#invoke GOD's Name

[synthshenanigans]

i didnt say it properly before but god you dont know how happy i am that [synth shenanigans] made a return like dude i put that as my name for a reason like DUDE it came BACK after so fuckin LONG MAN

funky banger synths my beloved....

[bonefall]

Will Jayfeather go to starclan? Cause he did fight against them his whole life... and then actually fought them (and didn't tell anybody, didn't get punished), AND had kits, plus a bunch of other things I can't think of right now

Like damn

I don't know. I don't write ahead or fix arcs until they are done. I only know that certain cats will eventually become Patrons.

StarClan is a shifting entity, heavily influenced by the most recent cats who join it. Yes Jayfeather has been WILDLY disobedient, punching angels, breaking the code, and openly challenging their choices... but he also saved DOZENS of lives by dragging StarClan Angels out of the sky during the Battle of the True Eclipse!

You could even argue he helped doublekill Tigerstar. Without him, Firestar wouldn't have had his final face-off.

He also has been serving ThunderClan faithfully for years. StarClan damned Featherwhisker in spite of that, but since Ashfur they've had to reconsider a lot of things. Skypelt has even insisted on adopting certain Dark Forest warriors, like Ripplestar and his rebels.

So, we just don't know yet. It's going to be a pretty big trial though.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

Yo, SyntheticCharm likes the LaughingStock ship name a lot.

i think the real question is the opinion on ground beef. everyone's silence on the topic of ground beef is deafening

[gfanlocalcryptid]

I was reading "A Romance Of Many Dimensions" and the Axolotl really said to Bill after meeting once him in a dream: "I like you, little one. I will give you free will, immortality and infinite power. You will be able to inspire people trough dreams and be the best person ever. Really.

Oh, but you can also be a tyrant and a warlord, destroy universes and lead everything to chaos. Revenge, hatred and fear. So choose carefully what your path will be, because in the end, for better or worse, we will meet again."

And all of this is wonderful, but we readers know that Bill is a dangerous instable person, sooo...

[catsafari25]

A/N: Hello again, and with this I think (?) I may have succeeded in writing enough bionicle fic to get it out of my system (unless another plot bunny hits me like a cannonball, but... eh, we'll see) and thus, here is the companion piece to the Vakama & Roodaka oneshot.

This time, exploring the scene where Vakama entered the Great Temple, from his side of things! This was also partially inspired by the scene in Challenge of the Hordika where Nokama is almost physically repulsed in trying to enter the Great Temple :)

x

In the tunnels beneath the temple, Vakama must stoop.

At first he shuffles, mutated arm tucked against him and his sole hand brushing only briefly along the floor to steady himself, but the passages are dark and deep and lined with creatures which seek out the weak. The eyes that watch him are not hungry. They keep their bellies too full for that.

In the end, it is easier quicker to drop to all fours, to share the weight between claw and tool that feet alone cannot. His altered form folds into the new stance with frightening familiarity. It's comfortable.

Natural.

The crown of his mask grazes the tunnel's ceiling, but only in passing. His gait is sure. Well. Surer than the ungainly slouch it had been before.

It was said – back when Matoran were awake to say such things – that even the strongest swimmers of Ga-Metru would hesitate before plunging into the depths of the protodermis sea. Not because the creatures there had any fondness for the taste of Matoran. In truth, it was thought that the rahi actively disliked the flavour. No, it was because the way Matoran swam was indistinguishable from the rahi's usual prey. Only when they had sunk tooth and jaw into their meal would they realise their mistake.

It was an annoying, if harmless mistake for the rahi.

Matoran couldn't say the same.

Vakama's early crawl through the passage had been like that of a Matoran swimmer: functional, but slow and indiscernible from wounded prey. Creatures drag themselves down into these depths to die, in hopes that they will be devoured only when they are too far gone to feel it. The eyes are patient. They will wait to see if this newcomer is similarly inclined.

And so when Vakama drops to his haunches, the eyes blink. Reassess. He moves less like the hunted and more like the hunter now, more predator than prey, and the eyes – and teeth – keep their distance after that.

