#or is this just about Rewind's own disillusion at everything

[singingcicadas]

This scene where Rewind shoots Megatron in the time-traveling arc. I don't understand his logic.

The shooting Megatron part I can get behind. If the price for avoiding 4 million years of war and everything that came with it is wiping the current timeline out of existence, then so be it; it's a defensible argument on both sides, and Rewind picked the one he's on. But his reasoning's ridiculous? "Killing Megatron's dooming the Cybertronians but saving the universe." He thinks that having Megatron start the war is better for Cybertronians than letting the Functionist council take over. wtf why, he's lived through both universes! He's seen what the war did and what they got out of the end of it. In what way could he possibly think that 4 million years of this,

quoting his own history lesson, is more preferable to the functionalists for Cybertron? The planet's trashed, their race is nearly extinct, Starscream's in charge and everyone's still miserable.

From what we got in the functionalist timeline flashbacks yeah the functionalists were awful. They were genociding people based on alts and forcibly recycling people into new bodies. But Megatron also did pretty much the same thing? Except instead of genociding based on alts he just went and killed half the population. The functionalists had cameras installed in people's optics for spying but Megatron had Soundwave do omnipresent surveillence with his mindreading. The functionalists were legitimizing everything they do as the Will of God and anyone who disputed that should die, but Megatron did one better and skipped straight to the Will of Megatron. he didn't even need the god part. There's no freedom, no choice, no equality in Functionalist Cybertron. well guess what there's none of that under Megatron either. The functionalists killed lots of people. Well Megatron killed more! In terms of absolute control, the Functionalists' version of Cybertron was nearly the same as Megatron's vision of the ideal future, the only difference being that he was stopped before he was able to get to that point.

When it comes down to the lesser of two evils shouldn't it be obvious that the Functionalists are better for Cybertron's future, at least comparatively? The planet and infrastructure are all intact. The population's still full. Yes the people are living in constant fear and misery but at least they'll still have a life, which is more than what most can say once the war starts. No matter how many people died under the Functionalists it's never going to compare to the amount of people who died in the war.

And Rewind's well aware of all this; he's well aware that Megatron's a mass murderer but somehow only cares when he's murdering other species? I can't remember anything before this issue that indicates he cares that much about other species. What do you mean Rodimus you can't argue with that, weren't you the one who made your opposition against staying on earth to protect humans so vociferously clear to the point that it caused your faction to fall to pieces? The value implications behind the whole thing is so strange. Unless Rewind is an admant believer of the "better to die standing up than live kneeling down" mindset and wants it forcibly imposed on everyone on the grounds of "anyone who doesn't want that doesn't deserve to live", then I really don't see how he would think that Megatron, and by extension the war, would be a better outcome for Cybertron than the functionalists.

[reneeswing]

The Joy, The Ridicule and The Hope

Let's rewind: what are the top three advices that have been given to us about COVID-19 prevention: wash your hand, observe social distance and take care of each other. Does that ring the bell that we have learnt all three things since we are in elementary school, if we are ever lucky enough to go to one.

So, I am going to make a bold statement here: most of the life-long lessons that we need for going through life, we’ve learnt them way before advanced educations, regardless of differences in culture, race and geographic locations. Yet, the sad truth is we only seem to spend the remainder of our time forgetting all we have learnt and all we need to remember to overcome this conundrum. If I dig a bit deeper, my basic education have equiped me with way more useful knowledge than what business school and law school have ever tought me. To name a few, geography helps me to navigate through the continents without being laughed at, history and literature offer me perspectives to see and comprehend everything ever happened in this time and this world. Law school and business school, on the other hand, slowly coop up people into a disillusion of elite class, distancing them from what’s actually going on in this insanely biased reality. Don’t get me wrong, I still believe every opportunity of education matters, it emancipates and liberates generations; and if anything, I have been blessed with all sort of way of thinking, coming from each stage of my school years. It is the monotonous perception on education that sometimes misinterprets or overly simplifies its true essence.

