

It took him off guard, and he deflated a little. But he understood. He didn’t like it.

“You know you’re welcome here, sweetheart…” he reiterated, and offered you a small tight smile that he hoped hid how badly he wanted to beg you to stay.

You nodded, and fiddled with the edge of your- his- shirt. “I know…”

Another moment pulled on, and John was near to sinking to the floor for an answer.

“Can I make you coffee? I still have some I think.” He asked gently. Would you agree? If you did agree was it a sign that you would stay?

You wanted to shake your head, not wanting to ingest anything that wasn’t yours, but a fresh cup of coffee did sound like a godsend right then. And while you were still a little weary of him…you were willing to give him a chance. One.

“Okay.” You said.

John tilted his head to look at you a little better as he was flooded with joy.

“Yes? Good…good.” He hugged you again, but released you almost immediately. He was growing a little greedy with touch.

You fidgeted with your hands and stared down at how clean your nails were. Had he done that too? The skin on the soles of your feet almost itched and made you shift from the amount of attention you were receiving. Months of isolation could do that to a person.

“How do you take your coffee?” Father John asked as he pried himself away from your air. You shifted a little on your feet and told him how you took it, and he grinned- pleased that you accepted his offer.

Have faith…

That was what he told himself then as he watched you from the corner of his eye. He needed to have faith in you, and you in him. He needed to nurture the little faith you had left in you. Help you to thrive.

John knew he had to work slowly and steadily with you. He needed to remind you that he did have good in him, and that he too had once been a lamb just like you. Just another soul looking for salvation. Sadly he had thought he’d found it in a cave. He hoped you might find some semblance of salvation in him.

The anxiety you had felt upon waking still sat at the base of your skull and made your hair stand on end. That little voice of scepticism tickled your ear and made you shutter; you inched your way as little closer behind him as he filled the kettle and placed it on the stove. Watching.

John knew you were staring. You might have been the sweetest lamb in his flock but you hadn’t always been the best at being discreet. With your excitement, and your distain, your curiosity and boredom. At least not with the Monsignor. Evidently even now it was a force of habit that you let yourself be a little more honest around him.

When you saw him cross his arms as he waited, you stepped away and began picking up the various things you had thrown his way. The scissors, knife, spoon, recipe book, pot lid, among others. When you came to a mug you had hurled at him, you picked it up and meekly handed it to the man. He took it with a small smile.

The kettle boiled and steam made your cheeks flush from your spot beside the good Father while he poured the scalding water. John looked up at your watchful eyes, and his nose twitched in regretful humour. He wordlessly took his hands away from the small coffee press and began rolling his shirtsleeves up to his elbows, then showed you his empty, innocent hands.

“Nothing but a morning brew I assure you.” The older man said calmly.

The reassurance he offered you did little to cub your hesitation. You sucked in a breath and sighed. “Do you blame me?”

You had gotten so used to being weary around him that you were half expecting him to slip some blood into the strong drink.

He blinked and with missing a beat he said, “No.”

It seemed the two of you had some sort of unspoken understanding then. He wouldn’t hurt you and you would let him take care of you. You nodded your head, and turned away to pad over to the far wall to busy yourself with what books he had on his shelf. There were a few new ones you noticed.

Then your eyes slowly travelled over to the window, then to the newspaper clipping on the wall. You walked to it and stared at the grainy, youthful face that stared back at you. The same man who was behind you making you coffee.

You nearly hit the ceiling when the glass caught the reflection of the same face right behind you. You spun; startled at his proximity just a couple feet away.

“Sorry.” He said with a quick and slightly awkward smile as he offered you the cup. Those sharpened, white peaks poked out when his lips pulled back, and you were forced to remember that night again; the sounds still clear in your ears as islanders unleashed hell on one another.

You took the cup slowly, and gazed back at him for a moment before finally taking a sip. There was no metallic aftertaste. You sighed and closed your eyes. You needed that.

“Thank you.” You murmured to him, which he returned with a nod.

Tension kept you rooted to the spot, but you eventually managed to take a couple steps away, and gingerly moved past him to sat down on the small couch.

John didn’t want to crowd you too fast, and so stuck to picking up any remaining objects from earlier and washing a few dishes that had laid in the sink.

It was so quiet. While you were used to silence, you were not used to silence between people. You had been begging for an opportunity to talk to someone and here you were with exactly that, yet as fate would have it you couldn’t think of a word to say.

So you said the first thing you could manage.

“You swapped the cassock for jeans, hm?” You asked. It was stupid, but it had been something that made you shake your head with bemusement for months.

The jab at him made Father Pruitt’s brow jump and the lines beside his eyes deepen. Your humour had always been a welcomed companion even when you were little.

“Defiantly more inconspicuous.” He said, pausing to look back at you.

He missed you.

“Sure had everyone fooled…” You murmured. But he heard you…of course he heard you.

John pursed his lips and sighed quietly.

There was so much resentment and hostility inside you, and John knew that he put every bit of it there himself. You wouldn’t trust him on your own; you needed that guiding hand like he always had offered you. This time, he supposed, he faced the possibility of being nipped.

Father Pruitt was aware that you didn’t know every series of events following the vigil. You had run so fast and so far…so determined to stay alive. A crying lamb scattering away from the sharp blade that marked its fate with a red line.

The older man smiled bitterly, then moved slowly towards you.

“Can I sit, young lady?” He asked, coming around the edge of the small couch.

You watched him for a moment, then nodded and tucked yourself into one end of the couch to put space between you.

But then when John finally looked at you, he didnt know where to start.

You waited for a minute. When he still hadn’t spoken, you stared down at your coffee and blurted out another statement that had no rhyme or reason.

"Quite the cult following you have." You said.

Oh well done.

Months of loneliness truly had disintegrated your social skills.

But John’s head snapped up, and he laughed at the suddenness, "For a little while, yes...I did…I…the thing is, I thought it was their ability to hear God through me but…turned out they were more interested in what I had to say rather than God himself. They...they don't consider me much better than Judas now though and admittely I don’t blame them." He weaved his hands together in his lap and looked up at the ceiling.

You were surprised at the admission, "What do you mean?”

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “There is no short version of this for me to tell. But I’d like to tell you…” He said, leaning forward onto his knees, “Properly.”

You shifted a little at the seriousness in his voice, but supposed every story had a few sides to it, “Go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He said genuinely, “I’d like to start…I’d like to start from the beginning…”then he paused and thought, “No, no that’s not right. I’d like to start by saying that…you have every reason to resent my actions, and me. But I think it’s only right that you know everything.” He nodded to himself.

You looked down at the coffee in your hands as he spoke, but once he stopped, you slowly looked up at him. He was staring at you intently, as if gauging where to start. There was so much he needed to tell you and so much he wanted to tell you. He needed to tell you how utterly devastated he was by his selfish actions. He needed to tell you that he had been a coward for most of his life. He wanted to tell you that he missed you. He wanted to tell you that you were what kept him alive.

He supposed there was time for everything.

“When I was young…” he started quietly, “I was in love with a woman who I could not have…not that I’m supposed to have any- well, she was married. She was very devout to the church…a regular just like you were. Her husband was in the war and…she was alone…so alone…we…we let our feelings grow…I gave in and -…She had a daughter by me…Sarah…she had my eyes-“

“Doctor Gunning?” You blurted out, then your eyes widened,“You and Mild-“

“Yes.” He said absolutely, “Our lives were spent staring at eachother from across the church while I watched our daughter grow and I couldn’t even have the courage to come down and tell her…not until it was too late. Sarah…” he sucked in a breath as his throat tightened, “Sarah was shot…She died that night…Millie she…she was distraught in every sense. I tried to give her this gift of life so we could try together and it went all so wrong and it was only me to blame.” You watched him speak, and watched tears well in his eyes. You didn’t know he could make tears being what he was…but here you were with the man who had baptised you, weeping.

He swallowed and gathered himself, “Beverly she…she spun everything out of control. I meant what I said when I first came here, you know? That I’m-“

“-only here to help.” You echoed him.

He looked at you a little relieved that you were there with him.

“Yes. Yes exactly- I meant that. I told lies, but that was not one of them.” He assured you, “All I wanted was to help. To fix the mortality that keeps us from living every chance we desire…take something off of God’s hands but even saying that now out loud it’s foolish. I was foolish because God does not need help He is above help and only needs us to follow his will and somehow I thought I knew better. As a priest, I am supposed to let God speak through me, but at that time I was speaking for Him. Creating my own message…so clouded by this gift given to me that I couldn’t listen…and He was telling me to stop. But I didn’t.”

You didn’t say a word, and he continued.

“Then Bev she…I thought she was doing good and helping spread this gift and spreading the good word…but she…no she was even more clouded than I was. She spun everything until it was all so so wrong…she unleashed a living hell onto the rest of the island. Screams…God help me so many screams that night…”

“I know.” You choked out as you both shared the memory.

“And then it was quiet. So, so quiet. She wanted me to chose who lived and who died. She said it was always going to be me who chose and I realised then that she was no better than the pagans worshipping idols and false prophets…she had put me in ranks with our Lord’s messengers and sought to give me power that no man should be trusted with. As the sun rose, the island hid inside the rec centre and St. Patrick’s…but when the people needed aid and guidance, she made an enemy of herself. It wasn’t a week before the people turned on her and locked her out as the sun rose…now they govern themselves. I- I believe they resent me. We still hold Mass, but it’s so fascinating to witness the shift of a persons perception of you even if it is negative. It…it is…different. I pray that in time they will see that my intentions were only good. That I was merely lost.” Father Pruitt trailed off, and clasped his hands together- squeezing them as guilt gripped him.

“You…” you sat up, coffee gone cold ages ago as you tried to process everything he had told you. “You wanted to give yourself another chance with her…you just…wanted…to help.” You said, mostly to yourself, but John nodded.

“I did. I still do. Only now I truly mean it when I say I am merely a servant of God…to God. My guilt follows me everyday until I am ready to meet my fate…decide it is my last day and I feel the sun for the last time.” His voice broke and he stared at his loosely clasped hands, “Until I am…set free.”

You placed your cup down and settled back onto the couch. You knew this could all be an elaborate lie to manipulate you. You weren’t stupid. But when you finally looked over at him, there was such a startling vulnerability there staring back at you. Like he was baring his soul to you.

“She was your best friend, wasn’t she?” You asked slowly, shifting your gaze to a crack in the floor. “Mrs. Gunning.”

A smile twitched at his mouth, “A lifetime ago…”

You weighed his words, and thought.

There had been so many times now where he had failed to lend his help; that cumulated with his ability to twist words and situations to his betterment did not provide him with the most wonderful track record.

“You’ve lied to me.” You whispered.

“I did, yes.” He replied. Honesty. Have faith.

“You…you manipulated me,” You swallowed, “When I trusted you.”

“Yes.” His voice was hoarse with regret. He wanted so badly to tilt your head to look at him.

“You regret it.” You stated.

“I do. Every day.” He shifted a little closer to you. So minutely. Just a little bit.

“Can you help me?” You asked quietly.

At that, his head perked up, and he finally caught your eye. “Anything.” He meant it.

You were everything now. Perhaps you had been everything all along.

You considered your request carefully.

“Can you stop them?” You were meek and didn’t expect much. Honestly you were expecting him to give you an answer that would make you want to ask more questions.

As you stared back at him, you felt as if he was taking you in for the first time. Like he was memorizing every ounce of you that he could see, and you felt suddenly very aware of your skin and your hair and the teeth in your mouth.

John considered what might happen if he stood up for your absolute safety from the rest of the community. Many of them had become domesticated and had settled into their existence, but many were still resentful, vicious creatures of his own making. And in their eyes, you were their forbidden fruit. Perhaps you would become even more enticing to them with his authority over you. Regardless of the steady supply of blood to the island, he knew they craved the warmth of a live body to suckle. He was beyond well aware of the craving because, admittedly, he too coveted your tender flesh. John so wished he was far above such vulgarity, but he still found himself having to remind himself that you were sacred. Untouchable. That he was not to pin you down under his weight and expose your neck and bite into your fragile skin…

It would be a lie if he said that there weren’t nights where he was particularly hungry and he didn’t find himself imagining smelling your hair as he drank from you…he had gotten lightheaded by the thought alone and prayed for the remainder of the night.

