#arkhe

[patadela]

Di dalam peradaban Yunani Kuno kira" abad 5 SM-Sebagai ciri dari manusia yang selalu bertanya sebagai salah satu naluriahnya- disebutkan bahwa terdapat orang-orang yqng cikal bakal akan menjadi pemikir yang menggagaskan tentang hakaikat dan kebeardaan sesuatu. Mereka mempertanyakan akan hakaikat yang menyebabkan sesuatu menjadi ada. Mereka adalah orang-orang dari miletos . Merekalah yang pertama kali mengangkat tentang apa yang disebutkan dengan arkhe. Salah satunya adalah Thales dari Miletos. Karena di daerahnya terdapat banyak air, ia kemudian berasumsi dan berpendapat bahwa Segala sesuatu yang ada di muka bumi ini pasti berasal dari air. Ini lah pertautan antara pemikiran dan Obyek yang dindrai. Kendati masih sangat tradisional, tapi cikal bakal apa yang disebut sebagai pemikiran yang bakalan menjadi pengetahuan ilmiah mulai terlahir dari sini.

@pengikut

@pengikut

[decree-of-the-deeps]

HELL YEAH

[anarkhebringer]

[floople-doople]

@anarkhebringer

not just ‘he would not fucking say that’ but ‘he would not, under torture, admit that’

[potential-fate]

Of fucking course.

Abe would have that much of a response to Roman fucking Bellamy. Even now—after what? a year? Callum had been in this stupid town, dating Abe in secret for almost a year now, and Abe here—… Callum should've known better. He did know better.

That was what happened when he went through other people's things looking for trouble. He usually found it.

That didn't mean he had to deal with it right now though. Instead, he buried the hurt he suddenly found himself drowning in under anger instead, and grabbed his guitar. At least he’d have something to write about now.

•• ━━━━━ ••● x ●•• ━━━━━ ••

[codabound]

Was watching a video by Izzzyzzz about the Arkh Project tumblr scam, and I find it hilarious how much the creator of the scam (ironically named Riley) reminds me so much of Rusty.

Like, hands down, Riley was definitely worse by a long shot, they were a fucking nutjob, but basically:

Both are LGBTQ content creators claiming to be making a comic that includes racial and ethnic and LGBTQA diversity that's supposed to be some sort of saving grace for women, POC and LGBT people, only for them to shortly be revealed to be the most nasty, bigoted and borderline psychotic people who don't even remotely give a real shit about the people that their content is catering to and also actively hate them. The only difference being their levels of bigotry and how they voiced it.

At the very least, Rusty is (in the best case scenario) unintentionally racist in her writing (can't say the same for her other forms of bigotry), while it seemed like Riley just openly relished in the fact that they were a hellspawn who made tumblr users lives nightmares.

[psychedelic-charm]

I'M MAKING A SERIES FEATURING EVERYONE FROM MIDNIGHT HORROR SCHOOL(fanart,ocs,designs) ON TWO CRUISES! (yes,the graduates and their designs and other mhs fanart will be boarding the cruises)(except lyte and lolitaartwork, they have to board the titanic)

Is it a fanfic series? A webcomic series? An animated series? Please be realistic about what you want for this series. We don't need another "All or Nothing" or "Miss Officer and Mr. Truffles".

[mayudog]

すしocラクガキ👉👉👉

[fic-art-blurbs]

them..

[drops-of-bronze]

That's the first time I've ever seen you express sympathy for any political figure that isn't me, I'm kinda surprised honestly. But you are right, the current Lucifer was actually openly groomed since birth into taking that position, and xe didn't have a choice at the time. I do bring up my displeasure with it any chance I get in meetings at least, since it's becoming a scandal aimed at xir parents these days, so maybe xe'll finally get a break someday and not have to suffer for a few thousand more years.

So lately here there's been developments among the High Demon Court. What the High Demon Court is is basically Astaroth, Beelzebub, and Belial all clucking at each other like hens like they have any political hold on Hell as a whole, while Lucifer is socially beaten up and Satan sits on her ass all day ALSO thinking she has any political hold on Hell as a whole. The OG demon positions are nothing but jokes these days among Hell's population because of who gets elected into them now.

The closest thing I can think of to compare in human terms was all that uproar in the US a bit ago, where the right-wingers couldn't choose someone to represent them or whatever, so everyone else started clowning on them while the right-wingers tore at each other's throats? I think that's what happened?

[anarkhebringer]

[potential-fate]

Cindra just looked at him mulishly.

“Okay, I don’t know why Grandma doesn’t like mom… she’s never really liked her. But Shiloh’s right that it’s not… normal.”

Jorah frowned, then added, “Sometimes families fight. But it shouldn’t be all the time… You know how mom and dad are?”

Cindra gave a small nod.

“It shouldn’t be more than that. I don’t know how to fix mom and grandma’s problems. But you can always come talk to me if you need to, okay?”

Cindra sighed next to him, “I don’t like when they fight.” Jorah pulled her against his side and kissed the top of her head. “I know kiddo.”

They sat quietly while the clock ticked in the background. Eventually, when the silence felt unbearable, Jorah pulled the copy of Interview with the Vampire towards them.

“You really didn’t struggle to read this?”

She shook her head quickly, “No, it’s not that hard. When I don’t know a word I just look it up on my phone.”