Do anyone begin to appreciate the down time of this quanrantine yet? I am not saying this to trivialize the dismal impact of the pandemic; because both our economic and social lives have taken a major toll from this crisis. For those who are alone in this quarantine, they are craving for human contact, the touch, the hug, all the more basic need of being a human; whereas for those who have a full house with multiple children at home, the working day never ends as it is combined with home schooling. This makes people finally realize that their job is their ultimate refuge. One of my friends started to refer to her kids as fantastic beasts, since the third week of the lockdown. This is, in my opinion, one of the best metaphors of the year. Now, this is what I hope: when all this is over, we will eventually appreciate more of our teachers and other educational workers. for us, it is only with our own kids, whereas at school, kids are ganged up on them. They are entitled to fairer reward and respect from all walks of the society.

Like others, my emotion has gone through various stages: at first, I was fairly content with what I’ve got here, a cozy home, abundant toilet rolls and sufficient supply of alcoholic grape juice. Then some kind of obsession started to develop, the bad kind is to slowly transform healthy self-reflection into self-condemnation for something I have done wrong 2,3,5 years ago. And the more time I spent on my devices, the higher level of anxiety incubated. Then, later on, I decided to have a rather lengthy conversation with myself, the righteous thing that I have ever done: committing to my own feelings, compelling myself away from judgement. I learnt to acknowledge them, more importantly, I searched for language and specific words to label them in all the more precise way. Through that exercise, I realized although they appear similarly, the emotion of anxiety is very different from that of sadness; and the exhileration that I was feeling is also different from excitement. When I found out I was able to distinguish those various emotions in me, I felt stress level has already half way gone, I could call the truce with myself. So, something good does come out from this period. When we are not able to go out, we should allow ourselves to go within.  

There are a lot more silver linings. To my recollection over the past 8 years, I don’t rememer any of the Dutch springs is as beautiful as this one. We’ve had sunny and warm weather throughout the month of April. Everyday, I went onto my balcony, let the light beam through my forehead and inhale the most precious fresh air. It is painful to face it that our continents are receding to isolated islands as all the traffics are shut down, but it is also delightful to find that nature thrives when human society hits the PAUSE button. The blue sky is returned to the birds and their flapping wings; waterways turn purer as no more crazy human running around and emitting pollution into them.  Even panda’s resume consummation. For the last 2,3 years, anthropogenic activities have caused large scale bushfires across north and south hemispheres; it happened even in Syberia above the North Pole. Human society is inflicting pains onto the lung of our Mother Earth. Isn’t it an irony that our respiratory system is succumbed to this coronavirus? I couldn’t help but wonder if this pandemic is the nature’s vengeance onto the arrogance of human race? So, here comes my second wish. One day as we come out of this pandemic, our peaceful moments with the nature will stick around a bit longer. Even though I know that humanity is terrible at reckoning with it own sin, I still wish this time, after all we have endured, we will finally learn to return the favour for our Mother Nature’s altruistic love. That we will be more reflective on our own behaviours, the impact that each of us have made onto anything outside of ourselves. You may say I am a dreamer, but I am definitely not and should not be the only one.

......

The world is suffering from its own bipolar disorder. To steer my way clear from the menaces, I rid myself of watching news during the weekends. But one still doesn't make the cut. As for a while, it is the only thing that people couldn't stop talking about: Donald Trump contemplates injecting/ingesting coronavirus patients with disinfectants, until the moment he made the next obnoxious statement. What's even more troubling is there was actually a slight increasing number of ER cases caused by internal administration of chemical solvent. Both New York Times and RB, the producer of Lysol and Dettol, had to make official announcement to talk people out of their desperate craze. One day I woke up and spit out this question: how is it even possibly happening? If B school has ever taught me anything, it is that leadership matters; and I dedicated most of my career contemplating how to be a good (future) leader. But nowadays, we are riding a perfect storm, while sinking down into a chasm called: the scum rises to the top. We are living in a reality that outruns the most ridiculous screenwriting of political drama. Not only have we got Trump assumed the most powerful position in this world, we don't seem capable of appropriating any countermeasures to dampen the damages. Although his strategy is nothing much different from that of a shameless politician: barking up the wrong trees to divert the public's attention further away from criticism against him, the impact however is way too profound to be left alone. He is dividing not only a country, also driving a wedge between friendly countries, when the only hope the world is left with is the hope of solidarity. 

