#chained spirits ask

[chained-spirits]

Has feathers ever seen any Zonai or Lomei before?

Short answer no, long answer he has seen carvings and structures built by them, but by the time he finds it, it’s already from a bygone era

Ty for the ask !!

[kings-comic]

SHADOW SHADOW SHADOW SHDAOW SHADOW SHADOW SHADOW SHADOW SHADOW SHADOW HELLO HOW ARE YOU I LOVE YOU CAN I STEAL YOU FROM THE COLOURS PLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLSPLS

i can steal Vio too if you wanna

They are slumber partying in frilly dresses- as they should (feat. @chained-spirits Shadow)

idk if they mean "slay" in the same way tho XDD

[thexgrayxlady]

♫ Chuan!

THANK YOU!!!

For Good from Wicked

Who can say if I've been changed for the better? I do believe I have been changed for the better And because I knew you Because I knew you, because I knew you I have been changed For good

Broken Over You by Vertical Horizon

Part of me knows that Part of you is broken Cause I am broken too I'm broken over you

Bad Blood By Bastille

If we're only ever looking back We will drive ourselves insane As the friendship goes, resentment grows We will walk our different ways

I'm Your Man by Mitski

You believe me like a god I destroy you like I am I'm sorry I'm the one you love No one will ever love me like you again

Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy

Sometimes before it gets better The darkness gets bigger The person that you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger

Like a River Runs by Bleachers

When I fall asleep I can see your face What I lost in you I will not replace And I could run away, I could let them down But I will remember

Genghis Khan by Miike Snow

I get a little bit Genghis Khan I don't want you to get it on With nobody else but me

Hold Me Like a Grudge by Fall Out Boy

Hold me, hold me like a grudge The world is always spinning, and I can't keep up, whoa Faster and faster, can't do it on my own Part-time soulmate, full-time problem

Come As You Are by Nirvana

Come as you are, as you were As I want you to be As a friend, as a friend As an old enemy

The Chain by Fleetwood Mac

And if you don't love me now You will never love me again I can still hear you saying You would never break the chain

[thenmichael]

CS Ravio with color pallet number 61?

The Goober Ft Oracle

[maegalkarven]

I'm going for a run, but when I return imma gonna write about how BG3 really said "I see you all bitches with parental issues".

Bhaal, Raphael, Cazador, Ketheric, Gortash's parents, Shar, even Selûne and Ravengard are the examples of not so perfect parenting. No wonder I latched into these dynamics.

[iolitemoth]

The Chain as DragonVale Dragons

this is just something i thought would be fun - figuring out which dragons each of the chain would be! it’s been surprisingly difficult! so i thought i’d come on here and see if anyone has any thoughts :)

Sky: blazing gale? dawn? jetstream? herald?

Four: (i have... nothing for four sorry)

Time: bicentennial? century?

Twilight: shield?

Wild: venture? wilderness? apex?

Legend: scryer? herald?

Hyrule: etch✔️ florea? smoulderbrush?

Wind: arcrider? frond? canna? honuhonu? wind?

Warriors: opulent? valor? vanguard? herald?

and as a bonus:

Shadow: (ghostly) nosferatu? lokilure? shadow? misfortune? (this feels just a little mean)

Ravio: venture? voltaic✔️

[adrift-in-thyme]

Maybe a silly question, but how would First handle accidentally touching Twilight’s shadow crystal?

Ooh that’s a great question!!

I headcanon that First has A LOT of experience with magic, being intricately connected to the goddess and all. So though he can’t weave spells like Hyrule, Legend, and Time, he can sense it and feel whether it’s light or dark. Around Twilight he feels something that’s definitely the dark…but there’s something different about it. He can’t figure it out.

So, him touching the shadow crystal and realizing what it is and what it does is definitely a shock to him. While he doesn’t quite feel as strongly about dark magic as Four does, he comes pretty close. He equates dark magic with Demise and the sinister powers he used to raze his kingdom. The Shadow’s attempts to use him as a helpless pawn only further embitters him toward the power.

There is definitely a — slightly heated — discussion between he and Twilight in the aftermath.

