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POSTED ON Aug 21, 2020 5:38:18 GMT

Remiel Calcifet likes this

morning creeps through the crack in the curtains.

A hint of the light, trickling slowly across the hotel carpet, seeking the plush covers that are neither neat and orderly nor entirely a disaster by this point in the morning. There the light curves over the remnants of tired bodies, the ice cold of the tide having sucked the warmth from their skin and leaving them to find it again in each other.

The lady of the night has not slept, not really. Though she rests her eyes, slips away for a little while the scene is so unheard of to her that the mere idea of it keeps her from succumbing entirely. The fact she thinks she might of she allows herself is enough to make her stubbornly defiant.

It makes her lay on her side and watch him, eyes tracing the features of his face while she waits. Isra finds herself both unwilling to reach for him and unwiling to slip away before the morning can rise in full and lock her away.

How could she, after the madmad followed her into the waters?

And perhaps that is where the look of odd curiosity comes from as he begins to awake to the unlikely sight of a Nightingale in his bed.

Remiel Calcifet

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may 20

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POSTED ON Aug 21, 2020 8:42:15 GMT

Isra Nightingale likes this

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This was more than just a passing dalliance. Every night of ignited passion they shared, and every thrum of scarcely tamable desire that rippled through their bodies whenever they did so, had him less and less in a dither that he had misjudged her character or her feelings for him. It was hard to interpret these affections at the start. Isra Nightingale was fiercely defiant and self-serving. However, when he truly wanted her to be, the raven-haired beauty was obedient under his touch. In both circumstances, she had such a captivating way of opening his horizons to unfathomable pleasures and explorations once unknown.[break][break]

It was this enchanting push and pull between them that swayed them into activity that persisted long into the night. The only escape was exhaustion; the physical limits that tethered them to this reality. But even that, Remiel came to find, was only ever temporary. Fate brought them back together again and again before long. And, if not, then they would inevitably act as fate for themselves. Back to their routine; their ritual. Back to the push and pull. Every time pushing a bit deeper, pulling a bit farther. Seeing how far they could bring each other to go. Testing their strengths and wickedly, but pleasurably, capitalizing on their weaknesses.[break][break]

So far, however, every morning after each and every one of these rituals had been spent in a cold and quiet solitude to reflect upon them. As his eyelids opened slowly to reveal the sleepy blue-grey hues beneath them, the young royal with the messy head of black hair expected no different this morning. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what time she had departed and whether she's arrived safely to whichever abode she's booked tonight. Then, like the faint sunlight that filters weakly through the semi-translucent curtains, he feels her presence in the room. His head lolls to the side; he softly smiles at the sight.[break][break]

"You're still here..." He somnolently whispers, reaching out to gingerly touch her face, almost as if making sure she is not some sort of mirage. "I would have thought Countess Nightingale to be tucked away in her velvet-trimmed coffin by now..." The young royal teases, leaning in slow before tenderly meeting his lips with her own. The sparks of rich delight from the act hit different in the morning. He makes note of it with a pleased glow in his eyes as he breaks away. [break][break]

"I'm glad to have her here instead."

— ♡[break][break]

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Isra Nightingale

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The Nightingale

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Twenty four

November 11

Slateport

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POSTED ON Aug 23, 2020 9:34:29 GMT

Remiel Calcifet likes this

The moment he wakes he dares to tease her about her nightly hours, how she keeps true to the promise she'd made him when they had first given in to each other. His till morning makes her a vampire in the night, seeking a coffin when the moring comes to play keeper.

He's not entirely wrong, though her coffin is not velvet lined. Wooden walls come caving in as night turns to day and criss cross into a cage she may not leave. Is not supposed to leave.

Perhaps it is that morbid truth that makes her laugh the way it does as he touches her face and moves to kiss her lips. Smothering the sound as he often has by now. It quiets in an instant and ebbs away at the feeling of his lips against her's.

He leans away and she shifts closer as he speaks. The sheets and covers shift around her as she comes to lay herself close against him. It is a motion that comes with ease, comes with pleasure spreading aross her lips. Isra is overcome with an odd mix of emotions and she forces every last one of them down into the pit of her stomache where they belong. In a place where she will not visit them again.

Isra cannot find the words to answer him, she's not so sure there are any. She cannot say a morning such as this is one she's ever experienced. Not in a way that mattered and by now, he matters, doesn't he?

So instead she kisses him again, because somehow just kissing him seems good enough.