The path Vakama stalks through was once a protodermis pipe, made obsolete even before the cataclysm. Newer conduits had been built, more efficient, more resilient, and this one had been disconnected but never dismantled. When he reaches its origin, it takes some effort – and his blazer claw – to break the seal across the hatchway, but when he does, one of the temple's protodermis purification chambers looms above him.

The room beyond is quiet.

Unmarked.

He doesn't realise he's stopped until the chittering of his audience draws closer. The snarl he throws back echoes off the pipe's walls, and the eyes retreat, but do not leave.

Vakama curls his hand around the lip of the hatch, and then falters.

Something is wrong.

It's not a pain, because the feeling does not hurt as it ought, but something is undeniably, fundamentally wrong. It causes his breath to catch, his hand to flinch, and it would be so easy, so easy, to turn and walk away, only...

Only he came here for a reason.

The wrongness flares, amplified for a moment, and then he pulls himself up. The eyes watch, but do not follow. Do they feel it too? Can even such base creatures sense the innate malice the temple exudes?

He clambers out of the purification chamber – empty and abandoned now – and stumbles upon his landing. He catches himself, but does not rise back to his feet.

Wrong.

This is wrong.

And at the edge of the wrongness there is a strange sort of terror. It dreads the same way the fire fears the sea, the same way the prey fears the predator; it is the meeting of two primally antithetical forces where only one can survive. It whispers turn back through his mind.

He moves into the next room.

It's one he knows well. Light filters down from the rot-stained windows, centering – as it had the day he'd first seen it – on the suva, and casting long sentinel shadows of the columns standing to attention around it. A crack mars the suva, its stone dome now split cleanly in two from the quakes, and – drawn by some desire he cannot identify (instinct, curiosity... nostalgia?) – he approaches.

It seems so small now. Even bowed and altered in his Hordika form, he looms over the Ta-Metru symbol he'd once had to stretch to reach.

Unbidden, his hand moves to the niche where once he'd placed a Toa Stone – where once he had though himself chosen, duty-bound, destiny-gifted – and falters a breath from the stone.

The wrongness spikes.

Screams.

And with a twist of something he will not call horror, he understands it is not originating from himself.

But from the temple.

It is repulsion. It's alienation. It's recognising him, but as other, as rahi.

It's disgust that a monster would dare enter its sanctuary.

In the Ta-Metru carving, stone once polished to the point of fragmented reflection, he sees a glimmer of his own face. Neither Toa nor Matoran. Nothing blessed by Mata Nui.

Vakama recoils.

And then a wave of his own disgust, propelled by that fury that runs so close to the surface now, rolls through him. If you didn't want us as the Toa, you should've stopped Makuta from choosing us, he thinks, and digs his claws into the stonework.

The wrongness sings.

But he knows it for what it is now, and his morphed, clawed hand gorges scars through the carving. The stone is soft. Its makers had never imagined someone would take a blade to it.

There comes a tapping from across the room, echoing brazenly off the ancient stone walls, and Vakama retreats instinctively into the shadows. A Rahaga enters.

Norik?

No, this Rahaga's armour is more akin to a Po-Matoran than a Ta-Matoran's, the colour of dust and stone. Vakama tries to recall the Rahaga's name – and then dismisses the attempt.

It won't matter, in the end.

The Rahaga walks as he always has, stooped and slow, but clearly unhindered by the temple. He passes by the suva and runs one gnarled hand across the stonework, his movements marred by curiosity rather than reverence.

The rage arrives a fully-formed creation. It drowns out the wrongness, floods the apprehension, and he is moving before he's decided that this is the path he wants.

It is not pain, for it does not hurt as it ought.

But it does still hurt.

x

Whatever the Rahaga might once have been, they are old and weak now. Four are captured before Vakama's rage has a chance to cool, but the ire is no less dangerous when it does.

(That's the thing about Ta-Metru; it's not a place of fire so much as it is of magma. And magma doesn't extinguish with the cold; it sets. It moors itself into place, an unmovable, burning force.)

The rage settles, solidifies around his heart and lungs and carves a home between his breaths.