In the end, he acknowledges Twilight’s right to do as he pleases…as long as he remembers how easily darkness can corrupt even the best of people. Twilight does remember this fact, of course (how could he not after THAT terrifying vision?) and he lets First know that. Basically, they agree to disagree.

[hxneylavendxr]

should i try and get dan hengs light cone thing. or a dupe of him.

considering how Not Super Impressive his eidolons are PLUS how absolutely fucking insane 5* light cones are i strongly suggest goin for the light cone :3

[lohstandfound]

6 18 35

6. what’s the best and worst part of being online/a creator?

i have tried to actually establish art accounts and such but i do not make enough consistent art to be able to post oops my art tiktok and instagram accounts have not been updated in a hot minute

best part of being online is making friends with cool people but the worst part is you're all so far away

18. do you believe in ghosts and/or aliens?

ghosts, to some degree yes. aliens? not sure

35. do you trust easily?

i dont think so. maybe? maybe not. y'know, wouldn't trust any random person with everything but those who i've kept around i would trust with my life because i know they would have my back

[chained-spirits]

Hey listen! Hey! Watch out! Hey listen! Look out! Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey listen! Hey watch out! Hey!

-Inbox Navi

I have my fun

[finn-shitposts]

send this to all your favorite moots and pass the pumpkin round! KEEP THE PUMPKIN TRAIN GOING 🎃🖤🎃🖤🎃

YAY PUMPKIN TRAIN

🚂🎃🎃

[noomyz]

I initially read that as 'but theyre lesbians now' in the photo

jokes on you but i am genuinely interested in how would Chain and st!Link interact

like we know that Chain is such a fan of the heroes before him, so how would their dynamic go? and which shenanigans would they do together?

anon I drew and designed a post game aged up ST!link just for you hehehe

Chain and Train aka THE BESTIES

So when they meet cause of time shenanigans I don’t feel like coming up with now, Chain has a big fanboy moment cause, like, he is a fan of the heroes before him lol

I hc Train to be a big nerd and thus a lil awkward so Chain’s extroverted energy was a lil overwhelming at first, especially since Chain just wanted to be friends, like full on parasocial relationship here LMAO

(which is the opposite when he meets ww!link since he’s intimidated by him a lil bit lol)

thanks to Key’s constant stories of Train since like, he’s her grandpa, Chain is all like “I feel like I know u already 🥹💖” at him while Train is like “who tf are you?😭”

They eventually become friends, Train’s introverted vibes match well with Chain’s extroverted ones.

Chain’s the one who goes “excuse me he asked for no pickles!” In their dynamic lmao

[sixeyesonathiel]

you are a girl of a small, irrelevant clan. a mere decorative piece offered to the untouchable, veiled head of the gojo clan in exchange for “peace,” “blessings,” or something equally vague and humiliating. your family won’t tell you anything. only that you must “make him an heir.”

no one has seen his face. you are told not even the servants had looked at him in the eye. they say his eyes are too divine to meet. that his cursed energy would shred the mind of anyone unworthy.

you’re escorted to the gardens of the inner estate to “acclimate” before the marriage. a few hours a day. no contact. no one speaks unless you ask—and even then, the answers are like riddles. frustrating.

so you start ranting. loudly. to a man you think is a mute guard or a gardener, someone forgettable.

“what if he’s a cursed beast with seven arms and no dick?” you hiss one afternoon, yanking petals off a camellia like it insulted your honor. “what if he’s a puppet? a wet, moldy puppet with dead man hands? i bet he smells like mildew and raw fish. and his eyes probably glow like a cat in heat. you think they’re hiding him because he’s too handsome? no. they’re hiding him because he’s hideous. like a spirit trapped in a porcelain doll. but worse. like—like if a haunted house and a rice cooker had a baby.”

the man you're speaking to doesn’t say anything. just listens. sometimes sweeps a few stones. sometimes waters a bush that doesn’t need watering.