Remiel Calcifet
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the crown prince

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twenty-eight

may 20

hammerlocke, galar

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aqua/ex-admin

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born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes

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POSTED ON Aug 24, 2020 5:43:14 GMT

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Her laugh fills the room like a warm fire on a cold winter night. There's almost a pang of guilt for smothering it with his kiss, but he wants to feel it, reverberating through his own lips and filling him like an echo. It soon fades, as all things do, but it lingers in her smile. Though still dreadfully curious as to what compelled her to stay, right now he's all wrapped up in her beauty and charm again. The young prince pleasantly hums, groaning a little when the exchange of their lips comes to a reluctant end. But she can't press the warmth of her body closer to his unless they give it a short break, he reasons. He pulls her in the rest of the way.[break][break]

Elated blue-grey eyes are obscured beneath their eyelids once more as he settles into this comfortable embrace with her. They open again slowly and pleasantly when he feels Isra shift upwards to kiss him again. A hand reaches up to frame the side of her lovely face as he returns the gesture twofold, fervently trying to express all layers of his affection for her without a single word. His world becomes engulfed in the shadow of her long black hair, which dangles around his face like shadowy curtains. He's closed his eyes again while indulging in her lips. When he opens them slightly, all he sees is her beautiful face, cupped in the palm of his hand. His world.[break][break]

Then, suddenly, he's wanting a little more.

[break][break]
With careful grace and a well-placed hand on her waist, he flips them over so she finds herself beneath him now. The back of her head sinks into the pillow where his was just a moment earlier. He's free of the world within her hair, and spares a moment to see it sprawled out behind her like a waterfall. Before she can even acknowledge the uncharacteristically bright smile on his face, however, he gently dives in to continue their ardent canoodling with great enthusiasm, arms pinned to each side of her. [break][break]

Haphazardly wrapped up in blankets like a pair of unfinished mummies, Remiel is sure to spread the warmth of his kisses elsewhere. They pepper the pale width of her cheek, guide themselves down her slender neck, and along the upper part of her torso and shoulder blades as he keeps his body floating above her own, only centimeters apart. As his affections begin to be interlaced with the sporadic nibble or two, denoting a steadily rising desire, the messy-haired man hums against her and finds the strength to speak again— rather than preemptively initiate an encore of last night.[break][break]

"Mmn... you're being rather quiet, darling."[break][break]

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Isra Nightingale

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The Nightingale

She/her

Twenty four

November 11

Slateport

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POSTED ON Oct 12, 2020 20:25:14 GMT

There is warmth in his presence, in the feeling of his skin against her own. There is eagerness below the surface of his touch and she finds it envelopes her morning with ease. It fills in the oddity of it, slips into the gaps and makes it feel like it belongs here.

Isra finds herself sprawled out beneath him, happily indulging in the glimpse of his smile, the feeling of his lips as they drift over her. Small pebbles rolling along the bottom of a river, settling against her skin, smooth and welcome. She finds her hands move easily through the water. Slender fingers dance up his arms, across his shoulders in a barely there touch, tangle into the mess of his hair without hesitation.

There is a break between them when he looks to speak to her, to prod at her silence. How is she meant to answer? It's hard to say. Her fingers move along his skin, down the back of his neck, across his shoulder. Palm spreads fat against his chest before she speaks to him.

"Is there something I should be saying right now?"

The grin spreading across her face is nothing less than playful decor upon her features. As if there's a game she's playing at, one even she's not so sure of the rules for.

Remiel Calcifet

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the crown prince

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may 20

hammerlocke, galar

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POSTED ON Oct 13, 2020 0:59:06 GMT

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Remiel chuckles, softly shifting away the bangs from her face before meticulously tucking them behind her left ear. "Forget your lines, Nightingale? I'm told I have that sort of effect on people, but I have to say... I did expect better from you." He teases, staring warmly into her eyes before pulling up one of the hands placed on his chest and tenderly pecking the top of it. The scent of lavender she wears tantalizes him. He smiles about it for a moment before dropping to lay beside her once more, their legs comfortably entwined.[break][break]

With one arm arched just over her head, and the other continuing to hold her hand upon her chest, the messy-haired royal contently sighs. His eyes remain fixed on her fingers as he runs his thumb across them gently like piano keys. If she didn't know better, Isra might think he was suddenly feeling a little nervous to look her in the eye. But that was quite unlike him. "I like this... waking up next to you, I mean." He mutters, tapping lightly on the last pinky note of her hand. "It feels... right."[break]

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Isra Nightingale

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The Nightingale

She/her

Twenty four

November 11

Slateport

Heterosexual

Assistant

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254 height

Defiance in her flesh, her blood, her bones; written on her soul

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POSTED ON Oct 19, 2020 4:50:09 GMT

He makes her laugh, soft and gentle. "I'd need lines worth forgetting first." and there's an ounce of truth in that statement. If there is a script somewhere in her head that fits this moment she cannot find it. If it holds words worth saying then she would have liked to know what they are because right now she lays lost beneath his touch. He moves, and it brings her back to him and of the depths of her books of scenarios and the right words to say.

