#chainedbychoice

[undyingmedium]

@chainedbychoice asked for a one-liner.

"I didn't think you'd decide to stay in the end."

[dunerover]

∘˙○˚.• tripped and spilled three entire Men

@chainedbychoice @fortunefeather @swarmcall

[helreginn]

@chainedbychoice asked:

[ PICKING ] receiver telling sender to "hold still" while they remove something from their hair ((Maybe with our dynamic in mind? :3c))

Hel fixed him with a wary look, unsure whether or not to trust him. A shaky exhale stalled in her throat as he got near and her eyes widened. Her fingers itched to catch his wrist, to hold him near. Instead they curled into fists at her side. His smell brought her back to moments less uncertain; Late nights and slow mornings. To laughter and kisses and clumsy affection.

Love found and lost..

She finally exhaled and brought her hand up to swat his arm away and then the other. "Get off me!" She squealed. Her face contorted into an expression of ire but he would know, of course he would, that she was pulling her punches.

Using her hair as a ruse, Hel turned her head away as she violently ripped her fingers through the auburn curls on the side of her head. Not only trying to smooth unruly tendrils, but rake out the thought of his corn silk hair settled amongst them..

[lunarscorching]

Plotted starter for @chainedbychoice

A boat! Of all things unpleasant, it had to be a boat, with a location so insufferable, she should have understood it as a forewarning to how the rest of the mission would proceed.

Their lodgings are greater than what her true status would afford; the Knight she was, she would only ever know the lower galley of cramped bunk rooms; instead this lavish chamber was spacious enough, yet as with any boat, not overly so. The moment she closes the door behind, she turns the key to lock them in the solitude of their privacy.

Pallid fingers twist through ebony strands of hair as she mentally sorts the particulars of their haphazardly slapped facade. She turns to Curumë, sizing up the thin man. "Respectfully, you do not carry the visage of a Guard. You do not even look as if you could raise my greatsword."

[chaostides]

alara  pauses  mid-pour  when  she  looks  up  &  sees  him.  so  far,  only  a  small  pool  of  the  aloe  oil  glistens  in  her  cupped  palm  &  the  bottle  remains  mostly  full.  she  could  share,  but  the  stranglehold  she  has  on it says  she  doesn't  intend  to. 

❝       please  tell  me  you  don't  need  any  of  this;  this  is  my  first  time  as  a  fashion  don't,  &  i'm  afraid  it  doesn't  seem to agree  with  me.       ❞ 

↬ @chainedbychoice / @deaddovestellnotales ♥ ed !

[archaeval]

@chainedbychoice gets a Tense Starter from the list ;;

RUBY HAD BEEN TRACKING THE MAN'S progress through her hallways, unsure what his final target was. To find her? To steal? To simply wander about until he found a room worth entering? No matter where he went in the palace, Ruby could sense him.

It was not until he nearly found trouble that she decided it was finally time to step in. The stairs ahead led down to the dungeons, where great blind beasts called bookwyrms prowled without rest. "I wouldn't go that way, my dear," she crooned from the shadows, nearly invisible save for those uncanny eyes and the tiny glittering pearls that studded her dark skirt like stars. "Unless, of course, you'd like to meet a gruesome untimely end."

[shatteredxndbroken]

@chainedbychoice ask: ❝ i don't want an apology i just want to understand. ❞ - From Curumë @chainedbychoice (and with the campaign background!)

Caligo's shoulders tensed when Curumë told him that he didn't want an apology, but that he wanted to understand. For a few seconds the Tiefling looked at the other, then darted his eyes away as he had no idea what to say other than sorry. Was there anything else he could say than sorry without looking like a sad basket case?

"Nightmares just get to me... I guess..." Caligo fell silent as he tried to explain it in a way that could help Curumë understand. "Even if I'm not living there anymore, when I sleep, it's like he and his friends come back. Doing the things they did before I ran away. I know I a toss and turn in my sleep, don't know if I talk or mumble... But I must make it difficult for you to sleep properly."

As he told all of that, his eyes were set at their feet, unable to look Curumë in the eyes. The shame of those events, the things he allowed them to do. Though, he also knew that it wasn't a choice of his, but the force of his father and his friends.

[gatheringrust]

@chainedbychoice

Dew clung to the grass of late spring, and with the return of the sun, so too came the return of Ranyasúre's freedom. Winter weather left her ill and aching, dulled her mind, slowed her leg even more. When the heads of dandelions and blades of grass emerged from their slumber and lilacs began to bud on the branch, it was time.

She had only been on her own for a short while, out of the healing halls of peace and hushed words, but that, she could bear, were it not for her wandering feet and idle hands that begged for occupation. And after all things she had endured, Rani had become an indulgent woman. She had set out with no promise of when she would return, and thence set out to venture into a site she had seen long ago, had mapped, and had not yet properly excavated. It was only a short ways south of Lond Daer Enedh-- a week of walking from Ost-in-Edhil, at her pace.

An abandoned few courtyards and villas, collapsed into disrepair. If she had to guess (and she did not, for she knew), she would have said it was Teleri, from the late years of the Great Journey. A waypoint. Many abandoned things must have lain beneath the soil, simply waiting for her to bring them back into the light, to return to them their gleam.

Within a week and a half of her departure, then, Ranyasúre knelt in the sandy spodosols, fighting her bad leg in the still-cool spring damp, but fighting even harder against her restraint to dig, to readily haul out a shovel and excavate the place as quickly as she might with what little strength she possessed. Restraint! That old demon. She cursed it often, and more often did she struggle to hold it within. Her cart was left back by toppled dark columns, limestone and marble stained by rain and weather, and alone was she.

A few promising, nearly-whole pieces of ceramic sculpture, tinted in shades of pale blues and greens, painted with whorls and waves, made their way into her hands, eventually, and she cleaned them with tender brushes and careful puffs of breath.

She turned, then, to bring them back to the table of her wagon-- only to find, in that very moment, that she was not alone.

A man with pale hair was going through her things.

Slowly and silently, she set down the valuables in her good arm, and closed her eyes, bracing herself for what was to come. A few steps, a few dozen yards without her cane, was doable, and at times, she had been known to wield it as a weapon. If she did not look so vulnerable as she truly was, and made herself more fearsome, perhaps he would depart.

Thus, holding her cane as one might a bludgeoning weapon, Rani forced herself to walk straight, tears pricking her eyes as she approached the man.

"What's this then?" she said, her low cello-creaking voice as smooth and calm as she could try and force it to be, when she was aching so terribly.