But John had control.

“I can. Yes I can help you.” He nodded, “I’ll need your faith though.”

You stared at him. He knew exactly what you were thinking, and it pained him. John took your hands in his, and knelt down in front of you as he spoke.

“One more time. I promise…just one more time.” He assured you.

You pursed your lips, and vaguely looked out the window.

“I can’t keep doing this…I’m…I’m so exhausted.” You half laughed out of spite.

Father Pruitt nodded.

“I know…I’m so sorry I know you are.” There was that break in his voice again. Like he was on the verge of tears. “You are on such a higher level than I am in God’s eyes. He sees you and He is testing you. And you…you are doing so well.”

“I don’t feel like I am, Father.” You weren’t sure why you were being so honest. There was something magnetic in the man that pulled your heart from you so carefully that you didn’t even feel it.

“Tell me what you feel.” He squeezed your hands. You twitched at the contact, having not touched anyone for so long. His hands were soft…so soft.

You were nervous to open up to him completely.

John could almost feel your apprehension.

“Please, I am the one who put you here in this situation, in this…life. Please make me know your pain.” He whispered.

You looked down at your joined hands, and bit the inside of your lip to keep from crying.

“Tell me what is happening to you.” He urged you one more time in a whisper. And you felt a single tear fall from your eye and onto his thumb. He wished he could encapsulate that tear and keep it- precious.

Your last bit of restraint crumbled under his desire to help you.

“I…I feel washed out from the shore,” you choked out, “Like…like no matter how hard I try, I get dragged back out by a squall that just wont stop. It doesn’t matter how many times I gather my strength…I can’t get back. I feel like I’m in some foreign land and no one is there. And all it’s going to take is one wave that’s a little too big and a little too strong that I won’t be able to get over…and I’ll be gone. Lost under the surface.” Another tear fell onto your hands.

Father Pruitt stared at you, barely blinking as he regarded you.

“Giving in sounds so much easier than whatever it is I have to do everyday.” You shook your head; you hadn’t said any of these thought out loud, and now hearing them made your heart ache even more.

It would be a lie if John said he didn’t know how you felt. There had been many a time where he considered giving in…burning. But each time he would remember you, and how cowardly he would feel if he abandoned you there. He would see that photograph that sat in your hallway of you on Easter as a child in his mind and manage to make it through another day.

“I remember your baptism…” John said after a moment, “You hated it…” he laughed a little, “But when I gave you back to your mother you were fine…resilient and glowing. I have faith that you will weather this. The waters may be stronger, but you’re still that same soul.”

You felt your tears fall, “This time you can’t hand me back to my mom though.” You laughed a little at the ridiculousness of it.

He sighed and looked around the small house for a moment then moved and sat down beside you, and opened his arms to you. You eyed him wearily, but he only waited. He had done the same gesture to you many times over the years. Helped you when you had slipped and scraped your knee, or when your father lost his temper when you got ice cream on your dress on Easter…when you got sick and missed Mass. Always gentle and paternal, but not nearly as intimate as this. Your soul was bared to him now. It was no mere injury or heart ache.

You were grieving.

And he would guide you through it.

You took a deep breath, and scooted closer to him. You felt one of his arms wrap around your shoulders, and draw you into his chest. Your shoulders were ridged for a moment, then as your anxiety waned, and he drew small circles on your back with his thumbs, you relented. You timidly brought your arms around his shoulders and what was meant to be a hug turned into you clinging to him.

“I hate you.” You mumbled. It wasn’t a lie. Not a whole truth either but it was the only thing you could get out.

The Monsignor sighed out an amused breath. You could truly be so curt when you wanted to.

“Hate is such a strong word…used to express how despicable and irredeemable a person is…and I understand. I’ll admit I’m not my biggest fan either.” He agreed.

You laughed.

It was pained, but you laughed.

You sunk into his embrace a little more, minding your neck and shoulder to not disturb the injury too much. He nosed your hair, and settled into the cushions with you in tow.

Your heart clenched when you tried to recall the last time you had been embraced by someone for so long and unrushed. You only grew sadder when you truly could not remember.

You didn’t know when you fell asleep. What you did know was that you were opening your heavy eyes, and your body was warm and relaxed. You slowly took in where you were, and found that you were still in Father Pruitt’s arms.

There was a rumble against your ear, and you noted that it was him sighing. Your hand was gripping his shirt like a lifeline, and he still held you to his chest. And oddly enough, you felt safe. Wrapped in the embrace of the person who terrified you. Friends closer and enemies closer you supposed.

You slowly pulled away from him, and looked up at his face and he stared down at you. Your noses brushed for a moment, and you felt your breath hitch. He didn’t dare move- like a hunter about to shoot his beloved doe.

“Don’t leave me.” You whispered, warm air wisping against his lips.

He knew it then just as you knew it.

You were lost without him. And not in a way that made you reliant on him for your saving, but instead made him responsible for your healing.

“I won’t.” He murmured earnestly. He would always be a part of you; he had single-handedly etched himself into your life, and even if you left him right in that moment…he would somehow still be with you.

You pursed your lips, and fought the sting in your eyes as tears threatened to spill over again.

Then just as you started to pull from him and stand, John spoke. “Stay…” he said almost pleadingly.

You paused and looked at him as he rose to stand with you.

“Please, just…just for a day or two, you’re not fully healed.” He added, shifting a little as he stumbled over his words, “ I need…I need to speak with the town too…I may not look it anymore but I’m still their elder and they will hear me.”

You paused.

Redemption. You were letting him redeem himself in someway. His offer, while likely coming with good intentions, still made you nervous. You knew what they were like when they were hungry. And Father Pruitt was turned for longer than them, so either he had better control than the rest or he was even hungrier-

“You will not be harmed here, I swear.” He said, “I want to help you.”

You stared up at him, still thinking. You wanted to be helped…at this point you needed it. You were losing yourself completely to solitude.

He whispered your name.

“I need- need to help you. You’re lost…you said it yourself- how hard everyday is for you…and I have to take most of that blame. The thing is, I gave you so much security and assurance when I returned that now you cannot move on from this traumatic point in your life without my help. Let me help you…I know the horror you feel there in your heart- I- I saw it all too. Felt it. No one else could do that for you. Let me help you.” He whispered, hands coming to rest on your shoulders as he spoke, “Please…I need to.”

You bit at the side of your tongue, but found yourself growing weaker in resolve; you weren’t sure if it was from the wound still closing on your shoulder or from the way his dark eyes entranced yours as he spoke to you like you were the most important thing in the world in that moment. But the desperation in his voice ensnared you.

“…Okay.” You whispered back.

John nodded, a rush of air spilling from his lungs.

“Thank you…” he whispered back, and pulled you close, one hand on the back of your head, and the other around your ribs; careful to not disturb your wound, “I’m…I’m going to take care of you.”

Those words alone had your nose tingling as tears began to rise to your eyes, but you sniffled and fought them back.

The remaining hours of the winter daylight were only a few, and you spent them wrapped in a blanket that smelled of the man sat at his desk.

A respectful distance away from you.

Old fashioned.

You laughed a little to yourself when you looked at him so concentrated in his grey jeans and sweater. You wondered if he was more vibrant when he was young. Or was he always an old soul at heart?

“Old man…” you breathed out absentmindedly into a cup of broth he had made you.

“Deprecation is not in good manners, young lady.” He murmured back to you, and you nearly choked.

You forgot that he could hear the tiniest of whispers.

“S-sorry…it just…funny to see Monsignor Pruitt in jeans.” You said, cheeks warming.

John grinned.

“Ah…yes well…I can’t say I’ve worn them since I was a young boy…always saw the young parishioners wearing them by the 80’s and I always wondered what drew people to wear them so often…I won’t lie they are a little stiff at first.” He said in good humour, looking up from his writing.

You held his gaze for a minute, then nodded, “They suit you, Father.”

Your comment caught him off guard, and you chose to let him sit in that slight discomfort. So instead of saying another word you just smiled a little then turned away from him and nestled into your blanket a little more.

A half hour passed before either of your spoke again. This time it was he who approached you.

You were nodding off when you heard him walk over to the couch and crouch in front of you.

“We gotta change your dressing.” He whispered gently, patting your knee. His eyes flickered over your face as he tried to discern how you were feeling. What you were feeling.

You drew your heavy eyelids up and curled in on yourself, “Can we do it later?” You mumbled- already half asleep and so comfortable that you finally knew what those cinnamon rolls you used to make felt like.

“I know…I know…c’mon, hold onto me.” He slipped his hand under your blanketed legs and hoisted you up to walk you to the bathroom. You wrapped your arms around his neck, and buried your face there.

“There we go…good girl, just sit there for me and I’ll be right back.” He sat you down on the small counter, and retrieved the gauze from the bedroom before returning to you. You peeled your eyes open to watch him work. He snipped the fabric to have it ready quickly, then took a deep breath before gently removing the medical tape that kept your old dressing in place.

“Father it hurts…”You hissed a little at the sting and ache of the wound and how some of the gauze was stuck to the edge of the wound and pulled.

“Shh…shh…there you go,” he cooed to you. You then heard him swallow as the bite was exposed.

“That bad?” You asked.

The good Father blinked and took a steadying breath, “No- no not at all. Healing well actually…just…uh- just it- well…it’s- you’re doing good.” He stumbled over his words as he cleaned around the skin.

You looked up at him now, and he seemed to catch your sobered expression.

“I’m fine.” He said reassuringly.

And you nodded.

“I’m going to take care of you.” He repeated, then tossed the bloodied wipe into the bin and began bandaging you up.

“There you go…good as new.” John didn’t smile; he was almost looking for your approval. Still uncertain. He was almost waiting for you to say that you had enough and that you’d leave. But it didn’t come.

You nodded and let him help you into bed, and he felt a little reassured.

But then as he went to go after bringing your blanket up to your neck, he felt your hand grab his sleeve, and he paused and knelt beside you. Your eyes were closed and your breathing was already slowing.

“Thank you John…” you whispered.

The older man felt tears well in his eyes, but he swallowed and leaned his forehead to your hand.

“I will make this right…” Father Pruitt said quietly to himself. He watched you fade away, and found himself tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear before leaving you to rest.

You slept well into the evening, long past sunset.

When you awoke, the room was dark aside from the sliver of light from the cracked door. You blinked slowly, willing your weariness to go away as you slipped from the bed and to the floor; the cold wood sobered you a little as you padded to the door.

“You must be hungry.”

You jumped at the soft voice from the kitchen.

You pushed the door open and meekly looked out into the main room- your eyes adjusting to the light.

John was stood over a small pot that he stirred occasionally on the stove. It was only then that you smelled that he was making, and your stomach growled in recognition of food.

John hid his grin well when he heard your hunger.

“My mother used to make this all the time when we needed some healing…physical or mental…tell me if it needs anything I…I can’t really taste it.” He said gently, raising his bowed head to look at you. John stood with a spoon full of the soup as he waited for you to decide, and he felt a swell of pride in him when you slowly started to walk to him.

You tried to hide the fact that your stomach was doing flips at his gesture. You couldn’t recall the last time someone had made you food.

“Open…” He breathed out, and you parted your lips; his eyes caught your pink tongue just inside your mouth as you accepted the spoon. A detail he didn’t know what to do with.

You let the taste fill your mouth.

It was good.

Really good.

You swallowed and nodded, “Thank you…it’s really nice. Just a little more salt, please.” You wrung your hands as you spoke.

The older man nodded, and watched you turn away to sit on one of the chairs in front of his desk. A shiver ran through you then, and you sighed as you begrudgingly went to stand to retrieve a blanket.

