#(if you're a yank)

[keferon]

Part 2 of Jazz and Prowl in space!

Gonna start calling it Odds of Survival.

Prowl loves entrusting his life to reckless strangers.

———————————————————————

Prowl pulled the release to the airlock and the music was swallowed by the vacuum of space.

Bursting forward, Jazz launched outwards riding the pop of escaping air. The first quintesson had its eye socket repurposed as an ankle bracelet before the second measure even began.

Ah.

Prowl probably should have specified he wanted to try speeding past rather than confront their opponents directly.

Jazz's improvised footwear writhed sluggishly before the mech twisted his ped inside its brain case, finishing it off and turning to face the next nearest opponent.

Odds of survival 26%

The white and blue mech launched himself upwards as the nearest quintesson went for a dive bomb. It's teeth breaking on impact with the sky bridge. Jazz twisted in midair.

They fell in slow motion, back arching against a starlit backdrop. An upside down visor met blue optics. Jazz nodded his head to the side, flicking one horn up and one horn down.

Did he just wink? (#^%)

The falling mech unsheathed a blade from his wrist, driving it through the sputtering quintesson.

Oh Primus has he been flirting the entire time?

Jazz spun, slicing into the next quint to close the distance.

I can not. I can not assume that was intentional. It has to be a cultural miscommunication.

The last two quintessons pounced. Swinging hard, Jazz caught one's jaws with a forearm while he kicked the downed another in the side of the head. The third was attempting to bite into his back but the teeth couldn't get a full purchase on the rounded compact plating.

Odds of survival 22%.

Prowl snapped out of his social etiquette downward spiral. Sprinting from the safety of the airlock door, he knelt behind a large section of external piping, lining up his shots.

Tacnet spun to work.

It was designed to calculate hundreds of possible variations of large scale engagements, including the number of soldiers, type of weaponry available and could even determine the approximate number of ammunitions that would be left over, provided Prowl had enough data at his disposal.

Calculating the marksmanship needed to dispatch three hostiles at medium range while distracted by a highly competent ally?

Odds of Survival 32%

Laughable.

Three shots burst through the thin atmosphere.

Quintesson wreckers were built thick skulled and stubborn. Luckily they came with easily identifiable gaps in their organic construction.

The Quints fell from Jazz, each with a smoking hole where and eye used to be. Jazz looked at Prowl, then the smoking quintessons and back up to Prowl before doing finger guns again.

Speaking of thick skulled and stubborn.

Prowl put on his best Commanders Scowl and pointed in the direction they needed to be currently running in.

Doorwing sensors hiked as he picked up on movement from behind. The incoming hostiles was palpable even in the moons thin atmosphere. Quintessons rarely favored stealth.

Prowl began running.

Jazz kept pace, half turned around to keep track of the incoming troop. Prowl kept his optics locked forward, not remotely willing to risk tripping on the torn apart path.

Tacnet locked on to a large silvery pillow that'd been exposed to the atmosphere.

Expanding LLX Lithium battery. Explosion on contact 90%

Prowl shouted a warning but the air was too thin to carry beyond his own audials.

Jazz will step on the lithium battery in 1.5 clicks (88%) and will be critically injured in at least one leg (76%).

Prowl grabbed Jazz's servo and yanked.

Music erupted in the moment of connection.

Vibrations ran up his arm and across his frame. Inside his audials, Prowl could make out the song Jazz had begun in the airlock. Looking at his visor, mouth agape, only one thought could form in Prowls mind.

How fragging loud is he playing that music?!?

Jazz perked up, and pulled Prowl around in an arc. Multiple sharp impacts thudded into the ground behind him. Prowl turned and almost wished he hadn’t.

Three heavily armored Quintesson bombers equipped with bio-mechanical ballista.

The javelin like spikes were as long as Prowls arm and designed to pin targets in place while the slow moving blimp-like body of the bomber got into position to blow them all to the Pit.

Prowl tugged Jazz in the direction of their objective, refusing to let go in case he tried to launch himself at the bombers. Prowl wasn't sure how Jazz would manage to do so, but Prowl felt an overwhelming nagging sensation in his tanks that he'd fragging try.

Jazz was evidently fine with this arrangement.

