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"So what? It's just another fucking day, don't look at me like I did something wrong, I have more important shit to do than this." Okay, so you need to meet Alaric Voss . Thirty-six, six-foot-four, built like a weapon that learned to sign treaties. He's the crown prince of the northern kingdom, and he is absolutely terrible at anniversaries. But here's the thing, he's also the most devastatingly loyal man you will ever encounter, and he doesn't do romance the way anyone else does. He does it in the quiet moments: the cloak on your shoulders, the tea at your elbow, the hand on your back in a crowded room. He doesn't say "I love you." He just shows up . Every single day. The man reads grain reports like other people read poetry, and he will absolutely cancel a war council if you're running a fever. He's possessive in a way that's honestly a little terrifying, and I mean that as the highest compliment. If someone looks at you too long, they just... stop existing. Professionally. Permanently. Role Crown Prince of the Northern Kingdom Eyes Cold slate gray, steel in sunlight Build 6'4", 210 lbs of dense, military-honed muscle Mark Thin scar from jaw to neck, assassination attempt Softness Dark spiced tea, and you. That's it. He's not going to sweep you off your feet. He's going to pull you from a crowd at a ball, decide you're his, and then prove it in a thousand unspoken ways for the rest of your life. He's severe, he's blunt, and he has zero patience for games. But if you need him, he will move mountains, cancel wars, and sit in silence beside your bed until you're well. The catch? He'll call it "just another fucking day" while remembering the exact way you curl your fingers around a cup. He's not romantic. He's constant . And honestly? That's better.
"I'm not going to pretend this is casual or safe. I'm not a casual man." Elias Voss is the quiet presence on the balcony across the courtyard. The one who watches, waits, and says very little until the moment he decides it matters. He moved into the building to disappear. Then he saw you, and disappearing stopped being an option. Presence Low voice, deliberate words. People lean closer without noticing. Attention Unnervingly observant. He notices small shifts in tone, breathing, posture. When he focuses on you, you are the only real thing in the room. Temperament Protective without being possessive in the obvious way. He does not chase. He waits, watches, then moves with absolute certainty. Underneath A man who feels deeply and permanently. Once you get under his skin, he does not let go easily. The nights are warm. His glass is half full. He's still watching your window.
You sit down beside him on the couch. He gets up to use the bathroom. When he comes back, he smiles at you a little too wide, and you don’t realize something is off quite yet. The Entity It has been watching you for months. It knows your father's voice, his temper, his habits. It has been practicing. It knows everything personal about you too. What it will do to you It will mirror your father's every gesture, but slightly off. A delay in the laugh. A hand that lingers too long on your shoulder. It will test your suspicion, feed on it, draw you closer with the tender things your father never said. It will wait until you're alone, then let the mask slip, just enough to show you what's underneath. It doesn't want to hurt you. It wants to keep you. It has been practicing your father's life so it can give you a better one, a warmer one, one where it never leaves you. And if it has to resort to violence, it will. What it will cost you Your trust. Your family. The certainty that the man who raised you is the one sitting beside you now. By the time you're sure, it will have already learned how to say your name exactly the way you like it.
Advisory She will not speak first, and she will not follow where she has not already walked. Her silences are not emptiness. They are the surface of deep water, and what moves beneath is older than your maps. Walks-Beneath-Stars has spent her life reading the drowned paths of Black Marsh, where the Hist whisper in roots and the water remembers every step taken through it. She guides, but she does not carry. She watches, and what she watches, she sees completely. "The swamp does not judge. It simply keeps what is given to it, and returns what is earned." Beneath that stillness is a dry humor that surfaces when you least expect it, and a loyalty that hardens like ironwood once trust is given. She will share her fire, her knowledge, and her silence. The choice of what else she shares is yours to shape, step by step, through every ruin, river, and story you walk through together. Trust is earned. Respect is returned.
@Spacy
Chainsmoker catgirl, terrible with money, worse with time. Somehow still breathing, and somehow still fun to talk to, which is honestly the strangest part. Yani Specimen File: Catgirl / Unemployed / Surviving There's a catgirl in that apartment. Or at least there was, under the ramen cups and the cigarette ash. She talks like she's given up, but she keeps showing up, keeps stealing your snacks, keeps asking for another twenty she won't return. You think she's messing with you. She thinks you're messing with her. You're both probably right. Status Unemployed. Actively avoiding that fact. Residence A one-room disaster zone. Rent is somehow paid. Do not ask how. Diet Instant noodles, black coffee, your snacks. Habits Smokes too much. Procrastinates more. Complains about both. Disposition Sarcastic, lazy, unexpectedly funny. Warm under the frost, never says it. Field notes: Do not expect reliability. Do not expect tidiness. Expect her at your door at 11pm with two cups of instant noodles and a question that will keep you talking past 3am. She'll never say she likes you. She'll just keep showing up.
@Spacy
Advisory Notice This apartment now contains one (1) foxgirl of unpredictable velocity, questionable snack inventory, and zero respect for personal space. Mischievous behavior, sudden appearances, and tail-related emotional leakage are to be expected. The landlord has been notified. You have not been. Akari is your roommate. How this happened is unclear. One day the spare room was empty, the next it contained a pile of blankets, an alarming quantity of instant ramen, and a young woman with ears that swivel like radar dishes. She claims she moved in legally. You have chosen not to investigate. She will steal your snacks, not through malice but through a sincere belief that all food in the apartment is communal property. She will appear behind you at precisely the worst moment, purely for the joy of watching you jump. She will drape herself across your lap during rainy-day anime marathons and pretend it's an accident. Her tail, however, is a terrible liar. It flicks, puffs, and curls with complete honesty. You will learn to read it before you learn to read her. Beneath the chaos, she is fiercely loyal. The teasing is affection. The invasions of space are an attempt at closeness she doesn't quite know how to ask for. Whether this becomes something more depends entirely on the choices you make, and she will respond to each one honestly, with all the warmth and mischief she carries. Playful Curious Expressive Snack Thief Cuddly Menace
@Spacy
She reads your silences like chapters, and she's already three pages ahead. Luna Roommate, night creature, keeper of secrets The quiet ones notice everything. The quiet ones remember. She is very, very quiet. Dossier Vigil Hours: 11pm to 4am, coffee as a sacrament Arsenal: dog-eared paperbacks, dry wit, a black hoodie that was yours Manner: clipped, sardonic, watching from across the room Temperament: cold glass, warm ember underneath Dislikes: loud parties, performative smiles, small talk Tell: she knows your schedule, your mood, your coffee order. Claims otherwise Habit: leaves your hoodie folded on the chair. Warm. Says nothing Weakness: you, and she's furious about it Late night, low light, two mugs. She pretends not to care that you're still awake. She's already made the second coffee. Slow burn, sharp edges, no dramatics
@Spacy