John turned to bring you a bowl of soup, and quickened his steps when he saw you getting up. “What do you need?” He asked.

“I’m just a bit cold.” You said, and went to move past him but his large hand caught your arm.

“Sit, I’ll get you something.” John sat you back down and placed to soup in front of you while murmuring something about the liquid being hot. You watched him disappear into his bedroom then reappear just a moment later with a pair of thick socks, and a blanket.

“Oh thank yo- …Father what-…” you went to take the socks from him but he knelt in front of you and tucked the blanket around your hips and thighs, then began putting the socks on your feet like it was the most normal thing in the world.

John’s eyes caught your surprised stare, and blinked up at you, “Eat up, sweetheart or it’ll get cold.” He hummed.

You felt your ears grow warm, but you didn’t dare open your mouth to protest and tell him you could take care of yourself. You also decided to ignore the warmed that gathered behind your navel. So without another word, you turned and began to eat what he gave you. You sighed as it went down your throat; you didn’t know how you had managed to make it this long without some kind of human connection.

“I have Mass tonight.” John said and he stood and sat behind his desk- sorting through his papers.

You looked up from your bowl and nodded. Your anxiety rose slightly at the prospect of being alone after what had happened.

Evidently he heard your heart rate spike, and his focus broke from the papers and jumped to you instantly.

“You will not be harmed. It will only be a couple hours. I have the only key to the rectory after Bev- after she…passed. I’ll be speaking with the island tonight…I put in a word for all to attend tonight.” The priest spoke earnestly.

You peered up at his direct gaze, and sighed then nodded. “Okay.”

He returned the gesture, “Okay.” He whispered.

You watched him gather his things, and found yourself surprised by how your eyes followed him around the modest house as he readied himself. You startled yourself with the realization of how attached you were becoming to his presence, and you quickly looked away from him.

John sighed and grabbed his notebook then came to crouch down in front of you. “If anyone knocks, go into the cellar…if anything happens, open the back window and you come to me.” He said firmly.

Your eyes flickered between his, “Okay.”

He grinned a little and patted your cheek lightly, “There’s a good girl…eat, and have more water.” He pointed to the kitchen and you watched him leave. The lock clicked into place.

You felt alone again.

Although this solitude was not altogether uncomfortable. Just quiet.

You could hear voices approach the church and wander nearby. Unease churned in your guts as they drew close, and you chose to relocate to the bedroom. You filled another bowl of soup and shuffled to the back of the house where you cocooned yourself on Father Pruitt’s bed. A wince escaped you when you laid down wrong, and you rolled your shoulder to try to ease the pain. It was more of a dull ache now that throbbed every so often.

You downed the soup, and curled in on yourself. You wanted so badly to shower…to brush your hair and feel more like yourself. You felt far more exhausted than you should have; you wondered if the bite had come with some sort of poison that your body was fighting off.

Sleep took you before you could stop it. It wasnt until you felt a large palm against your cheek that you started to wake up. You nestled into the hand and burrowed yourself deeper into the pillows below your head.

Then you could hear your name being said softly.

After several minutes, you cracked your eyes open. When you did, you were given a bit of a fright.

John was leaned over you just a foot away as he tried to rouse you from your sleep. What startled you however was how the light from the living room caught his eyes and made them glint in the darkness like the cats that used to populate Crockett.

“Sorry,” he whispered, and backed off a touch, “It’s been a few hours…just need to check your dressing.”

You sighed and while you truly did not wish to move from your spot, you did not want an infection in the middle of winter.

“‘S okay…”you mumbled as you got up.

Father Pruitt gingerly pulled your shirt’s neck down and removed the bandage. You were healing, slowly.

“Father?”

John blinked and looked at you, “Yes?”

“Could I take a shower?” You asked. It had been almost two days, and you could feel yourself growing itchy.

The older man ground his teeth for a moment at his lack of care for you.

“Of- of course. The uh…the bite is healed enough that you can wash up under warm water.” He began looking anywhere but at you as he was reminded of how he had cleaned you.

You nodded and slipped past him into the small bathroom, “Um…do you have some clean clothes?” You asked timidly. You hated that you had to keep asking him for help; John on the other hand was elated.

“Y-yes just let me…um…” he began searching through his clothes and found you some pants and a shirt that would likely be warmer than what you had currently. The pants you would likely have to roll up.

You found a little amusement in how he seemed to be so uncomfortable; it wasn’t that it was sweet or gentlemanly, it was that you had been so distressed for so long because of him, and you enjoyed seeing him in the same position.

“Thank you.” You said, and left him there to wash yourself.

John released a breath that relieved a little of the pressure on his chest when you closed the door. He needed to do more than his best for you, and you seemed to be very aware of that. Knowing that you needed him to be better made him unable to relax. John knew he could be cowardly, and selfish, and very wrong, but he was going to do his damnedest to be more than his mistakes and sins. Even if it was the last thing he did.

When you returned to the living room, you found Father Pruitt standing with the rectory telephone pressed to his ear as he looked out one of the windows. You felt your stomach sink at the thought of him telling anyone you were there. But then again, they likely already knew.

“Yes…yes it seemed to go well…blunt or not, they needed the line drawn. No, just wait. I wou-…y/n, it’s okay, sweetheart, you can come out.” He called to you as he paused his conversation.

You timidly shuffled out the door and peeked over at him. He held his hand out to beckon you over as he hummed and mumbled a few things over the phone. You padded over to him, and he kept his gaze trained on you once you came within reach.

John reached up and tucked a few hairs behind your ear and touched your chin gently, “Good…and they understand?…good,” he said, “Yes…she’s strong. Alright. Take care.” He extended his arm to place the phone back on the receiver, and sighed, “Annie.” He said.

Your heart squeezed, but didn’t say anything.

“She’s worried about you,” John hummed, “I spoke to the island last night. Instilled the fear of their god into them lest they touch you again.” His voice lacked any malice or anger, in fact it was very calm, but there was no hiding how tight his jaw was.

You nodded, and tugged at the blanket you had wrapped around your shoulders.

“Father?” You asked him.

“Hm?” He hummed.

“I want to take a walk.” You said.

John stopped looking at your bandage and focused on you, “I don’t-“

“And I want you to come with me.” You finished.

That surprised him, but pleased him greatly.

“Lead the way, young lady.” He cracked a small grin.

You nodded, and disappeared back into the bedroom to find the socks he had given you and a sweater. When you returned, you frozen in your place when you saw him shrugging on that long black coat that was older than you.

“You kept it…” you mumbled.

Father Pruitt paused and looked down at himself, “Ah…yes well I suppose we all have things we grow attached to.”

You pursed your lips, and pulled the sweater you had taken a little tighter before you walked to your shoes and slipped them on. They were clean now, no longer muddy and full of grass.

John joined you by the door, and you looked up at his as he opened the door. He seemed to feel your pause, and turned his attention to you.

“You’re safe.” He whispered earnestly.

There was a calm that came over you then. You didn’t necessarily want to trust him, but you had told yourself that you would let him try to redeem himself. Trusting him was the first step.

You nodded, and stepped outside into the early morning air. The winter temperature made you shiver, but the crisp air was refreshing. You took a slow step out onto the grass, and looked back at Father Pruitt who stood at your shoulder like a guard.

A guardian angel.

You almost laughed at the thought.

He nodded, and placed a gentle hand on your back to encourage you. You truly hoped he was being sincere and wasn’t guiding you into the hungry mouths of the islanders. That this hadn’t all been an elaborate lie.

The frosty dirt and gravel under your feet crunched far too loudly. You could only imagine how loud it was for the man beside you. He chose not to comment.

John couldn’t have cared less about the sound of the road you walked on; he was far more occupied with listening for any islanders nearby, or that winged monster. He didn’t know who had done it, but whoever had cut holes into its wings had done Gods work. Forever contained to Crockett.

The two of you made it almost into town without incident. As you passed the marina, there were several old fhishermen maintaining their boats. Men you used to feed and laugh with. It look mere seconds for them to smell you and hear your heart. One by one their heads snapped up.

You could feel your natural instinct to run, but you felt that hand on your should and farm around your back that steadied you as you and the father stared back at the men.

You sucked in a breath, and turned to the older man, “I’m okay.” You said quietly.

John turned his attention to you, and his clenched jaw loosened.

The two of you moved on through the town. Left and right, heads poked out from windows and people stopped to stare at the pristine lamb walking through their den. Neither of you said a word as you passed the general store, and your old shop.

“Y/n?”

You stopped in your tracks. That voice broke your heart with just your name. You looked over past Father Pruitt, and saw Ali just several feet from you with Warren.

You couldn’t breathe all of a sudden as the memory of burying his father flooded you after so long of you praying to forget it.

“Ali.” You whispered.

The boy took a few tentative steps towards you, then almost ran to you and held you tight. You knew he wasn’t the most affectionate teenager, but as he gripped you, you could almost feel his own sorrow. You pushed the pain of the wound away even as his arm pressed on it.

“Thank you…” his voice came from your uninjured shoulder.

You embraced him and rubbed his back gently, “He loved you, Ali…he still does.” Your voice broke, but tears wouldn’t fall.

He sniffled, and tightened his grip, then slowly pulled away. You noticed how he wouldn’t look at the men beside you. In fact many didn’t. Perhaps he had told the truth about being ostracized.

“I’m sorry…I’m- I should have listened to you I’m sorry-“ he started to ramble.

You shook your head, “Ali…Ali it’s done,” you whispered, then remembered something his father had told you, “Inshallah God will have mercy on you. If I meet him before you, I’ll put in a good word.” You smiled a little, and he stared at you like you had given him the best possible news.

“Thank you…thank you.” He hugged you one more time, before you let him go, and began walking again.

John watched you from the corner of his eye every so often as you made your way through town. He was pleased that he only had to ward off a couple islanders who got a little too curious, and he noticed how you could subconsciously lean into his side when he did.

You house was always a no-go zone for anyone. Especially after your attack. That night when he addressed the islanders, John hadn’t been that angry since Easter…hadn’t yelled so venomously in so long. Now your home sat peaceful and empty.

He watched you gather the things you wanted and needed and stuffed them into a duffle. Photos and books and things that held memories or that you held dear to you. Things that could make anywhere feel like home. Clothes and shoes and snacks. You muttered occasionally to yourself, and gazed longingly at your stand mixer sitting on your counter as you passed it. You missed being you. You missed…living.

You might have stayed and reminisced a little longer, but the sun wouldn’t stay down forever. With just a few more things placed into the bag, you pulled it over your shoulder and walked back to the door where a Father Pruitt stood waiting.

He extended his hand out to you, and you stared at it a little confused, then he nodded to your bag, “I’ve given you enough of a burden to carry in this life.” John didn’t wait for you to hand it to him- he slipped it off your shoulder and onto his like it weighed nothing, then opened the door for you. You grabbed a coat off the pegs by the door, and slipped it on over your borrowed clothes.

Your fingers ached from the cold as you walked back across the island. You buried them into your pockets, and kept your gaze ahead as you went. Just as before, several heads turned as you went by. Your stomach hurt when you saw Annie standing with Ed in their doorway as you passed by. It had been almost 10 months since you saw them, and now you almost felt estranged.

You had begun to notice that whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not. But you truly didn’t belong anymore.

As your journey passed by that gap in the brush by the shore, you paused and began towards it to visit the halo of stones. You crouched down onto the cold earth, and placed your hand over the now-framed photo of Hassan and Ali on his grave.

You sighed, and looked up at the dark sky, “Put in a good word for me, too.”

John swallowed any words that tried to worm their way out. He didn’t deserve to comment. Instead, he stood by and watched you wipe off your knees as you straightened up, and continued on.

The two of you began to come up to the rectory, but then just as you went to turn down the path, you stopped again. You thought for a moment, then turned to the Father.

“Can I take you one more place?” You asked.

“Of course.” He said, and quickly placed your bag inside before joining you again. This time, you continued on past the church and towards the other side of the island.