As the music pulsed between their palms, Jazz leapt at a diagonal, pulling Prowl along for the ride. The low gravity was so damn floaty. It continually forced Prowl to readjust his footing so he wasn't frantically treading air every time his peds left the ground.

Jazz was evidently fine with that too.

Another round of ammunitions impacted where the two of them had been running.

Their egress began to take on a pattern Prowl was quick to pick up on. It took the bombers 8 clicks to reload, launching at the same time, half a click after musical flair in Jazz's song. At the moment of the flair, the mech would launch them in a nearly unpredictable pattern. After the first two times of nearly getting his arm dislocated, Prowl began catching onto these moments and moved his momentum in sync with Jazz.

They'd started dancing.

The Tactician had an iron fisted focus on matching Jazz’s frankly eradicate lead. The longer the duet continued, the more data he had to work with. Prowl steadily progressed from Reacting to Anticipating. Feeling a core deep satisfaction that came from sinking into mastering a new skill.

By the time they’d escaped the bombers range, they’d made it too the base of the first hurdle.

Their reprieve would only be brief. The bombers would catch up in approximately 50 clicks (88%), giving the mechs a small window of precious semi-safety in which they needed to scale the wall before them.

Prowl craned his helm back at the barrier.

He would not be able to scale it on his own in time (95%).

Could Jazz? (65%)

While carrying him? (19%)

Jazz rapidly tapped his side.

The alien was crouched low, impossible legs bent with potential energy. He tapped his own back, gesturing for Prowl to grab on already.

Prowl threw himself over the mechs broad back. His digits frantically searched for a hand hold, flinching away from nearly digging into fragile vents.

I can’t-

Jazz leapt.

“You’re really grab-able - Isn’t that kinda stupid?”

Stupid stupid stupid.

Prowl skated off of Jazz’s rounded compact plating, that he specifically SAID was supposed to make him hard to hold on to.

He landed hard on his aft, denta clanking together painfully.

47 clicks remaining.

Jazz hit the ground beside him before Prowl had fully gotten back up. Now facing him, Jazz grabbed Prowl by both wrists and pulled him chassis to chassis. Jazz positioned his arms to link Prowls servos behind his helm, then set his own servos tightly onto Prowls waist.

Jazz nodded once, like he was satisfied with what he’d just done.

Prowl made a facial expression that a psychiatrist would find concerning.

42 Clicks.

Jazz nodded again, like expected Prowl to respond in any coherent manner, and lifted.

Prowls legs swung forward on instinct. Following the motion, Jazz wrapped them around his waist. Through the screaming haze of his processor, Prowl had the presence of mind to lock his ankles together as he realized Jazz’s true intentions, and manually aborted the logic cascade that had nearly crashed over him.

Package secured, Jazz let go and started their ascension.

Legs bent at an impossible angle to slam multi segmented peds flat against the metal walls. Despite Prowl’s body blocking most of his view, the alien mech was unfettered by the lack of vision. Jazz hardly bothered with proper hand holds, instead opting for incredibly strong magnetic grip built into his servos.

The magnetic backwash splashed over Prowls doors wings, forcing him to temporarily offline them or risk crippling vertigo. The structure they were scaling shook violently like something large had just irrevocably broken.

This is fine this is fine this is fine this is fine.

At 35 click’s remaining, Prowl centered himself enough to search for their pursuers.

Damn it!

The bombers were a fraction faster than he initially calculated. Six clicks before we’re in range (87%). Luckily, Jazz was more than a fraction faster than initially calculated as well. At this rate, they’d reach the top simultaneously.

No reason not to be proactive.

Prowl found that if he tightly cupped one servo around the back of Jazz’s helm, he had just enough leverage to bring out a side arm. After all, the bombers were already in range of him.

Steadying his elbow over the other mechs shoulder, Prowl took aim.

Five clicks.

The bombers flew in V formation.

Four clicks.

Too heavily armored for a standard sidearm to pierce.

Three clicks.

The lead bomber opened up its front in preparation for combat.

Got you.

Prowl threaded the gap, his shot skirting over the ballista in favor of impacting the bombers prodigious cargo. He watched something spark inside a split second before it succumbed to total annihilation.

The shockwave felt like a single soft papft of a breeze in the starlit air.

Jazz hefted them over the top of the wall, not dropping Prowl in favor of sprinting with him at full speed across the top of the hurdle.

