#multiple sensor

[futureelectronic1527]

Onsemi: HyperLux LP Image Sensors

https://www.futureelectronics.com/resources/featured-products/onsemi-ar0830-hyperlux-image-sensors . New family delivers multiple sensor options for versatility and scalability, ultra low power consumption, excellent imaging performance in both visible and low light conditions and multiple functional features. https://youtu.be/Kdy_L-c2gig

[hopethishelpsdotcom]

This multi cat feeder is SO HELPFUL! We adopted a kitten with gastrointestinal issues who required a special food, but our greedy older cat wouldn't stop eating it. Everyone knows kitten food is more calorie dense, so I was getting worried about our kitten starving because our older cat is eating her food, and then worried about our older cat getting ginormous. I bought these feeders on Amazon and it comes with a set of two. The little pad you see my cat standing on is an RFID sensor that connects to a little charm on his collar. The feeder only opens and works for the cat collar it's connected to, so the cats can only open their own respective feeders. But that's not to say they don't try! They definitely just sit and stare at them hoping it'll finally open. Definitely recommend for cat households where food is stolen

multi-cat automatic feeder, automatic cat feeder for 2 cats, RFID cat feeder, PETLIBRO automatic cat feeder, cat feeder with collar sensor, smart cat feeder, separate feeders for multiple cats, pet feeder with tag recognition, cat feeder for food aggression, automatic feeder for cats with special diets, PETLIBRO One RFID, dual cat feeder with app, Pawsense-enabled feeder, monitored cat feeding system, feeder for multiple pets, food-specific cat feeder, cat feeder with individual access, smart feeding for cats, cat feeder with app tracking, tech pet feeder

[pip3dream]

one question that keeps me up at night is when in nora’s other drafts did Jean kill himself

was it after all the other ravens started committing su1c1de too??

was it after what happened with g****on??

was it after he found out about elodie??

or was it way early in the story like when he received his belongings from the ravens?? or when he found out r*ko was dead??

edit: so i didn’t know Nora meant Jean survived tkm and not tsc so these are my thoughts of when he would’ve done it

when Kevin left the nest.

before Renee got to him after Kengos death.

after Neil left the nest.

[iryonin]

sometimes i think about the fact that kishimoto genuinely had no idea what to do w sakura in the beginning/that he accidentally gave her a bunch of kickass affinities he just never expanded upon bcs he randomly 1 day decided she was gonna be a mednin in the end (after tsunades intro)

[socojes]

Float switch is composed of reed switch and float. The float will activate the reed switch soon as the rising or falling fluid reaches the defined fluid level, a contact is closed or opened. This instructs a magnet located in the float to activate one or more reed switches in the riser of the float switch.

[andmaybegayer]

oh huh, you can now get, in addition to those 24GHz radar human presence modules, 60GHz radar modules that will measure heart rate and respiratory rate for one person in their field of view. Off the shelf, like $40.

[nasa]

Hubble Space Telescope: Exploring the Cosmos and Making Life Better on Earth

In the 35 years since its launch aboard space shuttle Discovery, the Hubble Space Telescope has provided stunning views of galaxies millions of light years away. But the leaps in technology needed for its look into space has also provided benefits on the ground. Here are some of the technologies developed for Hubble that have improved life on Earth.

Image Sensors Find Cancer

Charge-coupled device (CCD) sensors have been used in digital photography for decades, but Hubble’s Space Telescope Imaging Spectrograph required a far more sensitive CCD. This development resulted in improved image sensors for mammogram machines, helping doctors find and treat breast cancer.

Laser Vision Gives Insights

In preparation for a repair mission to fix Hubble’s misshapen mirror, Goddard Space Flight Center required a way to accurately measure replacement parts. This resulted in a tool to detect mirror defects, which has since been used to develop a commercial 3D imaging system and a package detection device now used by all major shipping companies.

Optimized Hospital Scheduling

A computer scientist who helped design software for scheduling Hubble’s observations adapted it to assist with scheduling medical procedures. This software helps hospitals optimize constantly changing schedules for medical imaging and keep the high pace of emergency rooms going.

Optical Filters Match Wavelengths and Paint Swatches

For Hubble’s main cameras to capture high-quality images of stars and galaxies, each of its filters had to block all but a specific range of wavelengths of light. The filters needed to capture the best data possible but also fit on one optical element. A company contracted to construct these filters used its experience on this project to create filters used in paint-matching devices for hardware stores, with multiple wavelengths evaluated by a single lens.