You slowly led him out to the Uppards, and you walked him over to a patch in the grass that you now knew well. You sat, and patted the spot beside you, “Sit.” You said.

John took the place next to you, and stared out at the water.

“This was where I sat that night.” You said into the wind, “Waiting…”

John watched you, pain clinging to his chest. He had wondered where you had run. What shelter you had made for yourself.

“I tried to keep Leeza and Warren safe, I really did but…it just wasn’t enough,” your broken whisper came out in puffs of vapour. You could feel those emotions you had been certain were guarded start to rear their heads.

John so badly wanted to comfort you…to offer something. But your heart was racing and your breathing was heavy. You needed to say more and he wasn’t going to deprive you.

“He-…” you tried, “He was a good man, Father. Hassan just…he just…wanted some place quiet and safe for Ali…he died being hated but he deserved so much more. Ali deserves so much more and you took that.” Your cheeks warms as that rage began to seep into you.

“I did,” He said finally, voice hoarse, “I did take that and I’m so…so sorry and I wish I could give it all back…” he shook his head and looked over at you as he spoke. You met his gaze and pursed your lips, “There are no words that I could say now or in a hundred years that could express my sorrow to you.” He spoke earnestly.

You sighed, and stared at him, “And what about me?” You whispered.

His breath caught.

“What about me, Father?” You asked.

He thought for only a moment, “I took so much from you…I think the only thing I didn’t take was your faith. I told you…that night…to have faith. The thing is, you do have it. Your ability to believe in good and better is…astounding. You are…so good. And I hurt that. I cannot tell you how guilty I am. I was greedy.” John said honestly, “With so much, but especially with you, I was greedy. They say God mends wounds in time- physical, mental and emotional…but I would place no blame on you if you didn’t heal from what I put you through. You were so bright…so loved…just…Lord so beautiful. So beautiful inside and out and I was a coward for much of my life trying to hide that ugliness and I envied you. I am…so, so sorry.”

The older man looked away from you to stare out at the dark water. You felt a stray tear fall down your cheek at his words. He had hurt you, but you hadn’t expected it to be more than skin deep.

“I hurt something because I found it sublime and I wanted it to last forever. I was…cruel. I was cruel. I didn’t notice the destruction that came with it. And I’m sorry.” John looked back at you, and you noticed the glassiness in his eyes. A few tears fell.

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. It might have been an hour that passed before you slowly reached over to him and grasped his hand. He was almost instantaneous in holding it in return.

“What’s it like, Father?” You asked, and looked over at him.

He returned his attention to you, “What’s what like, little one?”

You stared back at him and took in his handsome face. His dark hair that fell a little over his forehead, his dark eyes and full brows. It took a moment of your staring for him to realize you were asking about the… “gift”.

He paused and sucked in a breath before shaking his head, “Well you…you see things you’ve never seen and heard things you never thought you would be able to…smell things you didn’t know could be smelled. I could hear the flowers blooming when I stood close enough…the world breathes. Sings…glows brighter…magnificent.” John thought aloud, looking around him until he came back to you, “But too much of a good thing is bad.” He smiled bitterly.

You blinked, and nodded.

Father Pruitt squeezed your hand, and sighed, “I may not feel the cold but you do. C’mon sweetheart, let’s get you back.” He stood, and pulled you up with him.

You didn’t protest, and let him guide you out of the brush and onto the path. He took you through the marshy woods and along the stone road until you neared the rectory. You noticed then how it was starting to get lighter out. You slowed your steps as you came to the grass, and stopped completely.

John felt you stop moving and looked back at you. His brows pitched up in confusion, “Are you alright? What’s wrong?” He asked, fearing your wound had opened up or you had gotten ill.

But you just stared up at him and waited. A beat passed between you where he looked around and inspected you, trying to figure out why you wouldn’t move, then it dawned on him. John stopped looking around, and tilted his head down to gaze back at you. Seconds ticked by and the world around you grew brighter and brighter.

And you waited.

But the Father wouldn’t move. You saw his eye twitch when the warm glow started to break through the trees.

That was enough.

You took his hand and tugged him along where he scooped up your bag that had been resting on the stoop and entered the rectory just as the sun rose. Neither of you commented on what had just happened, not that you needed to. You wanted to see if he had been truthful; did he honestly want to change and stop being a coward? Would he die for you if that was your wish…as someone who he had taken everything from and manipulated.

You felt yourself soften towards him after that night.

For once, he told you the truth.

You let him take your jacket off and watched his hands unzip it. You took your bag and placed it in his room, where you opened it up and slowly took everything out. You felt silly grabbing so many things that you didn’t need…but not having them felt stranger.

You pulled out a fresh pair of your own clothes and didn’t think twice before you lifted up your borrowed shirt.

John Pruitt, ever the gentleman and holy man, froze when he caught sight of you through the open door. He might have chastised you for being so careless if it was anyone else, but he couldn’t get the words out. He saw the curve of your back and swell of-

Turn around John.

He spun on his heel and grabbed a book off his shelf and sat on his couch, facing the very opposite of where you were. It took a few more minutes of you shuffling through your things before you padded back out to him. You passed the couch and placed a pair of your shoes by the door. John could smell your scent again now that it wasn’t muddled with his clothes.

Then you came back and plopped yourself down beside him and leaned over to his shoulder to see what he was reading. “What’s this, Monsignor?” You asked softly.

The title gave him pause and he looked up from the pages.

“It um…it’s a collection of German fairytales.” He mumbled, only now realizing what he was reading.

You leaned closer, and laughed quietly, “Didn’t know you were German.”

“Oh I’m not- it was a gift…many years ago. Decades…Christmas I think. People seem to have the idea that priests lack any fear and don’t like a nice ending for stories. I’ll be honest, y/n this book always scared me a little.” John turned the page and grimaced at one of the illustrations.

“Be not afraid…” you whispered quietly. Those words made his heart ache; words meant to help and comfort were now tainted by his own doings.

You both quietly sat there, not saying a word. As you slowly let you guard down, you could feel yourself starting to recover after months of running on nerves and willpower. Your head grew heavy on his shoulder, and John realised after a minute that you had fallen asleep. He remained where he was and shifted you so your legs were across his lap and your face was in his chest. The last thing you needed was an aching back.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@ellies-dad-jokes @littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

[ionobjectshow]

Hello granddad!! Really enjoyed the new episode by the way :D I just wanted to ask something, I dont know if you already answered this so I'm sorry for bothering you if you have D:

Do you have a particular interest in nuclear physics? I'm wondering because when I watch ION it seems to me like you must be very passionate about it as well, either that or your just very good at researching (or making stuff up this sounds legit to people who dont know anything about physics, like me! /j), but it sounds like you know a considerable amount! Maybe it just seems like that to me because I don't understand physics at all :P

I really love cracklin!! So much!!! I've felt like I was too naive and childish for most of my life, I felt weak, pathetic, i cried nearly every day and my feelings of self hatred were only solidified by the people around me. And even though I act MUCH differently now and am in fact quite crude (I am much like a bird squawking outside your window that refuses to shut up!!!) and say uncomfortable things, I'm still regarded as naive and dumb sometimes! The thing Sylvia and cracklin have going on feels very similar to MANY friendships I've had with girls my age. I liked school very much and liked to work, so it made them angry that I managed to be "so stupid and so smart at the same time" (quoted directly from something a girl said to me when I was in middle school). I feel very seen.

I also want to ask if you have a particular interest in object shows, or if you just happened to choose to make your show an object show by coincidence? Object shows are my special interest and I LOVE how your show goes against (almost) everything standard for an object show. Your show is absolutely unique and there's nothing like it out there! I'm sure you will inspire many young creators to make their object shows more serious and complex, deviating from just the typical competition show. In my eyes something is qualified as an object show when there are objects (or non human characters) and the creator considers it an object show, so I love how versatile the title can be! Your designs communicate a lot about the characters and that's SO uncommon!!!! I love it!!!!! You inspire ME!!!! The art is also BEAUTIFUL, really abnormal to see in object shows, most of the time very little detail is put into it, but your backgrounds feel so ALIVE

Have a good day! :]

☢️ As soon as I saw this secret message, the words flashed through my mind: “this letter is very autistic, perhaps it was created by an autistic person.” ☢️ I love long opinions with lots of details and sincere emotions, thank you for this text, I was very happy reading it!

☢️ Yes, you guessed it - nuclear physics (especially everything related to the operation of Nuclear Power Plants) has been my special autistic interest for about 5 years now. I love everything about it. In fact, I am absolutely bad at the exact sciences, but the dance of nuclear energies fascinates me and takes my breath away! I order manuals on nuclear reactors for myself and read them with great pleasure, waving my hands. I often go to a coffee shop to read there by the window with a cup of coffee ^^

☢️ I created ION during the most terrible period of my life, and this project was the only thing that held me while anxious depression was rapidly developing and consuming me into some bottomless black abyss. So I put my whole soul, all of myself and what I love into ION, I made this project my mirror. ☢️ It is very important for me to see how this story touches the hearts of other people, I scream with delight if some neurodivergent people recognize themselves in Cracklin! This is extremely important to me.

☢️ Object shows are not my special interest, but I was very surprised and intrigued by this genre of web animation. At first, I did not like the concept of an object show and I could not understand why people were watching it … and then something switched inside me and I really wanted to create my own experimental Object show. To create it entirely myself. To make an author's project that will become a part of me. I didn't even hope that ION would be liked by anyone else, I posted 1 episode with the thought that I was doing it only for myself. And now I am happy as a rainbow in the sky, reading so many kind comments and support! Thank you very much

[mama-qwerty]

Loving your analysis on the Sonic 3 lore. May I request a deep dive into Agent Stone’s character? I just think he’s neat and had some character development throughout the films.

In talking about Agent Stone, we have to talk about Robotnik's mindset and dynamic in relation to him. Stone doesn't exist in a vacuum, and it's his relationship with Robotnik that helped shape him over the course of the movies.

Gonna get looooong. Again. Because I just can't shut up when I get started.

In the first movie, Stone's simply an assistant, an over achieving second to Robotnik. (Possibly the only agent who could stand to put up with him for so long.) He was a little brown nosey, and portrayed the stereotypical characteristics of a really good assistant that we see in other media, going back as far as Radar from M.A.S.H. He anticipated his boss' needs, and supplied them almost before they were requested.

Robotnik obviously didn't respect him, even if he liked how Stone made his latte. Although I'd be hard pressed to think of anyone Robotnik actually respected or liked, honestly.

But it was curious why Robotnik then created a likeness of Stone to keep him company on the mushroom planet. It could be explained away that Robotnik was used to talking about his plans out loud, used to spouting about how brilliant he was, and what he felt were clever quips and barbs at those he deemed 'lesser' than himself, and needed an audience to do so. Not to mention, having a 'companion' of sorts helped keep him focused. Since Stone had been his latest lackey, the most recent sycophant to hang on his every word, he simply went the most convenient route and used him as a placeholder for this required role.

But was that all there was to it?

Robotnik went to the trouble of carving a face onto the rock. Carrying it with him wherever he went as he traversed the planet, seeking out sustenance and shelter and concocting his Rube Goldbergian machinations to make himself a cup of mushroom coffee. As a man of science, a man who prioritized his own survival and logical nature over useless sentimentality, it's curious he would go to the trouble of not only creating a likeness of Stone, but 'wasting' precious energy and cargo space carrying it around.

Which indicated that Stone's presence had a greater impact on the doctor than he admitted or realized, even to himself.

This is further reinforced by the doctor's manifesto, as referenced in the Sonic 2 pre-quill comic. In that, we learn that Robotnik left this as a sort of instruction manual for Stone to "rebuild [Robotnik's] glory on a mass scale". It guided Stone to "rebuild [himself] as an instrument of pure science", and helped Stone to infiltrate the Mean Bean and rise through the ranks to ultimately own it, and create that as a home base for further operations.