One of his arms curled around to support Prowls back, allowing the Praxian to release his death grip on their helm. Prowl leaned back into the hold, allowing Jazz freedom to see again.

Jazz turned his helm around 180 degrees-

Did not know he could do that did not know he could do that.

- to look at the fire works behind them.

Jazz whistled appreciatively at the sight. He turned back to Prowl, visor locked onto his face as they carried him across the roof.

Reverberating music, nearly crashing, numbed doorwings, and a deeply satisfying kill all followed by a display of casual body horror was making Prowl just a little bit delirious. As a result, Prowl wasn’t entirely sure what expression he was making, just that Jazz was inordinately fascinated with it.

Without looking away, Jazz leapt off the end of the roof.

Prowl watched as Jazz glanced over his shoulder and back to him.

Do a double take.

And then crush Prowl to his chassis.

Jazz’s visor was over bright, both horns snapped completely forward and from somewhere inside his chassis, Prowl could feel some internal component spinning into overdrive, sounding for all the world like teeny tiny screaming.

Why are we still falling.

Prowl turned as far as possible in Jazz’s iron grip.

The sky bridge was collapsing.

Odds of Survival 4%

———————————————————————

Jazz, everytime Prowl one-shots an enemy: I need to get his number.

If you’re curious, the song Jazz is playing can be whatever you like. Personally I kept switching between listening to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by Kiss and “I Feel Love” 12” version by Donna Summer while writing.

- SSTP

OH GOD AHAHJFKFK THIS IS SO FUCKING GREAT HELP

And the concept of music playing between them??? I'm s o l d. "I was made for lovin' you baby" is basically JP OST for me at this point ehehhmgmgm

Jazz: Hookay I need to transport the machinery from the point A to point B. Focus! Let's go!

Prowl: One of those tiktok videos where you can see some Reddit post and hear AI narrating it while Minecraft parkour is playing on the background. Except it's gay panic instead of reddit post and internal screaming instead of narration and even more gay panic instead of minecraft. ......and everything is overheating probably lmao

Also can you really call it a JP fic if their odds of survival never dropped lower than 10% according to Prowls brain? Ahahjgkgk all amazing JP fics have to do this. It's inevitable and I love it so much~~

[theabigailthorn]

British producers be like: THEM: "We love this! Let us put our heads together and get back to you early next week!" SIX MONTHS LATER UNPAID INTERN FOR THAT COMPANY: "Everyone you spoke to has been sacked, we hate you fuck off."

American producers be like:

THE MOST IMPORTANT PERSON YOU'VE EVER MET: Hey kiddo do you wanna meet The Rock? Do you wanna meet Margot Robbie? Do you want to fuck my wife? I can't give you a job but gosh darn it you've got moxxy, let me put you in touch with Doug Bigcheese, the biggest producer in Hollywood! DOUG BIGCHEESE, EMAILING YOU BACK WITHIN 20 MINUTES: Hey kiddo, that guy said you're awesome! Lemme ask round town and in the meantime you can live in my house borrow my car and by the way have you met my wife?!

[emeraldblonde]

FINAL FANTASY VII REBIRTH (2024) dev. Square Enix

[funkbun]

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Listen, I love OC x Canon as much as the next guy, maybe even MORE than the next guy ever could, but Stanley Pines would NOT date a person that looks like they're in their first year of College.

I'm sorry, but he wouldn't. MAKE YOUR OC MORE AGE APPROPRIATE RIGHT. NOW. 👇😠

[asha-mage]

Confession time: I've always had a soft spot for Jaichim Caraidin.

Cause sure he is a hypocritical cowardly opportunistic bastard whose cover job is 'torture innocent people in the name of theocracy' and whose real job is 'tell all my theocracy's secrets to Literal Satan and his proxies', but he is also SUCH a complete boyfailure it's hard for me to hate him. He fucks up at everything he does, while he and everyone he loves is being hunted for sport for reasons entirely unrelated to his fuckups. He always catches the blame weather its his fault or not. His only stable state is groveling at the feet of successively more powerful sugar daddies. When he finally bites it it's because one of his underlings gets so fed up with his shit that she murders him in the most needlessly dramatic and kinky way she can come up with. It's so hard not to feel bad for him.

