#Moving in Reverse

[casualavocados]

Rand al’Thor. In the glass columns you will walk the footsteps of your blood ancestors. Each step forward, a step backward through time. Sometimes dozens of years, sometimes hundreds. To lead is to know where you came from, to understand the blood in your veins.

THE WHEEL OF TIME 3.04 | The Road to the Spear

[teratomatica]

you always land on all fours

[sightseertrespasser]

Digging Up Secrets

Reverse Mecha AU spawned by @keferon

Nothing like being trapped underground with just your crush and concussion for company.

———————————————————————

Time stopped.

Or.

Prowl stopped.

Everything was loud moving crashing dangerous move move move.

The radius of destruction. Inside-outside.

He pushed Jazz Outside. Radius.

Fell. He fell. The floor, hollow topped cylinders of raw materials, Inside Radius.

Prowl was Inside the.. Radius of. The radi..

He can’t See. He can see. But he cannot See. He can’t see behind himself anymore. He can’t see outside himself anymore.

Immobilized. Blinded. Living.

Failing. His body was failing. Crushed beneath tons and tons and tons and-

A sound, different from ringing ears or groaning metal. Choppy. Static.

… voice?

“Prowl?”

A voice. He knows that one. It’s new but he knows it. He does, it’s.. His name is..

All Prowl can hear is static.

“Prowler? C’mon babe talk to me.”

Jazz.

“Ja- agh.” Prowls voice was sticky and his mouth tasted like blood. He swallowed dry air and tried again.

“Ja-azz?”

His voice cracked halfway through. Dully, Prowl hoped Jazz wouldn’t be upset.

“Prowl! Oh man I am so glad to hear your voice!” The reception was poor, or maybe Prowls hearing had finally gone with his eyesight. Either way, the pilot pressed his bleeding ear to the warm and rumbly speaker.

“You made it?” Prowl strung the words together like taffy.

“Yeah, I made it. Thanks for the assist by the way. Can I get a location?”

Task. Prowl had a task to do. Leaning backwards into his own mind, Prowl was met with collapsed corridors and broken edges. He navigated, carefully until he found the correct data packet that thankfully survived the crash.

He forwarded it to Jazz.

Just as he was about to slip under again, Jazz crackled through the comms once more, “Uh Prowler? This is for the pickup location.”

“Yes?”

“I need your location.”

“Um.” Prowl tried to think. “Down?”

Why did he need his location? His mecha was an unfathomable wreck, he couldn’t access the programs to run the numbers, but this kind of damage outpaced the repair costs.

His body was a dead weight.

“You okay man? You’re not talking like yourself.”

Prowl tried to run a diagnostic on his comms, why wouldn’t he sound like himself?

Talking.

Jazz said Talking like himself. His brain caught on there was an implication in that wording and Prowl trudged after it like a dollar in the wind.

“What do I talk like?” He needed more information.

A jump in static that Prowls brain interprets as laughter precedes Jazz’s response.

“You talk very precisely. Like. . you talk like if you don’t get everything out exactly right and in the clearest way possible then people won’t listen to you. Or they won’t understand you.”

“They don’t.”

“You also don’t usually use contractions this much.”

“They do not.” Prowl fixed. There. He was fine.

He could smell his own breath. It smelled bitter, like cleaning chemicals and hospitals.

“Can you keep talking? I think I can get a read on where you are by the strength of the signal.”

That was incredibly sensible.

“You’re so smart. Why are you so.. You- you’re the smarter-est. Smart-trest.”

There was a long pause where Jazz processed and Prowl did the human equivalent of a computer dial up tone inside his skull.

“Ooookay, hey Prowler? What do I do if I find a human with brain damage?”

The tactician pondered this riddle.

Mentally, Prowl pulled up a file of information and read it aloud, “Don’t.. let them do stupid shit..”

“Gotcha.”

The letters in his brain didn’t make sense, he tried to remember instead.

“You need to, you keep them awake because, because it’s bad if they go to sleep.”

“What happens if they go to sleep?”

“They don’ wake up anymore.”

“Hey Prowler?”

“Yeag?”

“Yeah, hey I need you to keep talking to me okay? Can you do that?”

“For the signal search?”

“Yeah, for the signal boo.”

Okay. He had a task again. Talk.

Talking is just making words with sounds and doing them in an order that you want them to do and it will make them sound like they’re not going through with what you don’t want them to do, which is the thing that is not the good thing.

Yes.

Good.

What?

“Oh ho WOW you are super out of it.”

His head lolled back towards the speaker, “What?”