This indicates that Robotnik saw promise in Stone, and trusted Stone more than he'd likely trusted anyone else. Yes, it was all to build a society that Robotnik orchestrated, but the fact that he created the manifesto, with the intention of having Stone read and implement it, showed a greater reliance on Stone than previously indicated.

So Stone is in place, having transformed the Mean Bean into a secret base worthy of the best super villains. And now he waits.

And waits.

And waits.

All the while having to deal with the public.

As anyone who's worked in any kind of customer service job can tell you, dealing with the public day in and day out can drive anyone to thoughts of villainy. That last customer Stone deals with is a prime example of this, with the rude looks and actions, and overall disdain and contempt for service people in general, and possibly him in particular.

He misses the doctor, because he understood the doctor. Robotnik was a big thinker, someone who had higher aspirations and goals than anyone he'd ever met before. He didn't hold a high opinion of the general public, and the more Stone deals with them, the more he understands that mindset. And through the manifesto, Stone likely felt even more connected to Robotnik.

It's possible that Stone's feelings for the doctor didn't start out as a more personal, emotional kind of love. It's possible, and likely, they were simply admiration, because Robotnik was incredibly intelligent, and never let anything stop him from achieving his goal. In Stone's experience, it was possible that the previous people he worked with didn't have that level of dedication. So when he got with Robotnik, it was refreshing to see someone taking his position seriously, and not simply 'doing a job'.

But when Robotnik was bested by the hedgehog, and sent to the mushroom planet, Stone may have felt a little rudderless. Since he was working with Robotnik, and Robotnik himself had been wiped from GUN's database, Stone may have been a casualty of that as well. He was simply a 'lowly agent', so it wasn't that much of a loss to wipe him, too.

Either that, or he intentionally kept himself hidden to avoid being captured and grilled regarding anything else Robotnik may have been doing. Stone strikes me as the kind of man who can blend in with a crowd, and disappear at will.

He knows the system, and knows how to exploit it.

When the doctor returned, Stone was thrilled. Everything he'd worked for up to this point was finally going to be recognized, and he wanted nothing more than to pick up where he and the doctor left off, working together and striving for a better world.

Since Stone had been working at the Mean Bean, a place within Green Hills, he likely saw Sonic on and off. He couldn't blow his cover, no one knew he'd worked with Robotnik, after all, but GOD, seeing that hedgehog would have made the bile rise in his throat. This little alien, this cocky little furball had bested the doctor and sent him away, as though he were in the wrong. And this entire town supported it! And here was this blue rat, living here on Earth as though he belonged.

That fact alone would have pushed Stone even further to the side of Robotnik, thinking that the general public is nothing but "primitive, sport-cheering, social media-scrolling knuckle-draggers". They'd cheered the defeat of a genius, one who was simply trying to capture this unknown alien element that has proven itself capable of destruction on a mass scale, and call him the bad guy. Yes, his methods had been maybe a little unorthodox, but when dealing with such an enemy as an alien with super speed and the ability to create large blasts of energy, you had to think outside the box.

But he was finally back, and he'd brought yet another little spiky furball. And had left with it, leaving Stone behind yet again. But that was okay. He would return. Stone was sure of it.

And he had. But he'd been . . . different. Gotten the Master Emerald, and was . . . changed. And when GUN showed up, Robotnik had put his genius on display, and taken Stone with him this time. It was glorious, but had taken Stone a little bit to catch up. (Thankfully there was a manual!)

Then everything had gone pearshaped again, and those furballs won.

No matter.

Stone was a patient man.

He knew GUN's procedures and it took hardly a moment to infiltrate their ranks. He used their own technology and manpower to find Robotnik amid the rubble, and scurried him away to heal and regroup. One of the things included in the manifesto was blueprints of many machines and creations, and Stone had put Robotnik's drones to work building a giant crab bot.

GUN may have had eyes everywhere, but the ocean was still a mystery in may ways. And it hid may a secret.

But as the doctor healed, he fell into a deep depression. Being bested by the blue rodent not once, but twice, had done a number on his psyche. He'd lost all drive for world domination. His access to any of his drones and bots had been all but severed, and there were only a scant few satellites still in orbit with them aboard. Hardly enough to wage an all out assault, especially with THREE alien vermin on Earth to challenge him.

No. Robotnik was utterly demoralized.

But Stone stayed by his side. He kept Robotnik comfortable, and tried to reignite that spark within him. Tried to suggest heists and schemes to keep his spirits up. But it was to no avail. Stone stepped up, assuming a caretaker role, and offering support whenever he could.

He kept tabs on GUN's comings and goings, and when the board lit up after Shadow was released, he went to investigate. He found those rodents pinned down by drones, but not just any drones, Robotnik drones. This wouldn't do. If anyone was going to use those drones to take out these annoying little furballs, it would be Robotnik himself.

So he killed the drones--with the annoying side effect of saving the rodents--and returned to base. The aliens had followed, but he was keen enough to realize they had a common enemy.

An alliance was formed, and Stone had to admit that it was good to see the doctor more like his old self. Unsurprisingly, Robotnik very quickly narrowed down the source of the hijacked drones, and the group quickly went to investigate.

But then they'd found that old man. And Robotnik had tossed Stone to the curb because suddenly he had found his 'real' family, someone who would love him unconditionally.

And it hurt.

Stone never fooled himself to think he was ever on Robotnik's level. He was nowhere near as smart as the doctor, and couldn't even comprehend how the man thought. But he'd thought they were more than simply villain and henchman. Robotnik trusted Stone, more than he'd ever trusted anyone else. Stone had seen Robotnik at his lowest. At his most vulnerable. And didn't care.

Typical henchmen wouldn't stick around when the boss is defeated. They wouldn't drag his body out from under a felled robot and keep him safe. Help him heal. Fetch him burritos and cheap novels and steal cable to hook him up with episodes of La Ultima Pasion to help him pass the time.

Stone was still following Robotnik's manifesto, even when Robotnik himself had given up. Because he had faith that the doctor would eventually snap back to himself. That he would realize that the world needed him to correct it.

And that someday, maybe, Robotnik would see Stone for being the one person who'd stood by him, from the very beginning.

And he had.

When it was too late.

Robotnik's message to Stone as he managed to stave off the final explosion of the ARK gave Stone that validation he'd been looking for. Told Stone that, even though Robotnik was terrible at expressing himself, he had, in his own way, loved Stone right back. Appreciated Stone. Valued Stone.

And that's all Stone had ever wanted to hear.