The world is in urgent need of an assertive voice with a kind heart and a pair of potent hands. It cannot be done by one person, rather, has to be a collective conscience of all the human societies. The younger generation does not believe in institutions, they embrace anarchistic believes and have little problem of taking things to its extremity; but in the meantime, they are reasonable, way more objective and fairer than they are being judged or even portrayed. They believe in gender equality, inform themselves of cultural intricacy and they gather to rally for animal rights and climate change. For both reasons, their world needs leaders with integrity and convincing voices. In all appropriate times, we need to learn to be a leader for ourselves and for others. It is up to us how we are going to make our next decision, in giving an opinion, in executing right to vote, in influencing people around us and in doing smallest good deeds to hold onto each other. Here's an example. It is no strange thing to know that our doctors and nurses are working under tremendous physical and mental pressures. We've heard multiple cases in Italy and the US that medical staff committed suicide after virus contraction or nervous breakdown. In almost every country, people are finding ways to demonstrate their gratitude to their guardian angels; however news from India reads that doctors and nurses become target of discrimination, demonising them as virus itself. Similar discriminatory stories surface from time to time around the world against people from other countries or communities because of the pandemic. This shows how far off people could be dangerously biased and misled; the absence of a just and empathetic figure in the leadership attributes to and to a great extent severs the alienation. But we all could and should choose to lead. We can never let our guard down, ignoring any appalling ignorance, even with the slightest carelessness. We need to speak up, protect people who are protecting us and the world's most vulnerable's. We need to do it constantly, consistently and often enough. Bear in mind, our decision and undertaking of today will define our tomorrow in common. 

......

Alright, enough about the grim prospect and grievance. As far as being a hopeless optimist, I will complement my third wish with a faith in humanity after it all. Yesterday, I watched the season finale of Westworld. As Dolores sank down into her memory, she restated: "Some people choose to see the ugliness in this world. The disarray. I choose to see the beauty". I agree with every bit of those words. I believe the key to the sublime lies in ourselves and our conscience. In the end, true bravery is to love the world and humanity, despite the ugliness that we have seen or experienced. 

Before I let you go, I am inviting you to join me in paying tributes to all the essential workers who are risking their lives every day to keep ours running without panics. Next to our lovely doctors and nurses, here's to the infrastructure workers, the train conductors and bus drivers,  the supermarkets' staff, the logistics companies, the mailman, (especially my mailman, who brings me my 1,000 packages to fill the huge void in my soul), the journalists and newsmen, who are running all across the countries, strive to bring us brutal facts, inconvenient truths, disarray and hopes. Collectively you've prevented the world from crumpling, after the mess we made. I thank you for that! 

Please take care and stay healthy!

Love, R

[aesirfalling]

I'm back (before I succumb to caffeine crash) and would like you to answer 25 too for the writing asks tyty

I’m going to kill something I had like 2/3 of this written out and then I misclicked my mouse and lost all my progress

But anyway I was really hoping someone would send in this question since it’s one of my favorites from the question set and it’s about time I tried to compile my favorite lines (lines+, really) from myself

I’m just going to list a bunch of them out and bold the ones that I think ARE actually my favorites

I swear I wasn’t this cranky before I had to rewrite this post all over

My Poetry:

Ourtranscendence, duly witnessed by starlight – wordless reassurances of what fewwould even imagine, let alone speak as we do, breath by seeking breath.

And a farewell wounds more than a thousand deaths, to give up love for this life. Yet to wake is a pledge to live and let die.

(Hiraeth)

In the sea of bones I pick up your pieces And hear your tears breathe through me. With the remnant of your ribcage I will make music.

(Ariadne and the Minotaur)

No one else could strap me onto The diving bell of the world Sink me Love winged into the deep.

(The Diving Bell and the Butterfly)

My Prose:

I dream of my own grave in the middle of nowhere, / Sastrugi and unmarked stone, / My tall frame suffocating under the cave / trying to find you. If I had been buried / with a gear and a rose / Perhaps somewhere in the sky, you’d notice my name.

If the world would call me the electric pulses / that keep the world bright at night, / I want you to be the chorus that reminds me / of what soul is, / the daze as we see the sun / for the first time.

