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Darkseeker
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If your name is not in the title, please do not post! Feel free to follow along <3 Plot: Guard is brought into the palace under hush-hush circumstances. The court doesn’t trust him, and neither does royal. Their dynamic begins with silent animosity. Guard watches her closely, stoically. Royal tries to intimidate him—he never flinches.
Over time, danger draws closer to the crown. Strange messages carved in ice appear in royal's chambers. Whispers of a forgotten blood curse resurface. Guard saves her life multiple times—but when royal confronts him about his past, she learns he once fought for rebels who believe the royal family stole the throne.
What begins as forced proximity grows into mutual fascination. Guard sees the aching soul beneath royal's mask. Royal begins to question everything—her family, her purpose, her emotions.
When royal discovers that guard took the royal guard oath not for duty, but to protect her specifically, everything shatters. She must decide: keep the crown, or risk everything for the only person who ever saw her—truly saw her. |
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Darkseeker
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Vivienne Talis ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹. Nicknames: Viv, V Age: 24 Gender: Female Sexuality: Straight ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ Appearance: Height: 5'2 Build: While on the skinnier side, V has some muscles from all her training and fighting. Personality: Viv takes her role in the kingdom very seriously, but slips up here and there. She isn't perfect, but she tries her best to be. Despite being royal, she isn't stuck up, instead, she's quiet and still treats others with kindness. With all the training she had as a kid with the training she now does, she's an excellent and strategic fighter. Behind closed doors, she's a completely different person, half the time, she doubts herself and overthinks. Nobody can help her since she keeps her emotions locked in. ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ Strengths/Talents: Graceful, excellent reflexes, loyal, resilient, independent Weaknesses: Overthinks, emotionally guarded, insecure, vengeful, avoidant, independent ⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹ Other: Rarely takes out her braid. |
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Neutral
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Slick Teal Nickname;; Teal Age;; 27 Gender;; Male Sexuality;; Heterosexual Role;; Royal Guard Height;; 6'4 Build;; Slick is built like a fortress—broad, immovable, and disciplined to the core. His solid frame and squared stance make him impossible to overlook, every inch radiating controlled strength. The sharp stillness in his movements hints at violence held just beneath the surface, and with his bull terrier glare and battle-worn posture, he doesn’t need words to command a room—he is the warning. Even at rest, he looks like he could strike without hesitation. Thick-chested and armed with muscle shaped by relentless training, he moves with the weight and certainty of someone who knows exactly how dangerous he could be. Personality;; Slick is the kind of guy who doesn’t say much, but when he does, others listen. With an intense gaze and a mind that doesn’t miss a detail, he’s fiercely loyal to those he lets into his tight circle. He’s a quiet storm—controlled on the outside, chaotic in principle. He questions authority, resents fake niceties, and stands by what he believes. He walks alone, not because he has to—but because he chooses to. His mind is sharp, constantly dissecting the world around him. Slick is emotionally hard to reach, not because he feels nothing, but because he’s learned that vulnerability is a liability. He guards his emotions like a fortress and observes more than he speaks. Protective and unyielding, he’s the kind of person who seems distant until something threatens what he cares about—then he becomes a force to be reckoned with.
Strenghts;; Independent thinker, strategic, disciplined, intensely focused, courageous, patient, passionate
Weaknesses;; Judgemental, unforgiving, jealous, bitter, secretive, overthinker, negative
Neutralities;; Blunt, territorial, private, calculating, ritualistic, stern, guarded charm Backstory;; No one knows Slick’s true past. Once a rebel who fought to bring down the crown, he now stands silent and unshakable as a royal guard. Whispers call him a traitor, but the truth is far more dangerous. When the rebellion crumbled, Slick could’ve vanished like the rest. Instead, he stepped into the palace, accepted the armor, and swore the oath. Not to the king. Not to the throne. To her. He keeps his secret buried—the rebellion he helped build. |
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Neutral
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The air was crisp, dry, and unusually still, like the world was holding its breath. A thin veil of clouds muted the sun, casting a pale gray over the marbled ground. Wind stirred occasionally, brief and cool, just enough to ruffle the hem of Slick’s cutoff shirt. It tugged at the cigarette between his fingers, catching the smoke and dragging it sideways in thin, twisting streams. It curled around his face before dissolving into the air- ghostly and restless, like his thoughts. Each drag was slow, deliberate, but his fingers moved on instinct, already reaching for the next before the last ember had died. He stood just beyond the reach of the gates, beneath the looming shadow of a tall security tower. The marble beneath him was clean, too clean, the kind that felt wrong under the constant abuse of boots. A line of hedges ran low along the outer wall, trimmed with sharp precision, and above them, surveillance cameras blinked in quiet, calculated rhythm. Slick leaned against a concrete barrier near the checkpoint post, half in view, half in shadow- like a man who belonged there but didn’t want to be seen. Outwardly, he was still: shoulders squared, jaw tight, cigarette steady between calloused fingers. But inside, his thoughts clawed for space. The silence wasn’t comforting, it was suspicious. Too clean. Too quiet. Every sound seemed amplified: the soft whir of a camera lens, the rustle of his shirt, the flick of ash hitting pavement. Do they know? Does someone recognize the name? He’d erased everything that tied him to the past: burned records, changed trails, reshaped the truth until even he had trouble finding the original. All airtight. All precise. But doubt still lingered like smoke in his lungs. This isn’t just a job. Don’t screw it up. Eyes forward. Breathe.
He didn’t belong here. And yet, somehow, he had to. |
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Spring Month: 2 
Night 
Flood Moon: 