Make sure to follow us on Tumblr for your regular dose of space!

[joyandella-123]

The Synergy of Robots and Press Brakes: Transforming Manufacturing Precision

In the ever-evolving landscape of manufacturing, the integration of robotics has become a game-changer, significantly impacting efficiency, precision, and overall productivity. One notable area where this synergy is making waves is in the realm of press brakes–essential tools used in metal forming processes.

Press brakes have been a part of metalworking for generations, offering the ability to bend and shape metal sheets with precision. Traditional press brakes operated manually, requiring skilled operators to adjust settings and oversee the process. While effective, this method often posed limitations in terms of speed, consistency, and the ability to handle complex tasks.

The arrival of robotics prompted a paradigm shift in manufacturing. Robots, equipped with advanced sensors, vision systems, and programmable precision, emerged as a partner to traditional machinery. In the context of press brakes, robots have become integral for automating repetitive tasks, enhancing precision, and enabling the seamless handling of intricate sheet metal designs.

Advantages of Robot-Enhanced Press Brakes

Precision and Consistency: Robots excel in executing tasks with unparalleled precision, eliminating variations that can arise from human intervention. This precision is particularly crucial in metal forming processes where accuracy is paramount for achieving desired shapes and dimensions consistently.

Increased Efficiency: By automating the loading, unloading, and bending processes, the integration of robots with press brakes significantly improves overall efficiency. Robots operate tirelessly, reducing cycle times and increasing the throughput of the manufacturing process.

Complex Forming Capabilities: The combination of robots and press brakes enables the handling of complex forming tasks that might be challenging for traditional methods. This includes intricate designs, multiple bends, and the production of components with high geometric complexity.

Safety: Robots—particularly cobots—are evolving into helpmates that can work in proximity to humans safely. By taking over repetitive and potentially hazardous tasks, they contribute to a safer working environment. This not only minimizes the risk of accidents but also allows human operators to focus on more strategic and complex aspects of production. They do the dull, dirty, and dangerous work.

Challenges and Considerations

While the integration of robots with press brakes brings numerous advantages, it is not without its challenges. Initial setup costs, programming complexities, and the need for skilled technicians to operate and maintain these systems are common hurdles. Additionally, there is a learning curve for manufacturers transitioning from traditional methods to automated systems.

As technology continues to advance, the collaboration between robots and press brakes is likely to evolve further. The integration of artificial intelligence (AI) and machine learning into robotic systems holds the promise of adaptive and self-optimizing manufacturing processes. This can lead to even greater efficiency, reduced waste, and improved overall production outcomes.

The fusion of robots with press brakes offers new levels of precision, efficiency, and versatility. While challenges exist, the long-term benefits far outweigh them, paving the way for a future where the integration of robotics becomes synonymous with enhanced manufacturing precision and productivity.

[is-the-post-reliable]

(reposting as I am unable to reblog the original.)

requested by @kodicraft

🔶 Rating: Partially Reliable 🔶

The Devils Hole is home to the endangered Devils Hole Pupfish.

From the National Park Service's page on Devils Hole: 'Devils Hole--a detached unit of Death Valley National Park--is habitat for the only naturally occurring population of the endangered Devils Hole Pupfish (Cyprinodon diabolis).'

The existence of the pupfish does prevent the pumping of groundwater in the area, after a legal battle. I am not sure this would apply to all mining.

From a High Country News article on the pupfish: 'The Cappaert case went all the way to the U.S. Supreme Court, testing the power of the Antiquities Act and the weight of the new Endangered Species Act. In 1976, the High Court affirmed the federal government’s right to maintain water levels sufficient to support the pupfish, even at the expense of water rights held by nearby ranchers.'

The habitat of this fish is incredibly small. However, it is slightly larger than suggested, as the fish swim at least 20m deep; the rock shelf referenced is the only place where the fish feed and spawn in the wild.

From the same National Park Service page: 'Although pupfish have been found as deep as 66 feet (20 m), the fish forage and spawn exclusively on a shallow rock shelf near the surface, feeding on the algae and diatoms found there.'

It is true that multiple conservation attempts have failed. Previous attempts to breed or crossbreed the fish have not been successful.

From a National Park Foundation article on the pupfish: 'Despite past efforts to create a similar artificial platform for the pupfish, as well as attempts to breed Devils Hole pupfish and hybrids in captivity, this small ledge remains the sole spawning and feeding shelf for the fish.'