(Summerfall and Dreamheart For @pulsefiire-archived)

Gives away. Gives up. Gives in. Hates giving, stops it, then slaps oneself on the face. Something melts, falls away into a puddle. The music continues. Closes eyes and imagines the lab again. Green lights? Tessellated tiles? Counting the steps before clicking the buttons. Struggling to stay awake. Struggling not to die. Something flickers, and leaves. Falling in love with phantoms. There was supposed to be a family once. / Blinking sepia eyes.

(Sepia for @overcompensates)

But I want to play the sewn doll, play at truth and empathy, play at wonder and loss in one package. I want to play in a world with you.

(Ciel to Aria)

His visage blurred. My hands weren’t shaking, and I wasn’t crying, but I suddenly felt the room grow cold. I craved his kisses more than ever before. One more. Just one more. His pained blind eyes at saying no. Broken hands. Him collapsing onto his knees in front of me, what remained of his hands shaking violently as they cupped my bruised cheeks. His face. His face. The cracks. The tears. I love you, I love you, I love you.

I have to walk across thousands of flowers and thorns to find him, and as he breathes and dies – sinks into the center of the maze, sinks into disappearance – none of us are allowed to stop and grieve.

(Aria on Ciel)

Well, don’t leave until you finish, I say, and press my lips against hers. She doesn’t need the kiss. She needs the oxygen.

(Urania on Aria)

And you cracked, because all roads to the sun were paved with the sacrifice of Icarus.

(Episteme)

Hope Estheim waits.

And waits.

And waits.

(It never gets any easier.)

(The child with the carbuncle doll, waiting for the commute bus together with him in the rain: “onii-san, what are you waiting for?”)

(Faith)

You covered your dream-ears with dream-hands, pleaded with your dream-voice for someone to unplug your time capsule and save you from your screams. They didn’t stop. They are in your head, even now. Augusta Tower is crawling with their ghosts.

Carve your name into his bones.

The tears fall freely at last, a curtain of rain. They don’t drown or weigh you down: you sublimate. He reaches for you with pale ungloved fingers and feels only the emptiness of air. The spring in his eyes falters, the past four hundred years rewinding past them all in an instant, affection, fear and regret all intermingling to draw out a wish for you to stay. You can’t fulfill or obey.

(And the Sky Tonight is Luminous)

The world falls out of orbit with her, and it’s not going to come back. / The black poppy is the black heart of war.

(Black Poppy)

Pain came in waves, periods when color and touch were stripped away and you were left in the utter mercy of a malfunctioning machine, the one thing that you couldn’t either replace or fix. It hurt. It hurt and it wouldn’t end. It hurt and nothing existed beyond the hurt, hurt demanding conservation of hurt in itself, the supreme God of all things that were hurting.

Looking back hurt too much.

You were trying your damn hardest to pave the longest fucking way to hell.

(Euterpe)

How often do wounded scientists find each other? Dreamers who wanted more than all else to feel wanted - to feel like they’ve had a hand in creating a brighter future - only to become disillusioned by what this world really is? His wit is the sharpest I’ve ever seen - persistent - shrewd - and there’s a charm in the way he speaks, a fallen brilliance that flares like a pulsar. In all of it his humanity speaks, denser than anything, craving, faltering. He wants to be loved. And I’d be damned if I don’t love him.

Words fail me, so: I kiss you.

You don’t believe in poetry, but I can lean close onto your Cupid’s bow, love you when you can’t, show you the affection that bleeds over boundaries and ideals and everything I’ve said I stand for. I was never like Caitlyn, the kind of hero who could leave a crying child in the darkness to save a building from collapsing onto itself. I needed that child; I needed him to smile up at me, pinch my cheeks, pull my hair. I needed him to tell me that today humanity didn’t fail him, that someone thought he was worth saving, even if he might just turn out to be a lifetime criminal.

And don’t you look like a child now, flustered and backing up against the wall, not sure what to do with your third arm, your hands fumbling for a block?

“Just trust me on this,” I say almost lazily, easily pull your hands aside, and then - eat my share of the forbidden fruit, that primal sin of love that once gave birth to life itself.