(Magma is not fire. It does not leap blindly from one source to the next. Instead it advances. Slowly. Steadily. It finds a channel, a destination, and it engulfs all in its path until it reaches it.)

He finds the last two remaining Rahaga, pathetically ignorant to their brothers' fates and still scavenging the temple for answers. He hears the way Norik appraises his sister's translation, relief clear in his voice that they are one step further on this wild rahi chase. Relief, surely, that the Rahaga are one step closer to regaining their Toa form.

(And Vakama's anger has found its destination.)

He does not descend on the Rahaga's leader the way he has the others. No. Norik will know what's coming for him first. He gets to fear. Vakama waits until Gaaki has gone, until Norik is alone, and then he circles. The wrongness thrums in his veins, weighing him down and labouring his breaths. It doesn't matter. Let Norik hear his approach.

Norik doesn't try to run. Vakama will give him that much. (A wise choice. Vakama intends for this encounter to last, but if Norik runs, Vakama cannot be sure he won't chase.) Instead, the malformed once-Toa calls out and actually tries to approach him. Stupid. Doesn't he know that he won't win any fight, transformed as he is? As both of them are? No, instead, he tries to talk. As if they are equals, as if Norik has done anything to deserve his respect rather than his scorn. As if he has earned the temple's forgiveness for his trespassing.

Even when Vakama raises the fate of Norik's fellow Rahaga, Norik attempts to sway him with the illusion of reason, talking of duty and unity, as if he's not using the other Toa Hordika to chase after a rahi myth for his own desires. As if their roles are in any way comparable, both Toa of Fire once, both leaders, it's true, but Vakama hasn't forgone his duty to chase after selfish needs.

And it stops now.

Vakama circles closer, and Norik is still talking, unease in his voice, but not fear. Still searching for the right words to turn Vakama to his bidding as he has the other Toa Hordika. Ever the voice of two-faced logic.

Why won't he just shut up?

Does Norik think him to be as gullible as the others? As quick to desert his duty as them?

And Vakama knows he wants – needs – to shake that assurance, that arrogance out of Norik. Needs to see that facade of self-righteous wisdom crumble into the terror of his situation.

The growl begins deep in his chest and, unleashed, it becomes a roar. He rears out of the darkness, into the weak sphere of light surrounding Norik – and there, there he finally sees true fear fill the old fool's eyes.

Something slams into Vakama and he reels, his roar cut short. His hand reaches automatically, defensively, to his mask. He finds only water there. It clings to him, imbued with some sort of power – he can feel something other in it – but otherwise impotent.

"Leave my brother alone," Gaaki snarls. She stands in the doorway, small and hopelessly overpowered, but her shoulders are tensed with a stubborness Vakama recognises. Already, her spinner is powering up for another shot.

Well. Two can play at that game.

Vakama's rhotuka fires into motion, but the water has seeped into the mechanism, and dowses the fire before it has a chance to catch. He gives it a withering look, before turning the expression onto Gaaki. "Very clever."

Another water spinner hits him, but this time he is braced for it and all it does is wash harmlessly off him.

"Is that all you have?" he asks. His blazer claw splutters, but the claws on his hand flex. After all, there's more than one way to defang a muaka...

Gaaki steps back. Good. She knows she's outmatched. "It's a devastating attack underwater," she offers, and her words are strong but there is a cracked edge to them.

"Then you'd better start finding a puddle," Vakama growls, "before my claws find you," and he drops into a run, feet pounding and fangs bared and that ever-present wrongness humming about him.

She doesn't flee. Just like Norik, she stands her ground, gnarled fingers wrapped tight around her staff. Her eyes are hard, but he sees the way her hands shake.

How long will her resolve last, Vakama wonders. Before or after the claws find their mark?

He never finds out.

He's knocked off his feet before he reaches her, and when he hits the ground, ropes of energy pin him to the earth, like a water-bound rahi caught in a net.

What–

Norik.

He'd forgotten Norik.

He thrashes against the restraints, but they hold strong – for now. His blazer claw splutters again, but it does nothing to the energy that binds him.

He stills as he hears footsteps approach.