Jazz’s voice was coming through much clearer than before, “I was asking about your favorite foods, then you said you didn’t remember and I was all like “Is memory loss a sign of brain damage in humans?” And then you said you didn’t remember because it’s been so long since you’ve enjoyed eating and I was like “Okay that’s actually somehow worse.” And then you asked me “what’s worse” and this is now the third time I’ve had to repeat this conversation.”

Prowl considered this information, sifting through his memories.

“It’s doughnuts.” He mumbled.

“What’s doughnuts?” Jazz grunted between his words like he’d been exerting himself.

“M’favorite food. It’s um, a circle? With a hole, in the middle. .” He tapped a finger subconsciously. “A torus.”

“Can humans taste shapes? What does a torus taste like?” A little bit of wonder was in Jazz’s voice.

“Nooo no no.” Despite himself, somehow Prowl was giggling. “They don’t taste like much. Lot’s of toppings and sweet stuff, but we used to get plain and I’d dip mine in coffee.”

“So a coffee doughnut then?”

He sounded absolutely whiny but didn’t care, “Nooo coffee doughnuts are different. Plain Doughnut dipped in, um, in plain coffee is.. what’sit.”

Prowl tried to put it into words. Sunlight through a window. Sitting on a desk and a peeling office chair. Splitting the torus because there weren’t enough left for two this time. Bitter and sweet, because Prowl got a coffee and hot chocolate for their usual order. Talking, eating, listening.

“Not plain.”

“Duly noted.” There was a hint of mischief in Jazz’s voice that had Prowl zeroing in on it.

“You- you’re- I KNOW what you’re doing you- you-“ Prowl pulled on all his linguistic prowess. “Fucker. You’re prying- plying? Probing me for all my secrets!”

Prowl thumped his gloved hand against a random dead screen inside his mecha.

“Ooo you got me there. Alien invader, come to probe ya. So what do you find attractive in a mech? Er, man.”

“Visors r hot.”

Either the speakers were shorting out or Jazz was. The static resolved back into coherent speech, “Oh I was so not expecting you to actually answer that. Your filter is a little broken right now huh?”

Refusing to answer, Prowl grumbled disgruntedly.

“Wait, are you into Tarantulas? Is that why you let him do that shit to you?”

“Wha-? No I’m not- what? Jazz, Tarantulas is just a coworker. He’s necessary. He’s not- I need him I don’t want him Jazz.”

“Prowl I think he’s killing you. What does he do that’s so “necessary?”

Prowl tried to find the words and began a tumbling run of it.

“He listens to me. And it does, feel good sometimes. The attention. And the compliments. But I don’t need that, I don’t need to be liked by anyone. I need to be better and he listens to me and then makes me better. You don’t- you wouldn’t understand. I have to be faster. I needed to be faster and I wasn’t and Tarantulas is the only one who will help me.”

“Respectfully, but someone who lets you destroy yourself isn’t helping as much as you think they are.” The bitterness in his tone made Prowl go quiet.

“Prowl, I’ve seen you do some absolutely crazy shit to save an absurd number of people. You literally just saved my life and now you’re talking like that isn’t enough?”

“You don’t know. Tarantulas knows.”

“Then what the fuck does Tarantulas know about you that I don’t?” Jazz shouted through the speaker.

“If I was faster it would’ve been me!” Screaming into the confines of his mechas cabin, Prowl choked on the stale air.

His head spun. There was an intense pressure against his chest and something wet dripped tracks down his nose, pooling onto his visor.

“He got to the gate first. He- we had to close it from both sides. I wasn’t fast enough and he crossed over first and- and I killed my-“ His voice cracked in two.

Prowl dry heaved. He screamed. Had he ever stopped? He was blind and broken and half the man he needed to be. Stretching out what little remained of his soul until it could cast the shadow of a complete person.

Shooting pains dulled into cracked bones of exhaustion. Where the marrow seeps away to leave nothing behind but a sad sack in the limp shape of a human being.

Why was he so dizzy? Why did everything hurt? Prowl tried to scan around himself but came back with nothing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t remember why he was crying but the pain was so familiar that he did.

A sound, different from ringing ears or groaning metal. Fast. Gentle.

A voice. A voice he knew.

Prowl hiccuped and tried to lean into the sound.

“Hey hey hey, Prowl you’re okay. You’re okay we don’t have to talk about any of that anymore.”

Jazz. The voice was Jazz, he knew Jazz.

“Can you just start counting or something? Recite the alphabet?”

Prowl felt his eyes start to slip closed. Listening didn’t hurt. He wanted to not hurt.

“I’m almost there baby, you’ve just gotta stay awake a little longer. Just a little longer okay?”

Maybe it was a trade? The foggier Prowl got, the clearer Jazz became. Jazz was supposed to get closer. That was good.