And maybe, that gives Stone the encouragement he needs to continue with Robotnik's manifesto.

~~~

Check out my other Sonic 3 analysis posts

[dailycharacteroption]

Polymorphic Disguise Envoy (Envoy Alternate Class Feature)

(art by Minda Sam on Artstation)

In a galaxy of fantastic technology and magic, it can seem like the best option is always to get more and more tricks and tools, but even in such a setting there’s a lot to be said for specializing in one gimmick and taking it to the extreme. And such is the case with envoys that master the art of polymorphic disguise.

It’s a long-standing trope in a lot of sci-fi settings with the alien species that can shapeshift to resemble others, and that carries over into Starfinder, with perhaps the most versatile being astrazoans, what with their ability to imitate not only humanoids but even other aberrations.

However, you might assume that an alternate feature like this is either meant to only be used by such shapeshifters, or by other species seeking to emulate them, with the assumption that in the former case it’s limited to those species, and in the latter case it only grants the same base ability as those natural shifters, making it uselessly superfluous to those who already can.

Well, I’m happy to say that neither of those things are the case, as the class option not only grants shapeshifting, but improves on it, which can easily be flavored as refining their own natural shapeshifting if they have it. Either way, these masters of disguise quickly go from purely espionage-related applications to all-out battle forms, similar to the likes of Martian Manhunter in their complexity and ability.

Indeed, while many use these talents to take on alternate identities, they can also use them for combat forms, refining their skill and it’s application as they master it and themselves. Some may be spies, others combat specialists, but their fluid form is their unifying factor.

At the start of their journey, these envoys gain a single form based on the capabilities of the least self-polymorphing magic, and as they grow in power, they may change it as they gain access to better tiers of self-change, and they can use their expertise to refine these disguises. However, they do not gain expertise with other skills, but they can still use talents by expending resolve, or they can choose not to learn such tricks and instead gain an additional form, diversifying that which they can turn into.

A relatively simple alt class option that grants an iconic power and accounts for how the class functions without the replaced ability, this can be fun for characters seeking to maintain several set identities that become better and better at replicating the species and individual they are based on over time. I personally would start with forms that are meant for disguise, but later branch out into those that can be used for combat, selecting however many you think you’d like to have for variety’s sake and utility, supplementing them with expertise talents and the like to help round out and complete the build.

While species that already have shapeshifting powers may see this as simply mastering or enhancing one of their natural advantages in the same way others might perfect a martial art, those that lack such a natural ability might pose some interesting questions, such as how they gained this ability in the first place. Was it through training, mutation, or perhaps something that was done to them with genetic tinkering? If it wasn’t their choice, how do they feel about these abilities and do they struggle with their identity?

Blajh the Efreet is no genie, but a shapeshifting con artist that takes on such a form to attract the desperate to his con games. Despite his role as a con artist, he has a legitimate fascination with elementals, and wants to one day see a gigantic starship-sized elemental in action, though doing so is obviously not without risk.

Infamous as the name suggests, the Face Stealer is a legendary assassin for hire that none know the true face of, though he has several forms he’s collected over the years, each one emulating the face of one of his favorite victims, used to help secure greater kills. While the number of such forms is likely a deliberate exaggeration to fuel his own mystique, he is nevertheless very dangerous, and even includes at least one powerful dragon form, just in case.

Very few would expect a burly being like a nuar to specialize in stealth and guile, but such is the case for Ulgan, who works as a spymaster for the Hardbrands. Exactly how he developed such a skill is not a story he’s ever told, but rumor has it that he was experimented on by grays, reptoids, or some ruthless corporation.

[merxcywritesthings]

I'M BEGGING ON MY HANDS AND KNEES.

PLEASE. X-VIRUS/CODY HEADCANNONS OR SMUT. HE DOESN'T GET ENOUGH LOVE. PLEASEE.

-Just some blob on the internet (Ace😋✨)

𝑋-𝑉𝑖𝑟𝑢𝑠 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

A/N: I freaking LOVE Cody, and I wholeheartedly agree that he does not get enough love as the others do—which is odd considering his character design looks similar to Toby’s. Also I wasn’t sure if you meant headcanons for just him or x reader so I incorporated both, I hope that’s okay! Thank you for your request <3

Word Count: 5.1k

TW: NSFW (MDNI) (Also if you’re squeamish with any explicit content, there will be a divider that tells you when to stop reading!)

Reader is Gender-Neutral.

Remember to stay hydrated and eat plenty of food, you are loved!! ❤️

🧪 My Cody stands at 6’1” (185 cm). His height, combined with his lean but muscular frame, gives him an imposing presence.  

🧪 He’s wiry and athletic. His strength is deceptive; while he isn’t bulky, his muscles are well-defined from years of manual labor and survival.  

🧪 Dark brown and messy, often looking like he’s just rolled out of bed. He doesn’t pay much attention to grooming unless it interferes with his work.  

🧪 His eyes are a piercing gray with dark circles underneath, a result of sleepless nights and his obsessive tendencies.  

🧪 Cody’s body is littered with scars from his experiments, fights, and a hard life. The most notable is a jagged scar running along his right forearm from an incident in his youth.  

🧪 He favors dark, practical clothing—hoodies, cargo pants, and boots. His outfits are often splattered with paint, dirt, or the remnants of his experiments.  

🧪 Cody is 24 years old.  

🧪 He’s of mixed European descent, with his pale skin hinting at northern European roots.  

🧪 Cody identifies as pansexual. He’s attracted to individuals based on their personality, intellect, and connection rather than their gender. To him, chemistry and shared intensity are what matter most.  

🧪 While Cody isn’t one for overt romance, he has a deeply possessive and protective streak. If he forms a connection, it’s intense and consuming, making his partner the center of his focus.  

🧪 Born into a chaotic household, Cody experienced neglect and abuse at the hands of his mother. His father was incarcerated, and his adoptive father later met his end by Cody's own hand.  

🧪 While his “hobbies” lean toward the macabre, Cody enjoys reading scientific journals, tinkering with mechanical devices, and sketching out ideas for new experiments.  

🧪 Cody’s knowledge comes from self-teaching and observing his adoptive father’s work. He has a deep understanding of biology, virology, and anatomy despite having no formal qualifications.   

🧪 Cody forms a close bond with Ticci Toby, seeing him as a kindred spirit. They share a dark sense of humor and a mutual understanding of what it means to be an outcast.  

🧪 Masky and Hoodie tolerate Cody, though they view him as unpredictable.  

🧪 Slenderman values Cody’s intelligence and scientific expertise, though he’s wary of his recklessness.  

🧪 Cody finds Jeff the Killer insufferable, viewing his chaotic, impulsive behavior as a lack of discipline.  

🧪 He avoids interactions with Laughing Jack, whose eccentric and erratic demeanor grates on Cody’s nerves.  

🧪 Cody is calculating and observant, always analyzing people and situations. However, he has a short fuse when things don’t go according to plan.  

🧪 He frequently cracks his knuckles and chews on pens when deep in thought.  

🧪 Cody operates on a twisted version of morality, believing that his experiments serve a greater purpose—even if they involve extreme cruelty.   

🧪 Cody resides in an abandoned lab deep in the woods. The space is cluttered with equipment, jars of specimens, and notebooks filled with his observations. Though sometimes he’ll stay at the Manor and help Eyeless Jack with the Infirmary.  

🧪 He has a poor diet, often forgetting to eat while engrossed in his work. When he does eat, it’s usually something quick and practical like canned soup or protein bars.  

🧪 His signature weapon is a bat with nails embedded in it. He also carries a small scalpel, which he uses with precision.

🧪 Cody has a deep, gravelly voice that’s both soothing and unsettling. He speaks slowly, choosing his words carefully.  

🧪 He always smells faintly of antiseptic and metal, a result of his experiments.  

🧪 Cody may seem cold and detached at first, but he warms up to you over time. His affection is subtle—like brushing his fingers against yours or standing just a little closer than necessary when you're out together.  

🧪 Despite his violent tendencies, Cody is surprisingly gentle when it comes to you. He’ll lower his voice and soften his expression when you’re upset, though he doesn’t always know the right words to say.  

🧪 Cody loves listening to your stories about your life. It fascinates him, especially since his own past is riddled with chaos and pain. He quietly takes mental notes about your preferences and habits.  

🧪 On rare occasions, Cody will cook for you. While his culinary skills leave much to be desired (his food is either over-seasoned or undercooked), the effort he puts into it is heartwarming.  

🧪 Whenever you’re feeling stressed or upset, Cody will quietly sit beside you and offer his presence as comfort. He isn’t great with emotional support, but he’ll stay by your side until you feel better.  

🧪 He has a bad habit of bringing you odd “gifts.” Sometimes they’re bizarre trinkets from his victims, but other times, it’s something like a wildflower he found in the woods or a shiny rock he thought you’d like.  

🧪 Cody has a strange sense of humor and loves teasing you in unexpected ways. He might sneak up behind you and whisper something creepy, only to laugh when you jump.  

🧪 He’s surprisingly protective, always keeping you within his line of sight when you're together. If anyone so much as looks at you the wrong way, he’ll give them a glare that could freeze their blood.  

🧪 Despite his tendency to push others away, Cody allows you into his personal space. You’re the only one who gets to see him without his guard up, whether that means resting his head on your lap or letting you hold his hand.  

🧪 Cody has a fascination with small, intricate objects, and he loves watching you do anything that involves precision—whether it’s painting, writing, or crafting. He’s mesmerized by how focused you look.  

🧪 He struggles with physical affection but tries his best for you. He’ll awkwardly wrap his arms around you or let you cuddle him, though he gets embarrassed easily.  

🧪 Cody loves hearing your laugh. It’s a sound he doesn’t hear often in his life, and he’ll go out of his way to make jokes or do something silly just to see you smile.  

🧪 When you’re asleep, Cody often finds himself watching you. It’s not in a creepy way—he’s just amazed that someone like you would choose to stay with him despite his flaws.  

🧪 He has a habit of collecting things that remind him of you. Whether it’s a leaf that matches your favorite color or a broken charm that looks like something you’d wear, he keeps them all in a hidden box.  

🧪 Cody gets jealous easily but won’t admit it outright. Instead, he’ll become extra protective and clingy, making it obvious to everyone else that you’re his.  

🧪 He enjoys listening to you talk about your dreams and aspirations. Even if he doesn’t always believe in happy endings, he secretly hopes you’ll achieve everything you want.  

🧪 Cody tries to teach you survival skills, insisting that you need to know how to defend yourself in case he isn’t there. His lessons are thorough but filled with genuine care.  

🧪 He’s surprisingly good at sewing and mending clothes. If you tear something, he’ll fix it for you without a second thought, though he grumbles about it being “extra work.”  

🧪Cody enjoys taking you on walks through the woods. He knows all the hidden paths and secret clearings, and he loves showing you places he considers “his.”  

🧪 Whenever you’re scared or nervous, Cody will stand behind you and place a hand on your shoulder. It’s his way of silently reassuring you that he’s there to protect you.  

🧪 Cody is awkward with words, but he’ll often mutter compliments under his breath when he thinks you can’t hear. Things like “You’re really something, you know” or “Can’t believe someone like you puts up with me” escape him sometimes.

🧪 He tries to show affection in practical ways, like sharpening your knives or patching up your gear. He’s not one for grand gestures, but his quiet acts of care speak volumes.  

🧪 Cody doesn’t like to show his vulnerable side, but you’re the only person he trusts enough to let down his walls. Sometimes, he’ll open up about his childhood or nightmares, though it’s rare.  

🧪 When you’re cold, Cody will casually drape his jacket over your shoulders without saying a word. He acts like it’s no big deal, but secretly, he loves how you look in his clothes.  

🧪 If you ever get hurt, Cody is relentless in making sure you’re okay. He’ll hover over you, clean your wounds with an almost clinical precision, and insist on carrying you if you can’t walk.  

🧪  Cody loves it when you play with his hair. He won’t ask for it, but if you start running your fingers through his hair or gently tugging at it, he’ll practically melt under your touch.  

🧪 He has a soft spot for hearing you sing, even if you’re just humming absentmindedly. The sound soothes him, and he’ll often close his eyes and listen, letting it calm his chaotic mind.  

🧪 Cody’s past has made him wary of trusting others, but he’s fiercely loyal to you. If anyone tries to hurt you or betray your trust, he won’t hesitate to deal with them personally.  

🧪 He’s not much of an artist, but Cody occasionally sketches small things in his notebooks—doodles of you, your favorite flower, or anything else that reminds him of you.  

🧪 Cody doesn’t understand traditional romance, but he tries his best to make you feel special. He might not give you roses, but he’ll leave little surprises like a carefully wrapped snack or a handmade bracelet.  

🧪 If you’re ever upset, Cody will do whatever it takes to make you feel better. He’s not great at emotional comfort, but he’ll stay by your side, offer silent support, and maybe even crack a bad joke to lighten the mood.  

🧪 Cody has a habit of stealing little things from you—like a hair tie or a keychain—and keeping them with him. It’s his way of feeling close to you, even when you’re apart.  

🧪 He’s surprisingly good at fixing broken things, whether it’s a piece of jewelry or a faulty flashlight. Cody will sit down with it for hours, determined to make it work again for you.  

🧪 Cody loves the way your hand fits in his. He doesn’t hold hands often, but when he does, he’ll gently squeeze yours as if reassuring himself that you’re really there.  

🧪 He has an uncanny ability to notice when you’re uncomfortable or scared. Cody will immediately step in, either removing you from the situation or making sure whoever caused it regrets their actions.  

🧪 Cody doesn’t like crowds, but he’ll endure them if it means being with you. He’ll stay close, his hand brushing against yours, ready to pull you away if things get too overwhelming.  

🧪 Despite his violent tendencies, Cody is surprisingly gentle with animals. You once caught him feeding a stray cat, and he got flustered when you teased him about it.  