The two Rahaga hobble into his line of sight. Gaaki is breathing hard, as if only now is she allowing herself to feel the fear. "You left that late, Norik," she says, and even the breath that follows sounds more like a shaken wheeze than a nervous laugh. "Almost too late."

"I only had the one shot. I couldn't afford to miss," Norik replies. "He's got our brothers. Gaaki, go find–"

"I'm not leaving you alone with him," she retorts. "I only went for a moment before, and look what would have happened if I hadn't returned."

Vakama tilts his head as well as the energy net will allow. He grins at the Rahaga, anger curdling it into a sneer. "Yes, Gaaki, you're very good bait, congratulations." He shifts his gaze to Norik. "But you've always been so good at getting others to do your dirty work, haven't you, Norik?"

Norik doesn't even have the decency of guilt. Instead, he simply looks tired. "Whatever you think you know–"

"I know the truth! You don't care about the Matoran, you only care about yourselves!" He strains against the ropes, and although they do not break, there's a little more give in them than before. He slumps back to the ground, breathing hard. "You might have the other Toa fooled. You might even have the temple fooled, but not me," he growls, and the temple's hatred presses down on him, straining his last words.

Gaaki places a frail hand on her brother's arm. "Norik," she says, and there is such unbearable sorrow in her voice. "He looks in pain."

"It's not my doing," Norik assures her softly. "My snare spinner only binds."

Vakama snarls. "I don't need pity from the likes of you. I know what you are."

"We're allies, Vakama," Norik says, in that insufferably reasonable way of his. "Friends."

"You're frauds," Vakama snaps. He twists against his restraints. They slacken, just a touch. "Liars. You don't deserve to walk these floors."

And the Rahaga stand there, unburdened by the temple's hate, strangers to this land, to Metru Nui, and yet it is Vakama the temple repulses? After everything he has forgone, the life he's abandoned, the friendships he's lost, Mata Nui punishes him?

His rhotuka fires off a fire spinner, and it goes wide, cracks a wall. Norik and Gaaki stumble back, Norik preparing another snare shot, but the energy net holding Vakama snaps. Vakama lurches forward, suddenly free, and slams into Norik.

The snare spinner wraps itself around a column. It lights up the room with crackling energy.

A blast of water grazes past his shoulder, too shy of hitting Norik to commit to taking the easy shot, and Vakama reels towards Gaaki. He fires with a snarl, but hears the snare spinner coming again and ducks at the last moment.

Again his own attack misses and the shot cleaves clean through a wall. Something on the other side begins to smoulder.

Then it begins to rumble.

It's a low sound at first, as deep as the earth and just as vast. Almost like a distant growl. But then the cracks begin to spiral out across the roof, along the columns, and the room buckles.

The light flickers. The frames of the high windows above collapse.

The world becomes fragmented, filled with flickering images. Falling masonry and toppling pillars and dust – but the sounds never relent. Even in the depths of the passing darkness, the thunder continues.

And when the dust settles, so does an awful silence.

Vakama straightens, or does his best approximation of it. Fragments of cracked protodermis fall from his shoulders, his head, his back. He withdraws the hand which has somehow found itself raised above Gaaki, knocking aside the stone slab caught against his arm.

Where's Norik?

Both Hordika and Rahaga stand side by side, that quietness disturbed only by the skittering of stone shards settling. There is wrongness in his breath, his head, and it's impossible to separate where the temple's ends and his begins. But any moment now, Norik will reappear from the wreckage, bearing that ever-same holier-than-thou look, and the anger will rise anew in Vakama.

Any.

Moment.

Now.

"You've killed him," Gaaki says, and her voice breaks that terrible stillness. She draws in a half-breath that cracks into a sob. "You've... oh, Norik..."

No.

No, it was an accident. He hadn't meant to– Norik had simply been in the wrong place. It wasn't as if he'd taken a blazer claw to Norik, or hit him directly with a fire spinner. He'd only meant to... what? What had he only meant to do?

Something swings towards him and he grabs the staff before he even registers what it is.