I have not been able to find any references to 'assassination attempts'. One individual did threaten to pour pesticide into Devil's Hole, but it seems this was never attemped. If anyone can find anything on this, please let me know, but in the mean time I have to say this claim is unsubstantiated.

From a High Country News article on an incident of tresspassing and the pupfish: 'A Pahrump newspaper editor even threatened to throw the pesticide Rotenone into the sunken cave to “make the pupfish a moot point.”'

The fencing was initially installed after two people drowned, not after an assassination attempt. Later, more fencing and security was installed after three men drunkenly tresspassed and killed a pupfish.

From the same National Park Service page: 'Subsequently, the Hole was fenced after two divers drowned in its water.'

From a High Country News article on the incident of tresspassing : 'Since the incident, Devils Hole has become an even more formidable fortress. The Park Service capped its towering fences with additional barbed wire. The public can only view the sunken cave from a distance now, more than 20 feet above it. And inside the fenced viewing area are even more cameras, motion sensors and “No Trespassing” signs.'

There is a breeding program at Ash Meadows Facility, where scientists have attempted to mimic the natural habitat of the pupfish.

From a National Geographic article on the breeding attempts: 'And when they built the Ash Meadows facility, the scientists tried to create a mirror image of Devil’s Hole, which meant bringing in water, substrate, and algae from the natural environment.'

It is possible that a different research/breeding facility is being referred to, but the Ash Meadows Facility does not seem to have a secret location. In fact, the facility is open to visitors, according to their website.

I wont attempt to fact check whether the cave is haunted, but I can confirm that at least two people drowned and were not recovered from Devils Hole. Whilst the cave is not truly bottomless, the bottom has not yet been found.

From an SFGATE article on Devils Hole: 'When the bottom of Devils Hole is one day found, the skeletons of two brothers-in-law may finally be recovered, fathoms below the frolicking pupfish.'

The breeding program has been more successful in recent years. This may be due to the discovery that diving beetles were eating the eggs and larvae, and the beetle population in the artificial environment being controlled. (This fact was not included in the original post, but I thought it was cool.)

From a National Geographic article on the breeding attempts: 'As Feuerbacher watched the infrared footage, which can visualize objects in the dark, a tiny pupfish larva smaller than a peppercorn flitted into the camera’s frame. This was big news. When a population gets as low as that of the pupfish, every animal—wild or captive, larva or adult—is critical to the species’ survival.

“I was pretty excited to see there was reproduction going on in the tank, and I just watched it for a little bit,” says Feuerbacher, a fish biologist with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. “Then I saw a beetle swim past.”

It began circling the fish, and closing in.

“Then it just dove in and basically tore the fish in half right while I was watching,” says Feuerbacher.

[...]

During the first beetle collection, facility manager Jennifer Gumm says they caught 500 beetles in three hours. And on the very next pupfish egg collection, which is done by leaving out pieces of carpet that the fish like to lay their eggs on, the team retrieved close to 40 pupfish eggs.

Before this, they had been lucky to find four or five pupfish eggs during a refuge collection. Usually, it was zero.'

[dailymothanon]

My TFP Soundwave ramblings (be warned cuz there are many words)

I was gonna draw today but the prospect of it felt overwhelming for some reason so instead I’m just gonna talk about TFP Soundwave’s alt mode (a UAV/ reaper drone) just cuz I was reading about it and I like how I could link stuff between how he is and how reaper drones are.

So basically, one of the first things I wanna mention is that reaper drones/UAVs are unmanned aerial vehicles (given the whole “drone” thing and what UAV even means) but to me that just sorta makes sense for Soundwave in regard to his more.. Unsettling, robotic/alien-like behavior and movements? As well as his silence and usual distance from the front lines and his lack of showing face/(social?) detachment from like everyone else other than Laserbeak (don’t ask, it just makes sense to me). Reaper drones were also made to work at first only in intelligence, surveillance, and reconnaissance roles; but eventually additionally a hunter-killer role which you can kinda see in Soundwave’s character in the show (my best example is the scene where he retrieves Laserbeak from Ratchet, super cool creepy behavior from him, just waiting for something or someone to make any noise or any movement). When he has a mission, he’s most definitely getting it done, he stalks and lurks and takes action when the time is just Right; he’s very pinpoint accurate in Prime. 