(Bride of Ice, for @communistofzaun)

In his dreams he walks up to Jinx again, finally answering her question. He strips away the cozy jacket, throws out the gears, and shows her his chest. Why do I hide it? It’s just a field full of empty.

“Zap that.” Maybe it could work as a defibrillator.

She frowns. “It wouldn’t do enough damage.”

He laughs. “Only if we don’t try.”

(Night Visions.Finale)

Come, Bhunivelze, he says finally, opening his arms above the heart of a Bhunivelze that is and will always be his, raising his head defiantly under a ceiling of stars drowned out by despair and chaos. The God stirs in his cosmic presence, scintillating-intense-wanting. The invisible l’Cie mark etched above his pulse once again feeds on human blood, yearns now for his whole soul.

The God will consume him. He has no illusions of mercy and grandeur. His soul will be thrown carelessly into the chaos; if he is lucky, light will shatter his heart into a million pieces. Pain will be as breathing, loss as heartbeat. To step into the radiance of divinity; never forget that you will burn.

The last few exhales are filled with longing, the stain of love and sin. He produces something from his hands and wraps all his sins tightly around his neck. Memories flicker by in a flash, laughter and embrace and human belief. There are things that he must remember. There are things in this universe worth dying for.

This is not the end of the war. It’s the beginning of the next one.

God’s satisfaction looms. The first touch illuminates and warms his skin; the second one incinerates his final words in a searing supernova down to the nerve endings of his fingertips. The phoenix always chooses to die; it is only through its faith that it gains the right to rise. His obstinacy spits out the words, demands the price. Let us form a covenant.

God��s will reverberate back in his own tone within his own skull, hurling him, as a comet, straight into the next two centuries of perpetual night. The worlds are mine.

(From What We Cannot Hold)

[dahmer]

strain germ

missed my thirtieth on here. what a tragedy writing, among all the arts, have become in the digi-age. with constant exposure to information, made up of people, behaviors, culture, and people’s behavior in cultures, the epiphanies and realizations that were once the great heights my favorite mid-century authors and artists (and those before them) would attempt to reach, i--and everyone else it seems sometimes--reach casually. on an almost daily basis. with a yawn. an universal sigh [ah we get you tkol, we always have]. i’m drawn to critical theory to bridge the gaps in public thought between empire states of mind that have already been long constructed, brick-by-brick made up of a postmodern scoff and distrust funds. i feel an inherit, almost maternal (not man-ternal--what a awful word+idea) to contextualize what once was, and what is, knowing the weight of understanding such a shift will take many a lifetime to understanding. there’s these one percents of many kinds. of minds, of energies, of theories, of lives. money is the least of the interesting, and the most vulnerable of the few.

this instinctual grasp at rebooting and regenerating everything from 90s culture--the final days before the digital age--is clear as glass in an attempt to resist, remind, or revolt the inevitable rehumanization in an electrate sea of startups and signals. how foolish was i to ever believe we were born in an advanced state of our species. the majority grip onto binary terminology--on to fallacious A/B-ing of everything--perpetuates this time capsule (generation) i’m trapped into from a ideological hyper-development stratosphere---illusions to blind us--to a reality of snugs and snailing along to just now inching towards the realization, upon instant connection allowed only be the digital age’s greatest child (the one that will kill their parents at 17) [fka internet], that a third option could be a reality. a third, fourth, spectrum-of-fluidity-based-fifth can, and always has been, apart of this absolute truth constructed in an age marked as ‘industry’--as if such a thing could ever put on a good revolution.