“Prowler? Please say something.”

The sounds washed over him. It continued for a while, lulling him down further.

He couldn’t remember why he’d been hurting.

He couldn’t remember much of anything.

Silence.

Blissful silence.

“HONK”

Prowl woke with a shout.

“Fu- Wha- What?!”

Heart racing, Prowl tried to figure out where the hell he was and what the hell just startled the shit out of him. Coming up blank on both fronts.

“Prowl! Shit. Keep talking to me. I see plating, it’s looks like you’re face down. There’s some metal beams in the way. I can’t lift them. Tell me how to reach you.”

Prowl was still reeling from the honk. He felt out the remains of his mecha.

“There’s a breach. Right side of m’chassis.”

“Okay. Okay. Ah shitting fuck.”

Prowl was slipping again, but he couldn’t. Why couldn’t he..?

“I’m fine. Jazz. You can jus’ tell them where I’m buried. They’ll get the mecha back later.”

“And you’ll live that long?”

“Umm..no?” Prowl didn’t understand the question.

He heard something that sounded like alien cussing.

And then a scraping against his side.

“Prowl?”

“Jazz?”

“Start disconnecting. I’m getting you out.”

Prowl barely initiated the disconnect sequence before an earth shattering screech of metal tearing away whited out his thoughts.

It felt like it went on forever. The residual power sparked around the open chest wound of his mecha. Prowl was blind. Again. So much of him was missing, missing, missing.

He didn’t realize his eyes were open until a bright blue blob bobbed into view.

“Heya Prowler.”

He’d know Jazz’s voice anywhere.

Prowl was pretty much useless. All he strength was going into staying awake. Because Jazz wanted him to stay awake.

That started out easy. Staying awake. With the pain of extraction and disentangling of limbs from harnesses.

It got much harder once Jazz had him. There was this, this sound. Like a hum. But slowly ebbing and flowing, like slow calm breathing.

Prowl pressed his ear to something warm and rumbly. Metal surrounded him. He wanted it to press harder until he could phase out of his broken body. But it just held him steady.

“Dij.” He tried. “Didou get smaller?”

The voice he knew laughed in.. fear? Relief? Prowl didn’t know. Wasn’t his strong suit.

He could feel the rocking of steps. The metal got a little warmer and time ran in little circles around his head.

And Prowl fell under.

Much, much later, Prowl woke up. Properly this time.

It was a familiar enough sight. Tile ceilings, beeping machines, the general scent of chemicals that denoted Tarantulas’ presence.

The scientist wasn’t immediately here, surprisingly. When Prowl turned his aching neck to find him, instead he saw a plain blue box next to his bed.

Curiosity peaked, Prowl dragged a protesting arm over to the side table, thumbing it open on the second attempt.

Inside, were two plain doughnuts and a closed cup of coffee.

Scrawled on the inside of the lid, “Could you describe them for me later?” - J

———————————————————————

Prowl spent a good 15 minutes trying to work out how the fuck Jazz’s giant metal ass hand delivered that box into a tiny ass room three stories below ground level.

Because there was no way in fuck Tarantulas was going to let Prowl eat that, and it took him another 15 minutes to remember Tiny Jazz. Then another 15 to determine if that was a hallucination or not.

This is future science land were scientists are just wizards with an aesthetic, so Tarantulas will get Prowl back to “normal” pretty quickly.

Additionally, we’re seeing only what Prowl remembers from his conversations with Jazz. Poor dude was digging for hours trying to keep Prowl awake and not set off anymore emotional land mines. With varying degrees of success.

This is probably (for my own sanity’s sake) the only reverse mecha au story I’m writing so if this inspires you go nuts and make it!

-SSTP

[jollyparaphernalia]

I like to think no matter the circumstances or Siffrin's role, Isabeau is always a LITTLE down-bad for the little fella. Even when they're dumping his inner secrets out on the ground for everyone to see.

I don't think you can fix this guy, Isabeau

[softcenteregg]

// unequivocally // (you're dreamin' with your eyes wide open)

[megalopolus]

sometimes when courtney gets too deep into a rant she can be subdued with kisses. other times it will rile her up more. gwen takes this gamble often

[ooooo-mcyt]

Scott Smajor (cc) is such a good story teller actually and the common themes he uses in his storylines captivate me. I think we should talk about how good he is at Themes more often. If I wasn't so tired I'd write essays.

[vingler-mirror]

Vereinsamt text post meme because we're being practical, involved, and suffering with this patch

Part 1 | Part 2

[astravis]

has brought up memories I don't want to recall...