"He's not dead," Vakama says, and maybe if he says it, he might even believe it. He snaps his gaze to Gaaki, as if her grief is bringing it to pass. "He's not. He's not as easy to kill as that. When the others– when the Toa find him, he'll be fine. Fools like him always find a way to survive."

Gaaki attempts to pull her staff free, but her strength is no match for Vakama's. He wretches it out of her grasp and tosses it aside.

"Stop that."

She doesn't listen to him, only steps back and charges up her rhotuka. The grief in her eyes fogs into hatred.

The water spinner hits him but does little more than rock him.

"Stop."

Gaaki screams, a sound of rage and anguish, and releases a volley of spinners as ineffectual as the first.

Vakama's patience – or whatever had held him in place until now – snaps. He lunges forward. His claws close around the joints of Gaaki's rhotuka and pins the mechanisms harmlessly into place, in the same manner one might pick up a baby ussal crab by the widest edge of its shell. She thrashes, but Vakama's grip holds.

"I said, stop," he snarls.

She's breathing hard, her gasps sharp-edged with agony. "You killed him," she says, voice hoarse and hateful.

His insides twist, and – Gaaki hauled by his side – he starts the ascent to where the rest of the Rahaga are trapped. He doesn't look back to the rubble. Doesn't glance for one last glimpse of Norik's resting place.

He's not dead. He's not dead he's not dead he's not

The wrongness, the hatred, has woven so deep into him, it's almost a part of him now.

Toa don't kill. Vakama can't remember who taught him that (he recalls, briefly, the flash of a gold mask, but it comes with pain – grief – and he pushes it aside before it can take root) but it gnaws at him like a trapped stone rat. Toa don't kill.

But he was never meant to be one.

And if the Great Temple – if Mata Nui – thinks a mistake was made in Vakama's destiny....

Well. That's somebody else's problem.

x

The Hordika that returns to Roodaka is different from the one she sent out. There's something new in his eyes... or perhaps something lost.

"How was the temple, Vakama?" she asks when it's just the two of them.

He looks to her. Beneath the anger, beneath the rahi, there's almost a haunted look to those eyes. It vanishes a moment later, but Roodaka never doubts her own eyes.

"Unwelcoming," he replies, and Roodaka smiles. She could have suggested Vakama pick the Rahaga off one by one in the chaos of Metru Nui, outside where her Visorak could have been an aid... but the temple had been too good an opportunity to miss.

"Good." She sets a hand on his shoulder. "You owe no loyalty to Mata Nui, Vakama. Not anymore."

He rolls his shoulder, but not sharp enough to dislodge Roodaka's hand.

"One thing I do not understand," she says. "What happened to the sixth Rahaga?"

The Toa growls. It is a gutteral sound, rooted deep in the chest and at home in a way it wasn't before. "You wanted a message left for the other Toa. I needed a messenger."

"Alive?"

Vakama shrugs his shoulder again, and this time she lets him roll her hand loose. "Does it matter, so long as they understand?" he growls.

No, Roodaka concedes as she surveys the remains of the Toa before her. She supposes not.

[thanatos-nightshade]

Im so sorry i played Our Life: beginnings and always and not only has it sucker punched me with bittersweet feelings of life and change and relationships but its also thrown me into brain rot hell of it. Im sorry if ocean boy cove floods your feed get it? Its a pun

[miirshroom]

A perspective for contextualizing Elden Ring: Marika does not exist

Consider what gods are, in the anthropological sense. Gods do not exist except in the minds and artefacts of people who define them. Marika is a god, therefore, Marika does not exist. Paradoxically, Marika exists because Radagon believed in her.

"The modern gods right now are the things we give our attention to, the things we give our time to, because time is precious, time is what we use to worship." - Neil Gaiman, on the New Gods (American Gods)

A question asked about 4 months ago on Reddit, and which has come up a few times since then:

"What do you make of the nominal primacy of Marika but the de facto centralith of Radagon in the Golden Order? Did Radagon exist at the founding of the GO?"