now we revolt in our digital revolution, where have relive the days of rewinding--in fashion, in music, in art. for those where the final days of literacy. and literacy dominated how art, fashion, music, film, and culture itself developed. structure itself was only ever made possibly by the limitations of language, and the printing-press literrati invited all the best art we’ve ever known, through the voices of criticism--for art and art critic will forever been essentially dependent on each other for survival, there is no time (it seems sometimes) to wipe and erase these preconceived notions that these practices--the practices of literacy, that have curated the most relevant centuries of man--have nearly become obsolete in electracy. in the shift from literate to electrate practices. when phones enabled the common man to become photographers, film directors, actors, artists, musicians, or even new forms of celebrated people acknowledged within (and solely by) the hands of electracy, yet the distinction and expectation still exists. i can’t think of something more deceiving than the online article. the illusion of journalism, replicating the physical, literate text--that would validate and cement any art (of audio, of colour, of visual, of movement)--only as a deception. in participatory culture, meaning the age of the internet, the moment of upload is the birth of the art, the artist, the critic, the crowd, and--the most troubling--the comment. for the comment is electracy’s greatest achievement, as of now. in our primitive years. genre’s death was anticipated by french post-structuralist, just as the limitations of language. but who knew the internet (something bubbling up in other buildings and burrows of the earth, as foucault and derrida wrote their never-to-be-known-as manifestos [in their life times]). the new languages, that of programming--that began as simple and gaudy and boring as mankind--as binaries. zeros and ones. look how fast the language of code--the digital language, that now dominates the current age, defined by electracy, just as literacy witness its final days in the sun in the great 1990s (an era that seems perpetually celebrated, re-birthed, rebooted, recreated, and returned too--as our collective subconscious efforts know this was the last time period were the tangible could be synonymous with ‘the real’--where reality was a physical manifestation. 

look how fast the language of code, programming or otherwise, has departed from binaries. seeing their laughable simplicity in embarrassment and disgust. with the mouth-breeders debate over politician A or politician B. questioning: ‘am i a 0sexual, or 1sexual?’ debating the greatest theorists of all time only to boil them down into column 1 or column 2. pitting them against one another is civilization’s justification for appealing to the lowest common denominator. while the brilliant walk the street, in tattered clothes and houseless-homes, spewing out sonnets and symphonies in the bustling streets lit up by screens of all shapes and colors, swirling right past the few that could save humanity, but couldn’t afford it.

the burden of critical theory is not about theory at all. it is simply a starting point to enable a series of exercises and actions into practice. into shifting cognitions as fast and as fated as the digital shift sends us into a pit of hell, brought up with cheers and celebrations in the streets--all in the name of convenience. hurr-ay! hurr-ay! they’ll say, freeing themselves from thinking. artificial intelligence has lined the shelves of the bookstores in the streets of all the cities in the modern world for decades before i was even born into this, born as a pioneer in the digital revolution, where humanity will sink into a nice, comfortable de-evolution. hurr-ray! the words of science fiction tales warned again and again of a reality that’s far come to be. and we read it with our postmodern grins, hesitation within, smug from an endless array of choices, but ironically never being able to decide what to do. the only leaders and kings i know are the ones that can offer a decision for the self-induced helpless groups of the many. where to eat. what to do today. where to go. who to talk to. inability is not bleak, but you sure have to strip the science fictionists stationary to read ‘satires’ so we can all have a good laugh. there’s no purpose or point in fearing the birth of robots that have learned their own languages, secretly, independent from humans. these droids at facebook co. may have been caught, but others will come. and the lack of reaction (which, if anything, is the definitive disappointment of the digital age) that has already came to be, will continue. with a pretty political spin and a nice PR package, we’ll toast to the powers that boast of their techno-logic abilities--far beyond the hands that create them. hands still cuffed to late capitalism, and absolute truths based in binaries. 

i meet zeros and ones everyday. it’s rare to meet a two. and unfair a three. if there’s only the powers that be. if only these powers you can see. the barriers have been broken. all men reset, all intelligent creatures able to amplify their voice to millions. no matter color of skin, thoughts within, family akin, amount of sin--the internet age invites participation for all. but if that’s not the most primitive accomplishment i’ve ever heard, i don’t know what could be more disappointing. like the industrial, the digital revolution will be made up of nothing but disillusion. to revolt is to conform. to agree to machine. for machine. by machine. with machine. forever. this is a beautiful world beyond here. beyond the physical space that we’ve raped and stripped of it’s natural beauty. beyond the languages of code and physics. but i’m afraid, unless i devise an exercise into practice, to break the literarte repetitions, so like gender performances, to evade the post-structural attempts at electrate life, this world will only be seen, in the dreams of the droids that deplete the last drop of diligence, during the final dash towards dystopia--a division of the digital divine.

[decepti-geek]

Cyclonus! (Or if someone has asked you Cyclonus... how about Rodimus?)