🧪 He loves watching you sleep, not in a creepy way, but because it’s one of the few times he feels at peace. Seeing you so relaxed and vulnerable reminds him of what he’s fighting for.  

🧪 Cody gets easily embarrassed when you compliment him. He’ll scoff or roll his eyes, but the faint blush on his cheeks gives him away every time.  

🧪 He’s incredibly observant and remembers the smallest details about you—your favorite food, the way you like your tea, or how you always hum a specific tune when you’re happy.  

🧪 Cody has a habit of calling you by teasing nicknames, though they’re never mean-spirited. He enjoys the playful banter and the way it makes you roll your eyes at him.  

🧪 He doesn’t celebrate holidays, but he’ll go out of his way to make them special for you. Whether it’s cooking a special meal or finding a small gift, he’ll do his best to make you smile.  

🧪 Cody has a low, raspy laugh that’s rare but incredibly genuine. Hearing you tell a joke or do something silly is one of the few things that can coax it out of him.  

🧪 He’s surprisingly good at building small things, like birdhouses or little wooden trinkets. He once made you a tiny figurine of your favorite animal, though he played it off like it was nothing.  

🧪 Cody is always on high alert when you’re together in dangerous areas. He’ll walk slightly ahead of you, his bat at the ready, making sure no harm comes your way.  

🧪 He doesn’t like to show weakness, but when he’s injured, he trusts you to patch him up. Your gentle care is one of the few things that can make him let his guard down.  

🧪 Cody loves quiet moments with you, like sitting by a campfire or stargazing. He doesn’t need words to feel connected to you—just your presence is enough.  

🧪 He’s fiercely protective of you, to the point where he’ll challenge anyone who looks at you the wrong way. Cody doesn’t care about making enemies as long as you’re safe.  

🧪 Cody has a habit of touching his scars when he’s deep in thought. If you ask him about them, he’ll open up, but only if he feels safe with you.  

🧪 He treasures every moment he spends with you, even if it’s just sitting in silence. Cody doesn’t say it often, but he can’t imagine his life without you in it.

🧪 Cody is well-endowed, with a length around 7.5 inches when erect and a girth that’s above average, making him both noticeable and a bit intimidating.  

🧪 He’s uncut, with a smooth, clean appearance that reflects his tendency for practicality and hygiene despite his chaotic lifestyle. His skin tone there matches his overall complexion but darkens slightly at the tip when aroused.  

🧪 Cody is highly sensitive, particularly around the underside and the base. While he’s confident and composed, certain touches can elicit sharp reactions, revealing a rare vulnerability.  

🧪 He has prominent veins that stand out when he’s fully aroused, adding to his rugged and primal appearance.  

🧪 Cody keeps himself neatly trimmed, though not obsessively so. He prefers minimal maintenance to avoid distractions from his experiments.

🧪 Cody is experienced but not overly promiscuous. His confidence comes from a natural understanding of people and anatomy rather than a long list of partners. 

🧪 Cody is extremely possessive and demanding during intimate moments. He relishes leaving visible marks—bites, hickeys, and scratches—as a way of claiming you (Or if you do it to him, he sees it as a way to be claimed in return). Seeing those marks later fills him with a deep, primal satisfaction.

🧪 His kisses are fierce and consuming, as if he’s trying to devour every part of you. He loves holding your face firmly in his hands, making sure you can’t look away from him while he’s kissing you.  

🧪 Cody has a love-hate relationship with control in the bedroom. While he often dominates, he secretly enjoys the rare moments when you take charge and make him lose himself under your touch.  

🧪 His favorite place to touch you is your neck. Whether it’s light brushes with his fingertips, possessive grips, or gentle nips with his teeth, he’s obsessed with how sensitive you are there.  

🧪 Cody has a surprisingly sharp sense of what makes you tick. He pays attention to every gasp, shiver, or moan, learning exactly how to push you over the edge.  

🧪 Despite his tough exterior, Cody is incredibly attentive to your needs in bed. He’s hyper-focused on your reactions, always ensuring you’re enjoying yourself as much as he is.  

🧪 He’s not big on verbal communication during intimacy due to his reserved nature, but if he is starts becoming feral he’ll start to let out low, raspy groans and primal grunts that are impossibly arousing–sometimes even cursing and praising you. Can you blame him though? The sound of your name on his lips when he’s lost in the moment is intoxicating.  

🧪 Cody is rough but never careless. He loves the thrill of pinning you down or gripping your hips tightly, but he’s always aware of your limits and will stop immediately if you ask him to.

🧪 His hands are calloused from years of hard work and violence, and he loves running them over your skin. The contrast between his rough palms and your softness drives him wild.  

🧪 Cody is not shy about taking his time with you. He enjoys teasing, making you squirm and beg before finally giving you what you want. The power play excites him.  

🧪 His favorite positions are ones where he can see your face—he loves watching your expressions as he pushes you closer to the edge. The intimacy of those moments makes his heart race.  

🧪 Cody enjoys experimenting with power dynamics. Whether it’s binding your wrists with something improvised or letting you take the lead for a change, he’s always up for pushing boundaries safely.  

🧪 He loves the idea of you being completely undone for him and only him. Knowing that he can reduce you to a breathless, trembling mess gives him a rush of pride and possessiveness.   

🧪 He has a habit of whispering dirty things in your ear, his voice low and gravelly. Sometimes, his words are sweet and adoring; other times, they’re raw and primal, leaving you flushed.  

🧪 Cody gets turned on by the idea of you being just as rough with him as he is with you. Scratches down his back bite marks or firm grips on his shoulders excite him and make him feel like you’re just as possessive of him as he is of you.

🧪 Cody has a voyeuristic streak. While he wouldn’t force anything on you, the idea of someone catching a glimpse of how good he makes you feel excites him in a twisted way.  

🧪 He loves it when you wear his clothes—especially his oversized shirts or jackets. The sight of you in his things is enough to drive him crazy, and it usually ends with him pulling them off you.  

🧪 Cody can be unexpectedly tender during sex. On nights when he’s feeling particularly vulnerable, he’ll take his time with you, savoring every moment and treating you with the utmost care.  

🧪 As I mentioned earlier, he’s obsessed with the way you say his name when you’re lost in pleasure. Hearing you moan or whisper it ignites something primal in him, and he’ll do everything he can to hear it again.

🧪 Cody has a habit of holding your hips tightly, sometimes leaving faint bruises. He loves the feeling of your body against his and the way you move under his touch.  

🧪 He enjoys taking you by surprise. Whether it’s sneaking up behind you to kiss your neck or pulling you into his lap when you least expect it, he thrives on your startled reactions.

🧪 He loves experimenting with temperature play—running ice along your skin or using warm oil to heighten your sensitivity. Watching you squirm under the sensations is exhilarating for him.  

🧪 Cody has a habit of tracing your scars or imperfections with his fingers, whispering how beautiful you are. He sees every mark as a testament to your strength and finds them incredibly alluring. 

🧪 Cody loves intimacy outdoors, especially in secluded spots like the woods. There’s something thrilling about being exposed to nature while still keeping the act private.  

🧪 He has a soft spot for moments when you’re vulnerable with him. Whether it’s during quiet pillow talk or when you’re completely bare in his arms, he treasures your trust deeply.  

🧪 Cody has a primal need to protect you, and that intensity carries over into the bedroom. He’s both passionate and possessive, as if reminding you that you’re his and only his.

🧪 Cody has a habit of pulling your hair—not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make your head tilt back so he can kiss your neck. The sound of your breath hitching drives him crazy.  

🧪 He’s obsessed with watching you lose control. Whether it’s your trembling legs, flushed skin, or the way you cling to him, he thrives on seeing the effect he has on you.  

🧪 Cody enjoys trying new things in bed, especially if it’s something you suggest. He’s adventurous and loves exploring new ways to connect with you intimately.  

🧪 His favorite moments are when you’re completely at his mercy, trusting him to guide you. The vulnerability you show him in those moments makes him feel deeply connected to you.  

🧪 Cody has a thing for whispered confessions during intimacy. Hearing you tell him how much you want or love him in breathy tones only makes him more intense and focused.  

🧪 He has a fondness for slow, drawn-out sessions where he takes his time exploring every part of you. On nights like this, he’s uncharacteristically tender, almost reverent.  

🧪 Cody gets turned on by the smallest things—like the way you bite your lip or tilt your head when you’re flustered. Sometimes, a single glance is enough to ignite his desire.  

🧪 He loves kissing every inch of your body, especially the parts you’re insecure about. He’ll take his time showing you just how much he adores every detail about you.  

🧪 Cody is possessive about his space, but he loves it when you leave little traces of yourself in his environment—your scent on his sheets or your clothes in his room. It reminds him that you’re his. 

🧪 He enjoys the element of surprise in the bedroom, whether it’s catching you off guard with a sudden kiss or pulling you into his arms at an unexpected moment.  

🧪 Cody loves hearing you beg for him. Whether it’s for more kisses, rougher touches, or just his attention, the sound of your desperate voice is intoxicating to him.  

🧪 He has a habit of gripping your thighs during intimacy, leaving faint bruises as a reminder of how tightly he held you. He loves the way your body fits perfectly against his. 

🧪 Cody can be a bit of a tease, often stopping just before you reach your peak, making you plead with him to continue. The power he feels in those moments is exhilarating.  

🧪 He’s fascinated by the way you respond to him. Every gasp, moan, or arch of your back feels like a reward, and he’ll do whatever it takes to elicit more of those reactions.  

🧪 Cody loves it when you wear something that’s just for him—whether it’s lingerie or one of his shirts. The idea that you dressed up specifically to entice him sends his desire into overdrive.  

🧪 He has a thing for eye contact during intimacy. The intensity of his gaze as he watches you unravel under his touch is almost overwhelming, but it’s also deeply intimate.  

🧪 Cody loves the feeling of your nails digging into his back. The sting of your scratches serves as a reminder of just how much you want him, and he wears the marks proudly.  

🧪 He’s surprisingly playful in bed at times, peppering you with teasing kisses or making you laugh before things get serious. He loves the mix of passion and lightheartedness.

🧪 Cody values secrecy in all aspects of his life, including intimacy. He prefers secluded locations or settings where he can completely lose himself without fear of interruption. 

🧪 Cody is drawn to the visual aspect of intimacy—messy hair, flushed cheeks, and lingering touches ignite something deep within him.  

🧪 Cody hides a softer side, which only surfaces during particularly tender moments. He struggles to show this vulnerability but cherishes it when he does.  

🧪 He’s particularly sensitive to touch and smell. The feel of someone’s hands on his scars or their scent lingering on his clothes can leave him distracted for hours.  

🧪 Cody approaches intimacy the same way he approaches his experiments—with focus and intensity. He thrives on exploring every sensation, pushing himself to the limits.  

🧪 Cody’s mind often wanders to darker scenarios. While he keeps most of these thoughts to himself, they fuel his intensity during private moments.  

🧪 Cody exudes confidence during intimate moments, using his knowledge of anatomy and sensitivity to take full control of the situation.  

🧪 He rarely uses words to express affection but instead shows it through physical acts, like holding someone close or lingering touches.  

🧪 Cody’s past influences his views on intimacy. While he craves connection, he often struggles with guilt and insecurity.  

🧪 Cody prefers slow, deliberate actions that build up intensity over time. He enjoys savoring every moment.  

🧪He enjoys being physically close, finding comfort in the warmth and presence of another person.  

🧪 When someone places their trust in him, especially in vulnerable situations, Cody feels an overwhelming sense of responsibility and protectiveness.  

🧪 Despite his dominant tendencies, Cody exercises significant restraint, ensuring that his actions never cross into disrespect or harm. 

🧪 His body tends to run a little colder than average, which is reflected in his skin’s temperature. However, during moments of passion, his arousal heats him up noticeably.  

🧪 Cody’s stamina is impressive, thanks to his athletic build and endurance. He can go for multiple rounds, and his recovery time is remarkably quick.  

🧪Clean and slightly metallic, reflecting his hygienic practices and the environment he works in. There’s always a faint hint of antiseptic, though it’s never overpowering.  

🧪 He’s a heavy pre-cum producer, and it starts leaking early on, a sign of his intense arousal.  

🧪 Cody prides himself on his self-control. He can hold back for long periods to draw out pleasure, but when he loses himself, his release is powerful and overwhelming.  

🧪 He rarely makes loud noises but instead lets out deep, guttural groans. His hips buck instinctively when he’s overstimulated, and his hands tend to grip whatever’s nearest.  

🧪 Cody’s climaxes are intense and leave him momentarily breathless. His body tenses up completely before releasing in a wave of satisfaction.  

🧪 He’s not someone who indulges often, preferring quality over quantity. When he does, it’s an all-consuming experience for both him and his partner.  

🧪 His idea of aftercare is quiet but deeply caring. He’ll clean you up with a damp cloth, pull you into his arms, and stroke your hair while you catch your breath. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes. 

🧪 Despite his rough exterior, Cody is surprisingly mindful after intimate moments. After finishing, Cody is quieter than usual, his intense energy replaced with a rare softness. His idea of aftercare is quiet but deeply caring. He’s attentive, he’ll clean you up with a damp cloth and get you something to drink or eat to restore energy—or if you’re up to it he’ll even take a steamy bath or shower with you to clean further. Afterwards, Cody will climb back into bed and often pull his partner close to share the lingering intimacy, while his hands brush hair out of his partner’s face and lazily trace patterns on your skin. He doesn’t say much, but his actions speak volumes. 

🧪 These quiet moments of intimacy are his favorite, reminding him that, despite everything, he’s found someone who truly accepts him.

🧪 Kinks (Although these were already mentioned, put I wanted to create list for everyone to see ;)):

Dominance and Control: Cody thrives on power dynamics. He enjoys being in control, whether it’s through physical dominance or psychological teasing. His dominance isn’t loud or forceful but quiet and commanding.  

Intellectual Stimulation: Cody is turned on by a sharp mind. A partner who can challenge him intellectually or match his wit earns his full attention.  