He chuckled, “Okay, fair enough. You want to read the next chapter with me?”

Cindra only nodded shyly at that, “Okay. but you can’t laugh if I pronounce something weird.”

He grinned, then solemnly said, “Never.”

•• ━━━━━ ••● x ●•• ━━━━━ ••

[floople-doople]

@anarkhebringer

why do height differences in shipping always have to be about one being really tiny and the other being really tall. what about one being exactly a single inch taller than the other and the second being consistently angry about this.

[anarkhebringer]

Zenos, who is relying on vague advice about "love languages" after hearing his boyfriend mention a cheesy obscure eroge a single time while he was in the room

[potential-fate]

Instead, she only nodded slightly, and smiled, “Of course, I’m sure you’re eager to get back to your conversation with my brother.”

Roman traded the sigh he wanted to give for a stilted nod instead. Eleanora hummed, the same small, almost entertained smile gracing her features. She stepped towards the dining area, nonetheless, and Roman trailed behind her.

He watched her walk back to the room easily, proving he really hadn’t needed to wait for her at all. Roman chewed on his bottom lip and, not for the first time that night, wished he could get a better read on Eleanora Blanchard.

[codys-writing-wall]

Well look at me reviving this blog for once. I had the power of the muse consume me a few days ago, so I wrote an in character thing for Zenos in DT since I bring him back in Arkhe's portrayal. Under the cut due to final zone spoilers.

Monochrome tedium, the endless mire of nothing to drag myself through, the culmination of nothing rousing this dead being of mine. Not until his raging inferno of passion and destruction set me ablaze. He was the only thing that could make me feel alive, to allow me a teasingly brief glimpse into the feelings of excitement, of joy.

Of hope. Of sorrow so weighty on the mind, body, and soul that I had briefly felt as if the muck that had trapped me before was nothing more than a shallow puddle.

Dynamis... what a curious thing. A curious and meddlesome thing that now pervades my every waking thought, now that it has lured me away from the endless mire for eternity through the siren song of his voice. Despair even now is a banal thing, I have no need of it and have yet to understand it, and I doubt I ever will. I can, however, think back to my hubris enshrouding my mirror and I with that overwhelming feeling of everything and nothing at all.

Do I regret this? I'm not sure. I can at the very least assure myself that it gives me a new vantage point with which to stand beside my mirror, gazing out upon the star and the myriad happenings of it all in search of a true meaning for it. In search of the answer on if this life was a gift or a burden.

It has taken me places I would never have entertained the thought of even in my dreams, this new collar and chain to the world around my throat that I share with him. We're never to be allowed to indulge in the thrilling taste of death again, and so we must make do with the days dragging by, a bell feeling like an eternity all its own.

I have no aim, no goals, and my purpose I sought for myself was fulfilled when our blades clashed at the edge of existence. A realm that was within his complete control thanks to that gift of his, and it was his gift that allowed me to send him off with my reward. The reward of life, of survival, of seeking ever greater challenges to bring him closer to the precipice in hopes he would find the answer to our shared question.

I've no care for the happenings and people around me even now, my mirror is the only one able to elicit any feeling out of me, and his gift has linked us to each other in a way that grows more intriguing by the day. Intriguing, yet troublesome.

Among the golden glow of a desperate fool's artificial paradise, desecrations of the dead meander about, none the wiser towards their meaningless existence at the cost of the living that go about their merry way.

My mirror and I are alike enough to have already taught me that this tedious processing and soul consumption does nothing to reduce one's self, does nothing to remove the imprints their actions have left upon them. The night in Garlemald I stole his body to lure him and he returned to me within my own said as much. It is all a pointless endeavor, a cursed loop that is doomed to fail. But even so, why...

Why do you weep so? And why, as I watch you sob into your hands, do I feel my chest tightening as if I struggle to breathe?

I don't understand. My mind can't for the life of it grasp why you've been moved by such a situation. You swatted the very embodiment of despair to the side as if it were a fly, yet as we traverse this doomed false paradise, your knees grow weaker and your resolve wavers. You need breaks to cry, not to savor the sting of a decent bout. You cannot look these empty fascimiles in the eye, as if they had the mind to realize your unease around them.

Why? Why do you feel these things? I can't understand why. I can't understand why you feel so much sorrow when you never did before, at least to my knowledge.

I can't understand why seeing this sorrow feels as if my insides will rip themselves apart, or why I feel the need to touch you so gently. To cover you and hide you away from all of this pain.

Is this due to the dynamis? Your gift punishing my hubris that day? Something about us is now newly linked, yet it eludes me.

I hate it. I hate this. I hate this tedious and maddening cycle of emotional weakness. I hate the newfound hesitation locking my limbs in place when I go to deal an otherwise fatal blow to you. I hate this alien discomfort that has never once before sullied my mind or stayed my hand. I hate that I now actively desire the fleeting, feather-light touches we would grace each other with during our hunt, desire to see myself reflected back at me through your piercing eyes as you hold me close.

Why do these things spark something in my mind, body, and soul now, when they never did before? That curious power has caused more trouble than not, has not given me nor my mirror a single beneficial boost to our power until he himself took control of it. It does nothing but permeate, dig deep, and plant in roots that regrow tenfold as a single one is cut. This thrilling yet haunting newfound experience of joy, excitement, sorrow…

Of love.