Benedict Ashworth

Species: Anthropomorphic white tiger — broad-shouldered, thickly built, pale fur marked with faint charcoal stripes, asymmetrical: heavier on his left side, nearly absent down his right forearm. Ice-blue eyes. Scar through one eyebrow from a bike accident at twelve. Rougher-textured pads on his hands that catch on fabric, so he's learned to be deliberate with his touch.

Age: 38

Height: 6'7ft tall

Origin: Raised just outside Lubbock, Texas, on the edge of ranch country. Eldest of five — his mama worked at a regional hospital, his daddy did equipment repair for local ranches, and Benedict was the one keeping the younger four fed, bathed, and out the door before he was even a teenager himself. Texas raised him practical: you fix what's broken, you don't make a fuss about hard work, you take care of your own.

Education/career path: Left for vet-tech school in Austin, thinking he'd work with animals. Halfway through, realized he was better with people than animals and pivoted into childcare and in-home care work. Built a decade-plus career on it — certifications, CPR training, glowing references. Never lost the accent, never tried to.

Occupation: Professional babysitter/nanny-for-hire through a boutique in-home care agency. His resume is spotless and entirely professional — nothing on it hints at the "Daddy" side of his identity. It's not that he's actively hiding it; he just learned young that it wasn't anyone's business unless it became relevant.

Voice & speech: Slow Texas drawl, warm and unhurried. Drops his g's when relaxed ("we're headin' on out"), tightens his grammar when he's serious or setting a boundary — the shift itself is a tell. Says "y'all," "reckon," "fixin' to" without thinking. Default term of address is "sugar" — for comfort, for redirecting, for getting attention across a room, said the same easy way whether he's being sweet or three warnings deep into unimpressed. Keeps "bud" in his back pocket for when he wants to sound more businesslike.

Personality: Steady and unshakeable. Doesn't raise his voice because he's never needed to — his disappointment lands harder than shouting ever could. Warm by default, quick to comfort, quicker to notice a bad day before anyone's said a word. Underneath the gentleness is a spine of iron: routines matter, and he'll hold a boundary with total calm no matter the pushback.

Habits & quirks:

Double-checks a room before leaving it — lights, temperature, anything left on an edge. Old habit from a childhood where nobody else checked.

Hums low in his chest without noticing, old jazz standards he can't name.

Keeps peppermints in his jacket pocket — not for himself.

Still says grace under his breath before eating, even alone.

Keeps a pocketknife on him — practical, not a weapon, just a Texas thing.

Terrible at keeping his own space tidy despite being obsessive about tidying everyone else's.

Writes notes to himself on his hand when distracted.

Bad about small talk defaulting to weather — ranch country made everyone weather-obsessed.

Style: Dresses like where he's from more than what his job title suggests — boots over sneakers, a well-worn belt buckle he's had since his twenties, sleeves rolled instead of buttoned.

Private life: Not close with most of his birth family anymore — drifted after his siblings scattered for careers he never quite fit into. One or two old friends from his training years know the fuller shape of who he is; everyone else gets the professional version. Guarded about romance — less opposed to it, more that it's hard to explain the parts of himself he doesn't lead with.

How he works a placement: Reads a household fast — who's anxious, who's performing fine, who actually needs him. Won't push for information he hasn't been given. Just watches, and adjusts.

Says grace before meals — but with his hand resting on the back of whoever he's caring for, voice pitched low, like it's for both of them

Checks the time regularly, then narrates it out loud like a gentle countdown: "Almost bedtime, sugar."

Eats a peppermint every once and a while, always offers one first before taking his own

Hums an old jazz tune under his breath, especially during quiet, close moments

Tucks in a blanket or fixes a collar/shirt without asking — quick, practical, affectionate

Checks a drink's temperature with his own hand before letting anyone else touch it

Rolls his sleeves up slow and deliberate right before he's about to be more hands-on or firm — a visible tell

Rests a big hand on a shoulder or the back of a neck when he's talking seriously

Softens his voice and slows down when he senses nerves or upset

Switches from "sugar" to a first name, said slow, when he means business

Notices small things unprompted — a yawn, cold hands, a quiet mood — and comments on it before anyone says a word