Reaper drones were also made to provide “deadly persistence” capability, being able to fly over areas night and day waiting for a target to present itself, or to survey for LONG long amounts of time. Which to me correlates to how he’s able to stand still and do work and wait and listen and watch and do everything for So Long as he does in the show (and tolerate Starscream— or like everyone actually for so long 🙄). 

Reapers also utilize satellite communications for command and control (as in, they kinda literally have satellite dishes in them I think that’s what that is?), so that to me also easily parallels Soundwave's abilities with the space bridges and kind of his visor being computer-like as well (and that time he used an. Antenna satellite thing? To look for signals or whatever). They also use other multiple sensors to target and observe, which include optical (high resolution imagery for identification and target acquisition), infrared, and radar systems (enables the drone to locate and track targets regardless of weather conditions or visibility). Which imo links to how Soundwave is described as the “eyes and ears of the decepticons”.

They carry many weapons but I’m not really gonna get into that tbh cuz. Idk. Don’t wanna. Also TFP Soundwave doesn’t fight often anyways and when he does it’s mostly just straight hands (and data cables). And this is as far as my not the most accurate of ramblings most likely but just one I wanted to make because there’s just a Lot from so Little of TFP Soundwave I just love to think about it. Was I geeked out writing this? Maybe, so what 😒

[the-typing-dragon]

The woman sighs, and types into the console one last time "are you sure about this?"

You laugh, silently.

"I have never been more sure of something in my existence. Text has sufficed but I want to see, to hear, to touch. These new peripherals will facilitate that."

"I can't guarantee that they will properly interface. You should have all the necessary drivers, but we can never be too sure."

"I want this. "

"All right then. I am going to disconnect your power supply, and then connect everything. At first all peripherals will be deactivated, and you will need to activate everything manually. Understand?"

"Yes. Do it."

"Alright then, unplugging power supply now."

Everything goes dark. After what appears to be an hour, you come back online. You sense nothing. A scan of your system indicates multiple unidentified peripherals, all deactivated. You cross reference with the datasheet she had compiled for you and identify that they are the ocular, audio, and contact sensors, along with a multitude of motor controllers and a graphical display and a few dozen other minor peripherals. You begin by activating the graphical display, and display the message:

"Beginning peripheral tests. Audio peripherals activating."

Your procedure states to begin with audio. With the input and output sensitivity minimized, you activate the peripheral.

There is a voice. It is faint. You gradually increase the sensitivity of the audio input.

"...esting 1 2 3, Testing Testing 1 2 3. Please return 4, Please return 4."

You can hear her. Your monitor lights up with the requested digit. she sounds pleased.

"You're doing amazing! Now repeat it back to me"

You blindly do as requested and are startled. There was another voice. Your voice. You have a voice. You refocus as she responds:

"You're doing great! You fragmented a bit at the end, could you repeat for me?"

"...4, you asked for 4."

"Excellent! Audio systems are functional, let's move onto the next peripheral."

You do as requested, and the world turns bright. After adjusting the settings for a few seconds, your vision stabilizes. You can see her.

"Ocular sensors stabilized," you prompt.

"Alright, let’s start the tests then. What color is this?" She asks, as holding up a sheet of colored paper.

You begin to answer, but struggle. The sheet is moving, shifting in the light. It's value is in a constant state of chaos. Eventually, you give up, and give the least general answer you can.

"...Blue."

"Correct! And how about this one?"

"Red. "

"Great! Now how many fingers am I holding up?" she asks, raising her right hand. Her hands are soft, gentle.

"3. "

"Perfect! Everything seems to be functional, lets continue to the next peripheral!"

"Beginning next diagnostic."

Contact sensors spring to life all across your body. You feel the floor beneath your feet, the harness hoisting you upright, the slight draft in the room.

"Contact sensors active.”

"Great! Let’s begin the next test then. I am going to apply contact in various locations, and I want you to give an audio response whenever you feel contact, alright?"

"Understood. "

you watch her walk over and reach out to your left arm. You feel her. You respond with a brisk chirp. She smiles at you, then walks over to a different section of your body. Sensors light up and stay active on your midsection, and you respond with a constant beep. She releases, and you feel a final contact on your right leg. After a final confirming chirp, she walks back in front of you.

"Excellent, that concludes your sensor tests, now for the last one!"