What I make of it is that Radagon/the Elden Beast/the avatar of the Sun in the Lands Between devoted his time to crafting a dream woman. Attaining this is the Golden Order decreed by the Greater Will. Because that's how it's supposed to work - the ideal masculine man hasn't achieved golden perfection without marrying the perfect beautiful wife - the silver moon reflecting the light of the sun. But Marika gained a life beyond her sculptor's expectations, in becoming a woman crafted not as an ideal partner, but as an ideal self.

Radagon is Marika and has always been the Marika whose echoes are relayed by Melina. Because both Radagon and Marika are personas in the end - both are fabrications of the Elden Beast that was once sent as Envoy of the Greater Will.

"Other dimensional beings are undoubtedly amazed at what human beings will accept as human beings too. 'But it's just a stick with a person on it.'" - Also Neil Gaiman, about bees believing that painted sticks are other bees

And the Elden Beast is itself representative of the order decreed by the Greater Will. The command to become golden. The Golden Order. Something to which so much time was dedicated to following that it grew to become a god of a different magnitude itself.

Therefore, in sequence: the Elden Beast - or "Radagon" for simplicity - created Marika (with her basic characteristics copied and refined from a particular woman who did exist at some point - see Roderika for example). Radagon governed the Lands Between as Marika, for a time (see Mimic Tears, Marika's Mischief, etc for the mechanism, specifics are unimportant. Someday I'll release my queued post comparing Radagon and Loki), because a majority of the population needed to believe in Marika for her to become accepted as a god consort. Then priorities changed when Radagon realized that he liked being Marika more than being "himself", self-image began to crumble, and Radagon went to study at Liurnia how to be Marika permanently. Its all very transgender, although through a strange route that makes sense in the context of gods who do not conform to the grounded limitations of the real world.

To truely become Marika, Radagon had to be destroyed. Because being another person means not being Radagon. But in the end Marika needed to be shattered too, because she had been modelled on a Numen from outside the Lands Between and becoming her could not be anything more than shallow imitation (see Melina being used as kindling to burn the Erdtree as a metaphor for letting go of the dream maiden). So, the status of avatar of the Greater Will in the Lands Between was handed off to someone else, while the discarded shell of Radagon and Marika wait at the Erdtree to be put to rest by the Tarnished.

The revelation that "Marika is Radagon" from using Law of Regression on the statue led Goldmask to conclude that Marika should remain the Inner Order to Radagon's Outer Order. Not a persona to be worn outwardly, but something to be hidden. Jungian psuedopsychology concept of anima. The gods are no better than men. Corhyn either is or represents the monk who wanted to be a maiden so of course he's broken about it when Goldmask concludes that it is impossible and the Elden Ring should be put back exactly as it was (except now not able to be broken). It's a regression that undoes all of the progress that Radagon made studying in Liurnia where he had concluded that for the sake of becoming Marika the ring should be deconstructed and reformed into a new shape.

From a certain point of view, Radagon was at odds not with the original Marika, but with what the idea of Marika grew to become over time while he was the part of the personality that stagnated.

...and that was generally where the original response ended. But now there's DLC on the way that invites us into a dream world to learn about the origins of Marika. And there's Messmer all done up like what I'd expect from a younger Radagon. From what we know of the framing device he won't be - not literally - but this does seem to be circling around more Jungian ideas. Basically, the idea that the 'Shadow' is a part of the unconsciousness where repressed thoughts are shoved, and it is a place accessible to the anima/animus but not the persona. So, the past self of Radagon/Marika envisioned as one of their offspring and buried in the Shadowlands.

And with all the Madonna/pregnant woman imagery I have just this feeling of dread of having to untangle the Freudian pseudo-psychology mother complex stuff that's tied up in this theatrical recreation of Marika's origin.

But anyways this all is what I think about whenever Marika is called a bitch or a tyrant or etc. It's shadowboxing against an imaginary woman whose physical presence is never seen - Marika does not exist.

[strywoven]

A big thing in Kaen’s canon is the whole NAMES HOLD POWER bit ( which isn't untrue , necessarily , rather this is certain for all creatures within their canon ) .  This is particularly true because they are part-god and part-fae.  It is understood , from inception , that one mustn’t hand over their “true name” without consequence.  HOWEVER .  There is a major stipulation here , especially as it pertains to Kaen’s existence , perhaps especially because they are the herald of two potent bloodlines which uphold such a rite.  Rather than this rule impacting them further , it instead influences them in a whole other manner entirely.