… Okay, you know that ‘explaining Discworld’ post that’s like *cracks knuckles* *talks for nine hours*?

To nobody’s surprise, I’ve kinda just done that with Cyclonus. (I was gonna answer for both because honestly Rodimus was a really interesting choice, but… well).

Why I like them: *cracks knuckles again*I honestly never expected to relate to the angry, dour, and extremely badass ancient warrior on the Lost Light - but I think part of the reason I’ve connected with him so much is because his arc involves going from an unwanted and very awkward outsider, to someone who’s still a bit on the edges, but is accepted and appreciated. And at the time when I first realised ‘oh hey this guy is my fave’, I was an unwanted and awkward outsider at school, and just in general socially. So I think it kinda crept up on me a bit, because I was subconsciously relating to him for a while, which actually weirdly makes it a bit harder to pinpoint exactly why I like him.

But I just adore everything about his arc in MTMTE/LL. His development as a person, his love story, and the tidbits of his character and backstory we get are really compelling - but also kinda unique, not for what they are, but for who they’re attached to. Because Cyclonus is kind of an odd character (I joke about having a Type, but he does sit a bit distinct from the others similar to him in my mind). He’s got the whole brooding, (seemingly) unrepentant warrior thing going on, but he’s also extremely religious, and he’s disillusioned with the idea of hoping to save anything in this world where his beloved home planet has been razed - whilst still being unable to genuinely stop caring about anything that touches him. He comes across at first as cold and harsh and unfeeling, until we learn that he actually feels very deeply about things and is just godawful at expressing that.

Basically, he is such a delightful mishmash of characteristics, and I think part of the joy of that is that sometimes he really surprises us by doing things we never would’ve thought him capable of.

(There’s also the fact that he’s smoking hot, but that’s - almost - secondary. ;))

Why I don’t: Yeeeeeaaaaaaah I got nothing. Like even stuff recently where he’s Fucked Up, I can’t dislike him for it.

Favorite episode (scene if movie): UHHHH I mean probably I’d be expected to say #47, but that wasn’t really Cyclonus’ story so much. So I think it’s gotta be #53, and the scene with Whirl on the wall, because not only was there a delighted element of 'holy shit is this really happening’ in terms of the content itself, I was also so, so happy to see Cyclonus opening up so much. (Especially on the heels of Chromedome, still clinging to his insecurities about Rewind and Dominus whilst literally ten seconds from death). And not just the 'rip this world in two and tear down the sky’ speech, either - there was just something really endearing in seeing him immediately faking an intense interest in repairing the gun the minute Whirl started asking about his love life. 

Even if the whole thing also came with a side of heartbreak about him feeling unworthy.

Favorite season/movie: Season 2, because that’s where we start to really see him put into practice what Tailgate metaphorically dragged him kicking and screaming into learning in Season 1.

Favorite line: ARGH. I think honestly, it’s gotta be “important things are felt, not said.” It’s such a perfect summation of how he thinks, and weirdly, even though I’m a writer, I actually found it very relatable - when it comes to my own connections with people, I do tend to take this view. But special mention also goes to the “we need to know where you keep the keys to the bar” punchline, if only because holy FUCK Cyclonus just told a JOKE.

Favorite outfit: … Is it cheating if I say sparkly!Cyclonus that I wrote in my fic? (Not that the original needs any improvement because goddamn).

OTP: genuinely not sure how to answer this one because it’s so fucking obvious.

Brotp: WHIRL. God, the way they’ve gone from literally threatening to kill each other to amicae-in-denial brings me so much joy.

Headcanon: Based on VERY anecdotal evidence, I kinda like the idea of him being a bit of a scholar, at least wrt to scriptures and the like. Because the irl meaning of 'Clavis Aurea’ is about analysing texts for hidden meanings - and there was that comment he made about finding tuition fees offensive (and the subsequent extrapolation I made that he might be saying they’re literally against his religion) that kinda indicates he has strong feelings on the subject. 

Tbh this is something I’m gonna get into with my fic - we know next to nothing about the Clavis Aurea, so I’m just taking these tiny scraps and making a connection to Solomus and Epistemus in particular, and running off with the lot of it.