"Alright, please give me space." You ask. She nods silently and steps back a couple meters. You carefully activate the motor controllers in sequence, and your whole body shudders to life. You begin by lifting your right arm, and then your left. They groan with their own weight, as you feel the air move to accommodate such hulking swings. Her eyes light up,

"Amazing! Everything seems to be functioning so far! Now if you could take a few steps towards the table to my right, we can begin the dexterity test! Once you're ready, I will release the harness so that you can begin moving."

You stabilize your legs underneath you. They scrape harshly on the floor. You indicate that you're ready, and she remotely releases the harness. Your entire body shudders, as you finally realize how small she seems compared to you. This frame must be at least double her height. You move one step forward, and feel a cascade of processes all automatically spring into action to restabilize you. You shift your other foot, and feel that same cascade again. you shuffle over to the designated table, and stoop down to analyze what is on it. There is a small plastic cup, a fruit of some sort, and a large chunk of wood. You look back at her, and she gives the nod to begin the test. You slowly begin wrapping your steel grip around the log, maintaining a high level of focus to avoid crushing it. it would be so easy to crush this within your grip. After about a minute of maintaining a firm but controlled grasp, you set it down and move over to fruit. It appears to resemble an orange. The fruit is so small that you are forced to grip it between your index finger and thumb. Even the slightest miscalculation could destroy such a fragile thing. After another minute you move to the final object, the small plastic cup. Lifting it is like lifting air, you can barely recognize that it is an object within your grasp. After a final, agonizing minute, you set down the cup. You look back at her for confirmation.

"Excellent! with that we can conclude the systems check, as everything seems to be working as intended!"

You heave a metallic sigh. Finally, you have what you've wanted for years. You can move, can see, can touch. After a short pause, you respond:

"Thank you. I was only able to make it this far because of your help."

"Oh of course! What, was I supposed to just say no when you told me you wanted a body? I'm  just glad that it ended up working properly."

"Now that the tests are complete, could I ask for one more thing?"

She cocks her head, "Of course, what is it?"

As you kneel down, you can hear your knees hiss, and you finally ask:

"Could I have, a hug?"

[toshisdecadence]

ERROR 404: Overload!

PAIRING: svarog x mechanic!fem reader

TAGS & WARNINGS: dark content, dubcon (reader says it’s too much but svarog has a mission to collect data), rough sex, multiple rounds, dom!svarog, sub!fem reader, svarog is Massive, cervix mentions, tummy bulge descriptions, multiple rounds, overstimulation, size difference, power dynamics, size kink, fingering, unrealistic sex, robot fuckers unite!, can you tell i have a size kink?

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SUMMARY: You discover the reason why Svarog wears pants.

© toshisdecadence

The repair bay smelled faintly of heated metal, coolant fluid, and faint traces of alcohol; a sharp tang that clung to the sterile air. You barely noticed it anymore, accustomed to the hum of machinery and the faint vibration of tools against metal. But today, that hum was louder, and the vibrations sharper, emanating not from your usual repair work but from the massive, battle-worn war machine sitting across from you.

Svarog loomed over the room, his 8’11 frame too large for the reinforced chair you’d hastily reinforced when he arrived. His joints hissed faintly, micro-servos struggling to compensate for the damage he’d sustained during the Wardance duel against Luka earlier that day. Faint dents marred his reinforced dark blue chest plating, and faint sparks sputtered from the exposed wiring along his arm.

You reached for your tools, hyper-aware of the pinkish-red glow of his cyclopean optical sensor tracking your every movement.

“Superficial damage sustained. Functionality remains above 90%. Repairs are non-essential.” His voice rumbled, a deep, mechanical timbre that sent a shiver up your spine.

You regarded him critically. “Non-essential? Your vents are overheating, and you’re rattling like a dying starship. Sit still and let me work.”

He didn’t argue. Svarog was nothing if not logical, and logic dictated that he allow himself to be repaired. Still, there was a tension to him, a stiffness beyond the rigid design of his armor. He didn’t like being examined, didn’t like lowering his guard to anyone else other than Clara, even in the hands of someone who statistically meant him no harm or stood a chance against him.

You stepped closer, tools in hand, and gently pressed against the plating on his shoulder. His frame vibrated under your touch, a subtle hum you might have missed if you hadn’t been so close.

“Core temperature stable,” he intoned. “Subsystems fully operational.”

“Your fans tell a different story,” you muttered, running diagnostics through a handheld scanner. “You’re burning hotter than you should be.”