This is very much inspired by @kaeveeoh’s TG motion graphic edits—I’d like to thank them for opening my eyes to motion design. I remembered how much I adored their work when I entered college, was figuring out what to pursue, and decided to take related courses. Now that Tokyo Ghoul has possessed me in its grips once more, I’ve made a homage to what inspired me to go down this line of work.

[smartie-arties]

"That day, if our positions were switched… Would our fates be different? Would I have your life, and you mine?"

[breadandblankets]

Elaine and Doug didn't really expect to hear anything back once the billionaire was out of their house. of course, looking back that was a silly thought.

It started with a snack basket and flowers with a hefty investment from Wayne Ent. into getting more funding for the cities social services. Doug got jokingly mad because he wanted flowers. Elaine had laughed at the time, privately planning to get her husband a bouquet.

She gets a text at work the next day from Doug, a picture of a gorgeous bouquet of chrysanthemums.

Wayne didn't exactly leave a phone number but it was sort of impossible to live in Gotham without knowing where Bruce Wayne lives. Elaine writes a letter, by snail mail, inviting Wayne to a Thomas family dinner.

The second time Bruce Wayne is in their living room, he's looking a lot healthier than the last. He's dressed down, Elaine estimates his outfit is only worth one year of her salary not two. In one hand he holds a bottle of wine that probably has lineage papers or whatever rich people do, and in the other some fancy french lemonade.

"Alfred always taught me to never show up empty handed," he says with a disarming smile.

"He taught you well then," Elaine says diplomatically.

Dinner isn't a fancy affair. Duke has set the table with a sort of haphazard arrangement. (Doug had tried to explain where all the things go, Duke had responded "but you can just grab what you need? why do I need to arrange it for you?" and no one really had a good answer for that.) The lasagna Doug spent all day on smelt heavenly where it cooled on the stove.

Conversation flowed well, Bruce was as charming and funny as he was the last time. He and Doug had become their impromptu dinner time entertainment as they "yes, and-"-ed their way through a whole slew of ridiculous stories.

Duke had waited until Bruce had taken a drink to say: "You know my parents are married right?"

Surprisingly the man hadn't spewed expensive wine all over the table, although it did look like it went up his noes.

"Duke," Doug said with a face palm.

"Just wanted to make sure he knew," Duke said.

"I'm aware," Bruce croaks when he recovers. "Friendship only, I promise."

"Good," Duke sniffs primly, then smiles in smug amusement.

Wayne for his part seems to be a good sport about it, he even offers to host next time.

"Not at the Manor, I wouldn't subject you to that, I have a small place in the city."

(Spoiler alert: the place is not small.)

Bruce doesn't cook, in his words he "burns water", but he does get thai from a local hole in the wall. Elaine has to ask if he knew that was her favorite, and Bruce shyly tells her he asked Doug for suggestions.

At some point the back and forth extends beyond dinner parties, Knights games, spa days, park outings (some that even had normal plants!).

Bruce Wayne had never been a stranger in the lives of the Thomases.

So when the Joker took, he took everything.

[hyade]

chengxian’s orpheus and eurydice motifs are going to slowly drive me to the brink of insanity but i’m cool with it

[ecoterrorist-katara]

“It’s gross if Katara marries Zuko since he’s her colonizer” she overthrew the last Fire Lord to put Zuko on the throne. If anything the Fire Nation would be worried that he’s Katara’s puppet

[lightningflvsh]

[reverse robins] funny little fellows. bugs even

[bluuscreen]

everything stays, but it still changes

[don’t tag as ship pls and thank u!!]

[medusas-graveyard]

Can I have like,, an au where Danny & Damian knew each other while they were tiny kids (whether or not they're brothers or if Danny was like. A kid from one of Raa's servants) where, while Damian is now a better version of himself, Danny has fallen from grace.

Picture; Danny that isn't as op but concerningly smart????? Mad scientist Danny? Mad scientist Danny. Who've been betrayed for too long so now he just... Snaps.

(TW: IMPLIED SUICIDE. CONTINUE WITH CAUTION.)

Gone was the scared teenager that went through loss after loss, after loss. The teenager that was betrayed by the people he served and the 'parents' that took him in, the boy who lost everything. Now, as he stood beside his creation— the one who will end the world itself, Danny is eerily calm, as he looked at Damian that stood across him with a gentle, soft smile. There's acceptance in that smile of his; and he couldn't help but reel on how they both can still change.

But Danny—the sweet, sweet boy that he once knew, simply chuckled and shook his head.

"And this world is merely a dot in the vast universe. Then, our souls will wonder about the vast stars, isn't it beautiful?"

"Bshoufak, Dami." He smiles, "when Time will inevitably reconstruct this universe to a new one, and taking us with it—"

"—I hope, fate will be kinder to the both of us."