Unpopular opinion: I mean I see a lot of people talking about how excited they are to see where the latest developments take him and all, and I’m like yes this is good for his character but I don’t CARE I want him to get his marshmallow back.

A wish: *gestures emphatically to blog title*

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I’m kinda scared that he’s going to regress badly now, and I just don’t want that to happen because like… he’s been there already, I want to see him kinda travel… sideways? with Whirl beside him, rather than backwards. But then tbh I trust jro not to just have him revert, really.

5 words to best describe them: Grumpy, awkward, badass, devoted, stoic.

My nickname for them: Oh dear where to start. Any and all variations on stupid/awkward/grumpy/emotionally constipated eggplant or aubergine, flying purple people eater, I saw someone describe him as a 'big angry grape’ once and I like that, and Clara sometimes just refers to him as 'Ana’s boyfriend’ so.

[walkthesame]

Trouble or Truimph (#wtsdevo truth)

“Now there was no water for the community, & the people gathered in opposition to Moses and Aaron. They quarreled with Moses & said, ‘If only we had died when our brothers fell dead before the Lord! Why did you bring the Lord’s community into this wilderness, that we & our livestock should die here? Why did you bring us up out of Egypt to this terrible place? It has no grain or figs, grapevines or pomegranates. And there is no water to drink!’” -  Numbers 20:2-5

Distractions come to distort truth from every side. Satan wants us limited, forgetful; resentful that things aren’t happening in our own time or way and hyper-aware of what we believe is our lack. More than anything, though, the enemy wants us with heels dug in and hearts bent on proving our indignation justified.

In Numbers 20, the Israelites are deeply entrenched in this attitude of entitlement and complaint and, little as I like to admit it, their words are a reflection of my own heart at times. But to truly understand the scope of what the Israelites are saying here, we need to rewind to Numbers 16.

Picture this with me: a man named Korah, one of the Levites, who has decided that the portion God gave him and his people is not enough. He confronts Aaron and Moses, accusing them of pride and demanding more for himself. But it’s not just him; Korah has succeeded in riling up countless others, who now add the clamor of their cries to his selfish protest.

Despite their distress at this division, Moses and Aaron leave this in God’s hands. They are directed to take the leaders’ staffs, including Aaron’s and Korah’s, and whichever staff God causes to bud will make plain who He has chosen to serve as priest.

But, of course, Aaron was already handpicked by God. His staff is the one blooming the next morning. Korah is left with a bare staff and the unsatisfied desire for more. Verse 33 shows us the terrible result: “They went down alive into the realm of the dead, with everything they owned; the earth closed over them, & they perished….”

An eternity of craving, surrounded by the material possessions they coveted, a continual reminder that their need for more would always be present, but never satisfied.

And this is the reality the Israelites said would have been better than walking with God’s Presence alongside them through the wilderness. This is the fate they angrily insisted they would have preferred.

I want to make sure we understand the weight of what they’re saying. The Israelites were angry because they didn’t have water in the wilderness. They were impatient and their impatience became anger and Satan used that anger to create a sense of entitlement that completely blinded them to this truth: although they didn’t have the water yet, God was sure to provide it, just as He had faithfully provided food, water & shelter all this time.

But they were so disillusioned by their complaint that they desired to die like those under God’s wrath. The desire for more consumed them so much they argued that an eternity of separation from God would be better than having His very Presence with them in the wilderness.

When I think about the enormity of what the Israelites are saying, I realize how drastically truth is being distorted here and my heart breaks for them. But then I wonder how far my own heart has travelled down this same road. How often have I forsaken God’s Presence and provision in favor of something that seems more immediate and secure?

Asking these hard questions, though, reveals something new. The Israelites made their choice, but God planted their story in Scripture with a purpose in mind: to break through the cloud of deceit that the enemy is creating around us and replace it with the unshakeable truth that God has given us the opportunity to choose differently.

To cling to truth instead of living in deception’s heavy shadow.

To remember that God’s Presence is enough, regardless of circumstance.

To trust that, even when we don’t receive something in the time or manner we think we should, God always has the very best plan in mind.

To choose to turn our focus away from our troubles and receive the triumph we have in Jesus.

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Devotional Series: Truth (#wtsdevo truth)

By: Alexandria // Personal // Walk the Same