“what if he doesn’t even have skin?” you go on, pacing in a huff. “what if he’s all bone. or goo. or cursed energy in a meat sack. no face, just a vague blur. oh my god. what if he talks backwards?!”

one time, he chuckles. it’s soft. amused.

you freeze. “you laughed.”

he shrugs. eyes unreadable.

you don’t realize yet—that was him.

the night arrives. everything’s ceremonial. you're bathed, perfumed, and draped in layers of embroidered silk so heavy they drag behind you like chains. your wrists are tied with a red cord. a blindfold covers your eyes. you feel like an offering. you are an offering.

the room is quiet when you’re laid down. there’s a hush to everything, like the air is waiting to breathe. the futon is soft beneath your back. the scent of incense wraps around you like fog.

he doesn’t speak. doesn’t rush. you hear cloth rustle. then stillness. the shift of the air tells you he’s moved closer. your skin prickles with nerves.

a fingertip grazes your hip. you flinch.

he shushes you gently. a whisper against your ear. soothing. too tender for someone who’s supposed to use you.

his hands explore you slowly, reverently. they trace the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, the slope of your thighs. fingertips glide up your ribs, linger beneath your breasts. then his mouth replaces them.

his lips are warm and soft as they land on your collarbone, then lower. the blindfold amplifies everything. your skin tingles with every breath he takes near it. he tongues over your nipple, languid and maddening, until you arch into him.

you whisper, dazed, “what are you?”

he chuckles against your skin. “your husband.”

you expect it to be harsh. clinical. but he touches you like you’re fragile. sacred. his fingers find the slick heat between your legs and slide through it, slow and unhurried. he spreads you open with a reverence that borders on obscene. it feels like a ritual. like devotion.

he sinks one finger inside. then two. the stretch burns, but his thumb strokes something sweet and aching. his other hand cups your breast. you feel owned. undone.

when he lines himself up, he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t warn you. just presses forward until you’re full—too full—split open and gasping.

he groans. you feel it vibrate against your chest as he leans over you.

“so warm,” he breathes. “so tight. you were made for this.”

he thrusts. slow. deep. dragging himself out just to slide back in, each stroke heavier than the last. his hands pin your tied wrists above your head. his mouth traces your jaw, then your ear.

“don’t hold back,” he whispers. “i want to hear everything.”

you moan. cry out. sob. he drinks it in like a dying man. like it sustains him. he fucks you like it’s worship. like it’s art. like he’s sculpting you around him.

his pace never falters. every thrust is exact. every roll of his hips hits something inside you that makes your toes curl. you feel yourself unraveling. more than once. again. again. he whispers praise between kisses.

“so pretty when you come.” “that’s it, cry for me.” “take it. take all of me.”

he holds you down when your thighs start to shake. kisses your temple as you convulse around him. you don’t know how long it lasts. only that when he finally spills inside you, it’s with a low groan and your name tangled in it like a secret.

he unties your wrists gently. rubs your skin where the cord left marks. then removes the blindfold.

silver hair. eyes like starfire drowned in ice.

your breath catches. “you—”

“i’m not a cursed doll,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours. “but i liked hearing your theories.”

your stomach flips. “you—when—how long—?��

he smiles. “especially the one where i was a beast locked in a tower. very romantic.”

you gape at him. this divine, impossible man.

“…why didn’t you say anything?”

he leans close. brushes a thumb across your bottom lip.

“because you never asked for my name, wife.”

[thenmichael]

129 with CS Kokiri, please? From the color palette requests?

Kokiri :0

Someone give him a hug

[krtke]

Dunno if you’ve done this but List 5 things that makes you happy, then put this it the askbox for the last 5 people who reblogged something from you! Get to know your mutuals and followers 💕

Yay thanks interactivity !

So the five things :

1_ (consumption of) Art, mostly cinema but the other are great too

2_ lazying around just watching stuff

3_ thinking about things (mostly politics and arts)

4_ irl people like my closest friends and some of my teachers

5_ (but not least) not to copy you but yeah currently my mutuals and Tumblr (in the sense of fan arts and fandoms) made me really happy 😁

Thanks !

[nochd]

This was on @whatareyoureallyafraidof's post where they put up this:

And I responded with this image:

and promised in the tags to elaborate if asked. And, @frodo-the-weeb, I will. But it's going to get long and I'm going to have to split it up into several reblogs.

First of all, since not everybody in the world is a Silmarillion enthusiast, let me explain what we're referring to.

One of the stories in the Silmarillion, and possibly the one Tolkien cared about the most, is the tale of Lúthien and Beren; a highly condensed version of a narrative poem called the Lay of Leithian, which Tolkien began writing in the 1930s and tried to get his publisher interested in after the success of The Hobbit.