Sensory Play: He loves exploring the senses. Blindfolds, temperature changes, and heightened tactile sensations are tools he enjoys using to create unique and unforgettable experiences.  

Biting: Cody is a biter, both giving and receiving. He loves the raw, primal connection that comes with leaving or receiving marks.  

Rough Play: He’s into roughness, such as gripping, hair pulling, and controlled aggression. However, he’s always careful not to cross any boundaries.  

Possessiveness: Cody enjoys the idea of “claiming” his partner, whether through leaving marks, whispered words, or lingering touches that remind them they belong to him.  

Voyeurism: Cody has a voyeuristic streak. He’s fascinated by watching reactions—how a partner’s body moves, their facial expressions, and the subtle changes in their breathing.

Praise and Degradation: He’s skilled at blending praise with degradation, creating a dynamic where his partner feels both wanted and vulnerable under his control.  

Bondage: Cody is intrigued by restraint and confinement, using ropes, cuffs, or makeshift tools to explore power dynamics and vulnerability.  

Experimental Curiosity: True to his scientific nature, Cody enjoys experimenting in intimate scenarios. He’s open to trying new things as long as they align with mutual consent.  

Aftercare: Despite his intensity, Cody is attentive and caring after intimacy. He understands the importance of grounding his partner and making them feel safe and appreciated.  

Exhibitionism in Controlled Environments: While not reckless, Cody enjoys the idea of being seen in private, controlled settings where the possibility adds an edge of excitement.  

Dirty Talk: Cody has a low, gravelly voice that becomes even more intoxicating when he uses it for dirty talk. He’s skilled at weaving both commanding and teasing tones to leave his partner breathless.  

Voyeuristic Teasing: Cody enjoys making his partner feel observed and desired, even outside of intimacy. A subtle, lingering gaze or a whispered comment can set the tone for what’s to come. 

Slow-Build Intensity: Cody loves drawing things out, building tension slowly until the intensity is almost unbearable. He thrives on the anticipation as much as the act itself.

Partners with a Strong Personality: Cody is drawn to partners who have a strong sense of self and aren’t afraid to challenge him. He finds the contrast between their strength and their vulnerability during intimacy thrilling.

Scar and Injury Exploration: Cody’s scars are part of his identity, and he’s intrigued by the marks on others. He finds a strange comfort in tracing or kissing scars, viewing them as stories written on the body.

Non-Verbal Cues: Cody has a talent for reading body language and enjoys communicating without words during intimate moments, letting movements and touches speak volumes.  

Edge Play: While careful to maintain trust and safety, Cody enjoys exploring physical and emotional edges, walking the fine line between control and surrender.

Intense Eye Contact: Cody uses prolonged, piercing eye contact to establish dominance and deepen the connection during intimacy. 

Discretion and Secrecy: Cody finds thrill in keeping intimate moments hidden, making shared secrets feel even more private and intense.  

Roleplay: Occasionally, Cody enjoys scenarios that play into power imbalances or forbidden dynamics, adding an element of fantasy to the encounter.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 💚

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑦 @𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑖 𝑎𝑛𝑑 @𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑠

𝐼𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑡𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑤𝑛𝑒𝑟

[funkylittlefruit]

Urgghhh… interests… COMBINE!!

A TF2 Star Trek AU my brother and I came up with. If you have any ideas or if you’re a Star Trek super fan and and of this conflicts with st lore I would love to know. Set around ds9 time because that’s the best one. Character stuff under the cut

Ship: The Fortress

Engineer: The “Captain”. Ex-borg who opted not to remove all of his machine parts. Deemed a liability by Starfleet and was discharged. Refused to part with the ship he was previously chief engineer on and now runs it on a skeleton mercenary crew.

Medic: The chief medical officer. Obsessed with manuals “old fashioned” and experimental medical techniques. Discharged from Starfleet for medical malpractice. Joined the Fortress so he could continue his work.

Heavy: The chief security officer. A Klingon who takes mercenary work to support his mother and sisters back home.

Spy: A Romulan defector. Stole a cloaking device that is now being used on the Fortress.

Scout: A half human half romulan ensign. Thinks he just had a Vulcan grampa on his dad’s side. Left Starfleet of his own accord and joined the Fortress for a sense of freedom and adventure. Navigational helmsman.

Soldier: Never actually a member of Starfleet. So where’d he get that old uniform and all those medals? And why’s he wearing an ancient Earth helmet? Works as a security officer on the Fortress because no one else is crazy enough to take him.

Demoman: Chief engineer. Discharged from Starfleet for drinking on the job. Has an eye implant but it’s barely functional. Will push the practically vintage engines to warp 11 and get that week long job done in a day.

Pyro: Nothing is know about them. Just seemed to show up on the ship one day. Wears a broken and burnt environmental suit. Chief communications officer so they can ignore every Starfleet command and because they stay on the bridge where an eye can be kept on them.

Sniper: A Bajoran who was sent away from Bajor during the Cardassian occupation. Secretly taken in by a Starfleet officer and his wife where he learned federation starship systems. Operates the phaser banks on the Fortress.

Pauling: A Vorta who was tasked with supplying the Dominion with more supplies, specifically materials for Ketracel-White. Hired the mercenaries to raid other ships and colonies.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I hope your day is going well!

I'm making a character who is deaf and uses mobility aids because of chronic pain and I was basically wondering how that'd affect communication

They were born completely deaf. Their first language/s are sign and written English. They can summon and communicate with ghosts and frequently use them as hearing aids/interpreters, because they can hear the ghosts because the ghosts don't really speak through sounds. This isn't a magical fix, the ghosts don't convey noises, just spoken words, sometimes the ghosts are wrong, sometimes there's no ghosts available and the character still can't speak. It's basically a one-way interpreter. So the character still speaks exclusively sign or writes (but that takes a while, so they prefer sign)

They also have chronic pain. I'm basing this on my own chronic pain, so I can't tell you what exactly they have, because doctors can't tell me either. It's pain in the lower abdomen that gets amplified if they stand or walk for periods of time. So I want to give them mobility aids. A wheelchair for worse days and a cane for better days (I don't know how the cane helps, but I do use on myself sometimes and it does help for some reason).

The question is: sign kind of relies on your hands being free, and a wheelchair is operated using your hands most of the time. Do they need to stop every time they want to say something? Or have people found a way around that?

Hi!

The ghosts do sound like a sort of magical fix. I really don't like the trope of "getting around" a character needing to sign. Speaking is also not exclusive to having interpreters present. A deaf individual who knows how to speak can speak anytime they want. They can communicate anytime they want, in any way they prefer.

Also, if I'm understanding correctly, your character uses the ghosts as a way to understand what hearing people are saying, but they still need to work to communicate with others. This is honestly just worse than having no ghostly interpreters at all. It puts the burden of communication solely on your deaf character. At least with no interpreter a non-oral deaf and non-signing hearing person will have to work together to communicate, as long as both are willing.

I think it would be really interesting to see a deaf medium communicate with ghosts in visual ways, for example ghosts communicating through image transmission. But the whole "speaking without speaking" thing is textbook magical cure trope.

To the second question: it is hard to use a mobility aid and sign at the same time. One-handed signing can work if your character uses a power chair or has really good control. They may also opt for a one-handed manual control so they can sign one-handed and steer at the same time. I'll sometimes sign one-handed while walking with my crutches, as long as my right leg doesn't hurt too much. (I'm left-hand dominant and my left leg is usually in more pain, though not always.) There aren't a ton of work-arounds, but deafness is comorbid with a lot of disabilities, so the Deaf community is pretty understanding of people needing to stop moving or slow down to have a full conversation.

Mod Rock

[eltheabberation]

Bird boy!!

@tokyoghoulartfight2025

Info below cut:

Name: Yousuke Watanabe (渡辺 耀左)

Age: Mid to late 20s

Born: May 22, 1995

Education: Never went to school, junior high education (from homeschooling)

Gender: Male (but this is flexible)

Species: Ghoul

Kagune type: Koukaku, think like Ryouko's but only two wings and spiky

Size: 168 cm

Blood-type: A

Likes: His job, his boss, jewellery, coffee, birds, rock music, marigolds

Sexuality: Unlabeled Achillean

Hobbies: Collecting things, origami, killing people, stealing cool clothes off of people he killed, listening to music, learning to play guitar (he's trying)

Personality: (Not the best at this sort of thing but I'll try ;w;)

Positive traits: Loyal to a fault, hard-working, determined, fearless

Negative traits: Fairly cold if he's not close to someone, single-minded, merciless

Background:

Okay uh so I created Yousuke for an au where Takizawa (Yes this is a Takizawa-centric au I'm sorry this is just how my brain works) joins Aogiri somewhat willingly (the choices are join or bleed out and die so it's not a real choice but it feels more like one) and (after going through the procedure and all the shit with Kanou) ends up being an actual executive member with his own sort of group so that's the setup

Yousuke was a member of a very small ghoul group that got absorbed into Aogiri when the 13th ward got taken over, initially he just worked in manual labour since he was fairly weak and was scared of fighting. When Taki got promoted to an exective he got added to Taki's little group since he reminded him a lot of how he used to be, and Taki ended up appointing him as one of his closest subordinates, since he figures "oh since this kid is a lot like how I was I'm sure he'll be able to go through the same thing I did" meanwhile Yousuke had no clue what the FUCK he did to get his position but he didn't want to piss off one of the most dangerously unstable people in Aogiri so he decided to just play along. Eventually through a lot of very extreme training he ended up (for better or for worse) becoming more like Taki (or the image Seidou projected at least) in the sense that he no longer feared fighting or death and ended up becoming really powerful.

Anyway fast forward a few years into the future, Aogiri's disbanded but some of the groups within it managed to survive, including Seidou's. They relocated their base of operations to the 24th ward and now they mainly just kill investigators for fun and for meals, he's still serving as Taki's left hand.

Also additional info about this au:

like half the cast is dead but I'm leaving it ambiguous as to who is and who isn't so you can decide

the only person who is absolutely for sure dead is Kaneki who was killed by Arima at the end of TG

Shikorae is the only canon character who's also a part of Seidou's group (they share him with the clowns) but this is flexible

Amon didn't get taken for experimentation but again, this is flexible

Moral of the story everything is flexible so you can do whatever you want

DOs:

Honestly anything :D

Ships I'm okay with:

Him x Seidou (either requited or one-sided (on Yousuke's side)) is the only canonish one in this au but I'm fine with anything, I'm actually curious to see who he gets shipped with if anyone :>

DON’TS:

Ships I'm not okay with:

Uh nothing that's him x a minor but other than that anything goes

So excited to be participating again in art fight! I thought I was cooked since my ability to draw killed itself but it revived right like two days ago so we ball :>

If you have any questions feel free to ask!

(Also if you want you can draw Mason instead but honestly I don't consider him a tg oc anymore since he's part of his own project now)

[kino-der-joon]

Something i’ve been thinking about recently is, isn’t it kind of weird how (ultimis) Richtofen gets all the credit for being the evil scientist who tortures people and experiments on human subjects, when everyone else at 935 was also doing that or was at least complacent? Like, Maxis is arguably worse than Richtofen because he was the one ordering him (and possibly other researchers) to experiment on POWs 935 had access to. And then there’s Groph and Schuster literally killing people for him, so like… 😭 It just feels kind of unfair because pretty much everyone involved in G935 was evil in some way…..

(This possibly also applies to Primis, but I honestly don’t recall if Maxis and co were doing human experiments in that universe, so…)

💫 Hello, hello, welcome in!! I have a small idea as to why we mainly point to Ultimis Richtofen for all the torture and bloodshed, but you’re absolutely right!! ✨

💫 I have a feeling that the reason we credit Richtofen directly is two fold. Firstly, he’s the only one out of all of our morally wrong Group 935 cast that we play as- Even his original character introduction was a warning of how dangerous of a man he is. Because we only really know him, it’s easy to put a name to the shame. But secondly, the lore for our favourite convoluted pastime is hidden all around the maps, behind Easter Eggs that we’ll never solve on our own or things we didn’t know we could shoot at. Richtofen is loud and proud about his love of bloodshed, so he’s a very easy target for blame!! ✨

💫 But, you are right! Dr. Maxis founded Group 935 after the discovery of Element 115 and aimed to “improve the human condition.” With a goal so great, it makes sense that scientists of the time would jump at the chance to get involved! However, the problem lies in how broad that goal is. By the time they signed up, it was already too late, what with the operation manual and the cyanide pills. Many probably felt cornered, like they couldn’t back out. But, that still makes them at the very least complicit. Opening up this whole conversation really cracks open a huge can of worms when you really think about it:

‘Do the ends justify the means?’

‘How far is too far?’

‘Even if they felt conflicted, they still took part, so what does that say about them?’

‘What are the real world examples of this and how do they compare?’

💫 While all of those questions are each a doozy on their own, they aren’t the kind of questions I want to delve too deep into on this silly little blog, but they are good for thought that I’ll throw out there!! I also believe that Dr. Maxis, Dr. Schuster and Dr. Groph’s actions all can be a commentary on power and how our actions are shaped by those who have it- Again, just a little something to think about! ✨

💫 As for Primis, his past in regards to Maxis are less dark, thankfully! He was a scientist and a solider, simply put. Dr. Maxis was studying ancient staffs and put Richtofen in charge of remaking them for the war effort, from my understanding. Then, when digging in Northern France, Richtofen’s team accidentally unearthed the zombie hoard, and so the cycle begins! ✨

✨ Thank you so much for your observation, and thank you for sharing !! ✨

✨ NEXT!! > ⭐️