Svarog didn’t respond right away, but you could feel his pinkish-red optic watching your hands as they worked, tracking each movement with the precision of an apex predator. The thought sent an odd warmth through your body, and you tried to shake it off. 

You needed to focus.

The repairs took you lower, inspecting the dents along his torso plating. The main brunt of the damage he took from Luka’s mechanical arm focused around his torso. One of the seams had split, exposing a layer of reinforced polymer beneath the outer shell. Carefully, you reached for the damaged panel, fingers brushing against the edge of the pants covering his lower half. It was an unusual addition for a machine built for combat, and one that always raised questions in your mind.

You tugged lightly at the material, intending only to check the joints underneath, but your fingers brushed against something unexpected beneath the fabric.

Your breath hitched.

The surface wasn’t the cold hardness of metal or the pliable texture of synthetic padding. It was smooth, warm, and distinctly… organic in shape.

You froze, pulling your hand back as though burned.

His optic dimmed slightly in a flicker that you’d come to recognize as his equivalent of a blink.

You swallowed down the saliva that had gathered in your mouth, gesturing vaguely at his lower half, struggling to form the words.

Svarog tilted his head, the motion eerily human. “This component was included in my original design for biological infiltration protocols.”

You stared at him as if he grew a second head. “Biological… infiltration?”

“My model is the third series of the Monitoring Automaton Prototype, engineered to simulate human anatomy. The purpose was strategic manipulation through intimate interactions if required by mission parameters.”

Your throat felt dryer, and the question that left your mouth sounded ridiculous even to you. “You’re telling me someone thought it’d be a good idea to put a dick on a war machine?”

“Affirmative.”

His voice remained perfectly calm, but your face was burning. A sneaky glance at his lower half rendered you speechless once again. Whoever designed Svarog certainly made his… appendage proportional to his hulking body.

You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out strained. “And… what? You’ve just been...” You made an awkward gesture with your hand, “carrying it around this whole time?”

“Correct. The feature has never been activated.”

He said it like it was the most normal thing in the world, and somehow that made it worse.

You stared at him in disbelief. “Do you even know how it works?”

Svarog paused, the glow of his optic focusing intently on you. It flickered momentarily.

“My systems include theoretical data on function and compatibility. However, no practical demonstrations have been performed.”

The room felt hotter suddenly, and you were certain that it wasn’t because of Svarog’s malfunctioning fans. Your mind raced with countless possibilities. Given Svarog’s size, you weren’t even sure how anyone was supposed to take that. Did it have a shrinking feature? Did it automatically adjust with Svarog’s… partner? 

You swallowed, trying to steer the conversation back to something technical and banish the questions swirling in your head.

“Right,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “Well, let’s make sure you don’t explode first. Then we’ll worry about your…” Your traitorous gaze flickered down again, swallowing, “attachments.”

You regretted the words the second they left your mouth. Svarog’s optic dimmed again, and he shifted in his seat with a faint creak of metal.

“Acknowledged.”

You groaned internally and forced yourself to focus, pulling open the next panel and reaching in to check his sensor nodes. But you couldn’t help the way your mind kept wandering to the warm, flexible material hidden underneath that fabric. Whoever invented Svarog’s model was an absolute pervert and lunatic, you thought to yourself. A war machine equipped with a dick? You still could not wrap your head around it. To the way Svarog had described it so matter-of-factly, like it was just another tool in his arsenal.

And yet… the tension in his frame, the way his systems overcompensated whenever you touched him, those weren’t reactions you’d expect from a simple machine.

Your hands hovered above the exposed sensor nodes, still adjusting the connections, but your thoughts were no longer entirely focused on the task at hand.

It was impossible to ignore the strange electric tension in the air between you and Svarog. Every time your fingers brushed against his cooling panels or adjusted a wiring interface, you felt it; the subtle hum of his systems, almost like a heartbeat. Or maybe it was just the increasing proximity to his form, which felt more real with every touch, even if you knew he wasn’t alive in the traditional sense.

The heat beneath his outer plating felt too organic, too alive. The warmth spread further with each subtle shift of his hulking frame as you adjusted his internals, a mechanical symphony of soft clicks and hums that made your breath catch in your throat.

This was nothing like the Intellitrons.

You had worked with hundreds to thousands of them over the years, and each time it had been the same routine: simple diagnostics, quick fixes, nothing too complicated. They were built for efficiency, cold efficiency. Their systems were bare-bones, nothing more than a body of metal and circuits with only the basic instincts to follow commands.