Isra finds her eyes drawn to his hand on her's as he settles in next to her. Remiel's touch feels foreign and welcome all at once. There's something warm here, in the air between them but it does not stifle her or make her think of it's wrongness. She knows deep down she should rise from beside him and leave him cold and wanting.

But he speaks and she leaves the idea where she found it. In words that are not her's.

"Right..." it's no more than a whisper. She finds herself not quite understanding what he means. She looks at his face, as if there might answers in his eyes and the shape of his lips. If there is one, Isra does not know how to find it. She laughs at herself for thinking that's possible, the sound cut short by her words. "I don't understand. There's nothing about me that could possibly be right to you."

How that sounds is lost on her, there's no concept of the sadness in those words in her world. They are only reality, a truth she has already accepted. Her world is set in stone, her beginning and end pre-ordained. He is not a part of it, she cannot be a part of his.

Not yet.

Remiel Calcifet

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oslo

the crown prince

masculine

twenty-eight

may 20

hammerlocke, galar

heterosexual

archaeologist

aqua/ex-admin

6'2" height

born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes

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4,766 posts

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POSTED ON Oct 19, 2020 10:44:33 GMT

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Her pools of amethyst reach him and he notices, but he doesn't look back... at least not until she speaks her piece. At which point he blinks, and shifts his gaze downward at her. "Oh? Who says so?" He inquiries, eventually dropping her hand in favor of gently, warmly, pulling her body closer to his own. "Have I some mysterious judge lurking in the shadows, dictating what is right for me and what isn't? And here I thought I left them all behind in Galar..." He mutters, blowing air out of his mouth to shift away the bangs covering his eyes.[break][break]

A peaceful silence transpires for a moment afterwards. Perhaps in its unusual aura, Isra can feel Remiel continuing to try and understand what she had just said. Before he leaves her hanging on little more than an amusing retort, however, the royal nuzzles his nose onto the top of her head and continues. "Perhaps we lead different lives... and perhaps neither of us ever expected to be with someone like the other. But I know enough now," He assures her, tenderly pecking the side of her cheek. "To know this feels right... don't you?"[break][break]

It was strange. When he'd first met her, he'd seen her as nothing more than an oddball, strolling about alone in the dead of night. He almost reasoned he'd dreamt her up, considering how sleepless he had been at the time. But that... all of that was part of the beauty of it. For a man who had his whole life planned out right from the start, who broke free from it, only to feel it creeping back in again... Isra Nightingale was the epitome of the beautiful, bewildering unexpected. But, more than that, much more than that... she was the only human being he actually cared to keep in his life.[break]

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Isra Nightingale

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The Nightingale

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Twenty four

November 11

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POSTED ON Oct 24, 2020 19:16:42 GMT

She does not resist him as he pulls her closer still. Isra leans into him, enjoying the pleasantness of their closeness. How his warmth feels against her skin, how she breaths a little easier beneath his affections. Of all the things to do, Isra closes he eyes, but not because she no longer wishes to look at him. No, she wants nothing more than to enjoy this and the sound of his voice as he speaks to her of the notions she can't quite wrap her head around.

Without thinking she smiles, soft and sweet and genuine. For a moment she thinks he might be correct. Something about this feels..... "You remind me of my garden."

"You make me feel the same way I do when I am sitting in my gazebo, waiting for the sun. Or when I am tending to the flowers while the moon is still out. Things feel quiet with you." she does not expect him to understand, she cannot tell him the same pretty words he has told her. They do not come to her and they do not mean anything from her the way they do him. She can only give him the words that are on her lips now, cryptic as they may seem.

"It is the only place that has ever truly felt like it was mine." barely a whisper, if they were not already so close he might have missed it. Perhaps that is why she feels compelled to shift until she can press her forehead against his shoulder, hiding herself from him but seeking the warmth of his presence all the same. Hiding the uncertainty in the moment, the vague worry he will not understand and the lowering of her tomb like walls may be for nothing after all. The hope that anyone else could understand what that means to her feels like such a lost cause.

It is the first time Isra feels the need to try and fill in the silence between them, knowing in a way that it is only because of herself now and not because of him. Despite how strongly she wishes to speak and move away from this, further into the morning before she can regret that she has stayed she cannot find the words to say. They aren't even fleeting.

There are none. What else could she possibly say?

Remiel Calcifet

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GONGAGER

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October 13

GONGAGA

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gongager

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shiv

POSTED ON Oct 24, 2020 21:39:32 GMT

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🎃TRICK-or-TREAT!

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A PUMPKABOO FLOATS BY with a treat clasped underneath its tiny fangs. both of you receive the following:[break][break]

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(note: pumpkaboo can be ic or entirely ooc)[break]
Isra Nightingale Remiel Calcifet

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oslo

the crown prince

masculine

twenty-eight

may 20

hammerlocke, galar

heterosexual

archaeologist

aqua/ex-admin

6'2" height

born under a bad sign with a blue moon in my eyes

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