(Their readers said no, and they tactfully asked him to focus on his Hobbit sequel instead. "The result," in Tolkien's own words, "was The Lord of the Rings.")

The skeleton of The Lay of Leithian is as follows; I'm intentionally leaving out a bunch of information that weaves it into the overarching story of the Silmarillion but isn't relevant to the thesis I'm advancing here.

Lúthien, an Elven princess and enchantress, falls in love with a mortal man, a ranger called Beren. Her father, the Elven King Thingol, disapproves and sends him Beren off to fetch one of the jewels from the crown of the Dark Lord Morgoth. Lúthien tries to join Beren but her father imprisons her in a tower to stop her, only it's actually a treehouse because they're forest elves. Lúthien magically grows her hair long and uses it to escape. By the time she catches up with Beren he is chained in the dungeons of Morgoth's second-in-command, Thû (whom Tolkien later renamed Sauron). She rescues him with the help only of a dog, who defeats Thû himself in single combat. They then live in the forest together for quite some time, but Beren feels bad about being the reason she can't go home to her family, and still intends to finish his mission and get the jewel. He leaves one morning while she's still asleep, so as not to put her in danger, and then when he's on the threshold of Morgoth's underground fortress in the far North of Middle-Earth she catches up with him again and he accepts that she's not going to be put off. Together they enter Morgoth's fortress and make their way to his throne room. They are in disguise but Morgoth is not fooled and uncovers Lúthien in front of everyone, declaring his intention to make her one of his many slaves. Lúthien offers to sing and dance for him, which is the way she works her magic. She puts everyone in the throne room to sleep, including both Beren and eventually Morgoth. She wakes Beren and he takes the jewel and they flee, but as they get to the outer door they are stopped by Morgoth's guard-wolf, who bites off Beren's hand holding the jewel.

That's as far as Tolkien ever got with the poem, but we have the synopsis in the prose Silmarillion to tell us the rest of the story; again cutting it down to the quick, Thingol accepts Beren as his son-in-law, Morgoth's guard-wolf attacks Doriath, Beren goes and hunts it but is mortally wounded, his spirit goes to the Halls of Waiting in the Undying Lands where the dead in Middle-Earth go, Lúthien also goes there and, again through her magical song, persuades Mandos the god of the dead to let him come back. Mandos offers her a choice: live on immortally as an Elf without Beren, or return to Middle-Earth with Beren but both of them will grow old and die. She chooses the latter.

Tolkien created Lúthien as a portrait of his wife Edith, which makes Beren a picture of himself. We know this for a fact because he had LUTHIEN written on her grave when she died, and when he joined her in it two years later the name BEREN was written for him:

Now on the lower right side of my response image you'll see Pauline Baynes' illustration of the Lady in the Green Kirtle from The Silver Chair, one of C. S. Lewis's Narnia stories. A quick synopsis of the Lady of the Green Kirtle's part in the story:

The Lady is a witch who rules a gloomy kingdom underneath Narnia, accessible through a fissure in the earth in an old ruined city far to the North. Before the story opens she has enspelled and kidnapped King Caspian's son Prince Rilian, whom she intends to send leading an army to conquer Narnia in her name. For twenty-three hours a day he is her willing slave and lap-dog; to maintain the spell, he must be bound to the titular silver chair for the remaining hour, during which he is sane and aware of his imprisonment. The protagonists, Eustace and Jill and their guide Puddleglum, meet her and Rilian unawares on their journey to the North; she sends them astray and almost succeeds in getting them eaten by giants. Eventually they rescue Rilian from the chair, but she sings a magical song which very nearly puts them all to sleep but for Puddleglum's intervention. Foiled, she transforms into a serpent, attacks them, and they kill her.

It is my contention that the Lady in the Green Kirtle is Lewis's caricature of Lúthien, with the enslaved and befuddled Prince Rilian representing Beren; and further, that Lewis knew or recognised that Lúthien and Beren were a literary portrait of the Tolkiens, so that The Silver Chair is ultimately a nasty commentary on their marriage.

In forthcoming reblogs I will lay out my evidence for this thesis.