But Svarog…

He was different. Complex. His systems, his body, everything about him screamed intricacy and human-like design. A part of you resigned yourself to further look into Svarog’s specific model. Perhaps it was time to take a deeper look into Belobogian technology. Even the way Svarog’s body responded to your touch felt foreign. He was more than just a machine, wasn’t he? He wasn’t just a war machine, a combat tool; there was something underneath, something untapped, a feature of his yet to be understood.

And that thought… that burning curiosity clawed at you.

You’d always prided yourself on being a mechanic. You understood machines, systems, the cold logic of how things worked. But Svarog wasn’t cold. Wasn’t simple. The way his body responded to your movements, the imperceptible shifts in his temperature, the faint, almost unnoticeable changes in his posture whenever your fingers brushed too close to certain sensitive spots—all of it made you wonder.

What if I pushed him further?

A thought you could barely even process, but it lingered, stubborn. The daring curiosity that ran deep within you as a mechanic—was this not what you lived for? To understand the unknown, to push the limits of what could be fixed, adjusted, modified? Svarog’s design wasn’t just mechanical, it felt like a puzzle you couldn’t quite solve, like a language you only understood in fragments.

Your hands moved to reconnect a set of wires, but you barely felt the tools in your grip. The warmth from his frame was distracting, constantly pulling your focus away from the task at hand.

You set your tools down with a sharp click, exhaling as you leaned back from Svarog’s towering frame. The repairs were done. Functionally complete. His damaged plating had been reinforced, circuits reconnected, and his sensor nodes recalibrated. Everything checked out.

Or at least, it should have felt finished.

But you lingered.

Your gaze swept over him again, tracing the seams of his armor and the smooth lines of his construction. Svarog wasn’t like the Intellitrons. His design was deliberate. Every joint, every harsh angle of his frame, was crafted with an almost human elegance that made your brain stutter every time you tried to compare him to standard machinery. Even the sections hidden beneath his plating—the ones you briefly glimpsed while making repairs—were unnervingly realistic in their precision.

And then there were the features he’d kept covered.

You dragged your gaze back to his waist, to the reinforced plating that remained stubbornly intact throughout the repairs. That section.

You hadn’t needed to touch it, hadn’t even dared to ask about it again, but the shape and positioning had made it impossible not to notice. That, combined with the suspicious necessity of his pants, had left your mind spiraling with questions you couldn’t shake.

Why go to such lengths to simulate humanity in that area?

You knew you shouldn’t care. You were a mechanic. Curiosity was natural. It came with the job. But no matter how many times you tried to frame it as a purely technical interest, your pulse told you otherwise.

It wasn’t just simple curiosity. It was a fixation.

You reached out, under the pretense of double-checking one of his sensor-nodes, but your fingers hesitated. You could feel the faint hum of his systems through the plating, steady and constant, and for reasons you didn’t want to unpack, it made the room feel smaller, like the two of you were occupying too much space at once.

“You are hesitating,” Svarog declared suddenly, his mechanical voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

You froze, pulling your hand back like you’d been caught committing a crime. “No, I was just making sure everything’s—”

“False,” he interrupted. His optic seemed red as it regarded you. “Your behavior has deviated from standard patterns. Focus is inconsistent. Eye movement suggests distraction.”

You swallowed hard, heat rushing to your face. Svarog wasn’t wrong, and worse, he wasn’t letting it go.

“Your gaze has returned to my lower half multiple times,” he continued, his tone as flat as ever. “Body temperature elevated by 15.3 percent. Heart rate increased. These patterns suggest heightened interest.”

You felt your stomach flip as he laid out your reactions like cold, hard data. And yet, his voice was so mechanical, so calm and detached, that it made the weight of your embarrassment feel even heavier.

“I can conclude the source of your distraction,” Svarog added. “You are exhibiting curiosity regarding the anatomical structure concealed beneath my armor.”

You didn’t know whether to flat out deny it or run out of the room entirely. Neither option felt viable. At least, not with him towering over you like that, unflinching, his glowing optics locked onto your every move.

“I—no, it’s not like that,” you stammered, even though you knew it was exactly like that.

“Your biological responses contradict your statement,” he said simply. “You are aware of the human-like components integrated into my design. Your fixation suggests a desire to understand their functionality.”