It says something about how absolutely pathetic his starved coyote vibes are that when he showed up getting tortured by Moggy and bullied into giving up his soul to become one of her pet Grey Men I was like 'yeah that tracks actually' AND that it is still somehow probably a better fate then what he went through in the books.

[unopenablebox]

oh for god's sake. we resolved this. we resolved this!! there is a US/europe usage difference in what category is described by the word "burger". in the US it is defined by the presence of a patty of specifically ground meat or other ground/loose protein. thus a "chicken burger" is a sandwich containing ground chicken meat formed into a patty, etc, and this formed-into-a-patty nature is required for something to count as a burger. in europe burgerness is (apparently) defined by the bun shape, so that a "chicken burger" can be a fried intact chicken breast, provided it is enclosed in a classical burger bun. this is already known to us on this internet. we should stop circulating stupid debates on this point where everyone pretends we didn't just talk about it and already reach this conclusion

[toyboy-molloy]

can I pull off a believable hansry strip dice fic? probably not but I wrote one anyway (x)

[eye-may]

Is Etcetera, Electra and Jemima also taller than Mistoffelees ,like pouncival and Tumblebrutus?

Or maybe they are the same height, or is it just that Jemima is still smaller than Mistoffelees? It would be pretty funny if the youngest of the tribe is taller than Mistoffelees too lol

HAPPY NEW YEAR! I hope you have a good new year <3

hhh Im getting my inbox out of order now but I think this question is great and I was too excited to answer it XD when it comes to character design I have always cared VERY MUCH about heights!!! and we love a short king uwu

so to answer your question...in the beginning, Jemima, Electra, and Etcetera, and Mistoffelees are all around the same height. however, as it has been established, the Conjuring Cat never remains on equal footing for terribly long before his younger compatriots inevitably outgrow him.

I like the idea of little Jemima growing to be at least a head taller than Mistoffelees lmao. Victoria and Pouncival on the other hand do end up being taller than him, but not by much. I think Electra ends up being pretty tall too; Etcetera enjoys a more middling stature when she's done growing.

so yes indeed, Mistoffelees is the smallest and slinkiest cat in the Junkyard! the good news is, at least in my fanverse, he's not too preoccupied with his unusually diminutive size. he does have magical powers after all, which makes up for...a lot XD and being small makes it all the easier to be sneaky and agile

[gomzdrawfr]

[Nik has been talking about aeroplane engines and turbulence for the past 2 hours]

Nik: So, do you understand Raven: yeah Nik: really? Raven: yeah Nik: Raven: Nik: Raven: so can you bite my neck- Nik: wha-

[iron-sparrow]

Morning of patch 7.2, and Yein has grabbed your WoLs outta bed while screaming...

"WAKE UP! WE'RE GONNA GO SHIELD BASH SOME «redacted»!!"

... while shoving coffee down everyone's throats.

[frogfacey]

if I have to hear one more fucking yankee fibre artist say the phrase "yarn barf" you will be seeing me on the news

[starry-bi-sky]

Danyal Phantom Doodles uhhh i’ve got a handful of Danyal Al Ghul drawings that I like enough to share.

[vroomvroomthings]

The only silver lining to the Kimi thing is that it is unlikely he'll be treated as badly as Max was back then. They were assholes to a kid those days and I don't see the current grid behaving like that.

[angeart]

After reading the rescue rambles all I could think of is if the hermits try to force Scar off that world and just how badly Scar would react to that and how far would he go in order to prevent that, to not leave Grian again.

I don’t like the idea of Scar possibly attacking his friends, but with how him and Grian were backed into a corner since the moment they entered this world, for a full year, I worry about how in Scar’s panic over not being with Grian again he wouldn’t care for much else besides finding Grian, no matter what.

I also really worry about what happened to Grian after he left, and just how long it takes to find him…

oh yeah. love this. it's exactly that thought: he can't leave grian again.

the last time they were separated (to your knowledge, anyway), grian almost died. granted, it's been a week back then, and now it's just been a couple of hours. but back then, they weren't actively on a run. they didn't have several big groups of hunters on their trail.

the panic and desperation he feels.

the way the idea of home and safety makes no sense to him, even as his friends—people he thought he'd never see again—reach out their hands to him and offer it. it can't make sense.

not like this.

not like this.

not without grian.

[brainrotcharacters]

goddamn it reid

so morgan actually insisted to remove spencer from the area because he was already onto the real killer? ok