The original namesake of Kaëltyr was removed ENTIRELY from Kaen’s home realm ; Cernunnos went through immense measures to pull it from the tongues of history , to near-erase it from the heart of the world Kaen’s very essence was born from , and even used it to seal off their godhood when they were excommunicated / disowned.  This is a name that is very much “one which shan’t ever be spoken”.  Which sort of means there is a LOOPHOLE .  Whilst it is the lock which has kept Kaen condemned to mortality , it is also the k e y which shall unbind them .  And Kaen slowly begins to realize this as their canon progresses.  Kaen , knowing full-well the potential for danger , offers their “real namesake” to other people they are close to , often under the pretense of TRUST & DEEP FAITH in the other person.  Though I want you to consider : why … bother ?  What would be the point ?

Well.  Sure , Kaen is offering you a piece of their very existence ( which is an intimacy not many can claim ) , but it is also A CAREFUL MANIPULATION .  Don’t mistake their kindness , this is them holding out the bait of power , anticipating you to accept and wield it to the effect that it shall in turn REAWAKEN THEIR OWN .  Knowing that , the instant the other party begins openly using their name - Kaëltyr , Kaëltyr , Kaëltyr - is the very same moment the barrier between Kaen and their truest aspects begin to break away , to completely dissolve.  Making the poor soul invoking them … A MEANS TO AN END & KAEN’S RE-BEGINNING .  Saying Kaen’s true name grants them strength ; saying their true name revives their godhood ; saying their true name … Has consequences not to the favor of the one speaking it , so if they offer it to you , I only say : proceed with caution , for you know not what you call forth.

[im-still-a-robot]

This is why god hates him. No other reason.

[losttranslator]

throwback to my high school philosophy teacher trying to catch me with stuff like "actually Jesus never said he was God, did you know that" and smugly prove that I (kid who was read the bible from the age of 2 and got my own by like 7) didn’t know the gospels.

like my dude, what do you think "before Abraham was, I AM" was about? you don’t know and I’M clueless about the text?

[barebevil]

watching the Todd in the shadows top 10 worst hit songs of 2023 video you know todd and it reminded me that is to say ive come on here and started typing because i want to talk about how 2023 was actually a ridiculously good year for music like better than it had any reason to be. I'm going to make a list of my favorite albums that came out this year now:

PARANOÏA, ANGLES, TRUE LOVE - Christine and the Queens

My 21st Century Blues - RAYE

The Rise and Fall of a Midwest Princess - Chappell Roan

Did you know there's a tunnel under Ocean Blvd - Lana Del Rey

The Land Is Inhospitable and So Are We - Mitski

Rituals On The Bank Of A Familiar River - Kiki Rockwell

Jaguar II - Victoria Monét

and these are just the ones i remember off the top of my head and also know all the words to. i liked the new hozier i like guts i liked but did not find the time to submerge myself into like a mudbath sufjan's javelin and in all honesty i did listen mostly to the same 3 playlists last year and then a handful of albums that all came out in 2022 because holy shit was THAT a year in music whew

let us all listen to good music in the new year G-d knows we need it

[troius]

[gingerhastoomanyobsessions]

to be clear I think scrooge should become the next tumblr sexyman simply to take us back to our roots. what is he, after all, if not a proto-onceler

[backbak100]

It would've been so funny if Odysseus (the moon lander) got blown off course or sum shit and got lost

[horizonandstar]

more thoughts on "what if i put sun and moon in my oc world"

this time moon (child) meets moon (god/"lumi")

and then from this point on, little moon always went to sleep and never stayed up late

[oregano-gremlin]

i'm going to start calling invoking the name of a famous piece of media to try to make a point without actually having consumed or understanding the media as "pulling a light yagami," a reference that will only make sense to people who actually have consumed a ton of death note media and not people who only know the synopsis and make name jokes with it