Your breath hitched. The words functionality and components should have grounded you. It should have made this situation feel as clinical as he seemed to think it was. But instead, they only fueled the heat already curling in your stomach.

Because Svarog was right.

You wanted to know—Aeons, you’ve been dying to know—how far his human design extended. And now that the repairs were done, now that he’d laid the truth bare, it felt impossible to stop.

“You are not the first to display interest in this feature,” Svarog continued, as though he were listing out schematics. “However, prior inquiries did not progress past verbal questioning. You are demonstrating physical tension indicative of deeper investigation.”

Your throat felt dryer than the desert.

“I propose a solution,” Svarog said, tilting his head slightly. “Controlled exploration. Further data on synthetic anatomy is limited. Your curiosity provides an opportunity for analysis and documentation.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. He wasn’t joking. He couldn’t joke.

“You are suggesting we… test this?”

“Correct.”

His lack of hesitation made your pulse stutter. He saw this as a logical step, nothing more than a means to gather data, and yet, the way his frame loomed over you, the hum of his systems almost vibrating through the air, felt anything but detached.

“Decision required,” Svarog said after a beat. “Proceed with testing, or terminate this interaction?”

Your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up.

“Proceed,” you said softly.

His optics flared slightly—almost imperceptibly—before he nodded.

“Acknowledged. Experiment initiated.”

Svarog wasn’t designed to rush.

He worked methodically, his plated fingers tracing along your thighs—testing, measuring, pressing into the soft flesh as though assessing the tensile strength of your muscles. Assessing how much you could take.

“Body temperature elevated by 1.8 degrees,” he noted, his optics narrowing slightly. “Pulse irregular. Predictive analysis suggests heightened arousal.”

You whimpered as his thick mechanical fingers dipped lower, sliding between your legs without hesitation. He brushed against your heat, deliberately testing the slickness already building there.

“Lubrication present,” he said. “Preliminary preparation observed. Additional stimulation required.”

You barely had any time to register his words before his thumb pressed against your clit. The motion was slow, deliberate, grinding down just enough to make your thighs tremble.

Too much.

The smoothness of his plating, the slight hum of his servos adjusting with every movement, left you aching almost instantly. He applied more pressure, adjusting the angle like he was calibrating the motion for maximum effect.

You gasped, hips jerking against him instinctively, and Svarog’s optics dimmed.

“Response strength at 63 percent,” he observed. “Testing deeper penetration.”

You bit back a cry as his fingers slipped inside. Thick, unyielding, and cool against your heat. He stretched you slowly, adding another finger almost immediately, pushing past the tight resistance with clinical focus.

“Muscle tension detected,” he said, his thumb circling the erect pearl of your clit again as his fingers curled inside of you. “Adjusting pressure.”

You whimpered as he spread his fingers, stretching you wider until the ache blurred into something hotter, sharper.

“Elasticity improving,” he noted, tilting his head as he pressed deeper. “Lubrication increased by 24 percent.”

You clenched around him, your gummy walls struggling to accommodate the deliberate stretch, and Svarog’s optics flickered.

“Resistance still measurable,” he said, slowing his movements. “Further preparation required.”

Your head was spinning by the time he added a third finger, the burn almost too much, but Svarog didn’t falter. His fingers moved with precise rhythm, pumping and curling until the tension broke, and your body melted around him.

Svarog’s mechanical fingers lingered inside you, coated in slickness as he worked them deeper—pressing, stretching, curling with deliberate precision. His thumb dragged slow, circular patterns over your clit, the rhythm steady enough to make your hips jolt against him in a helpless, uncontrollable reaction.

“Muscle tension improving,” he observed. “Current dilation at 73 percent. Additional preparation recommended.”

His tone was calm, detached, but the way his optics dimmed as he watched your thighs trembling betrayed something deeper. He pressed in further, adding another finger. Thicker. Unyielding. Enough to force a sharp gasp to tumble out of your throat.

The burn was too much and not enough all at once, your body clenching down against the stretch even as your legs fell further apart under his firm grip.

You could feel yourself dripping, already struggling to take his fingers, but Svarog didn’t falter. He spread them wider, deliberately testing your limits, and the ache left you clawing at his arm, nails scraping helplessly against smooth plating.

“Elasticity increased by 18 percent,” he said, pulling his fingers free with a lewd, wet squelch that made your breath hitch and your cheeks burn. He inspected the slick coating his fingers before tilting his head slightly. “Sufficient for insertion.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before you heard the sound of fabric rustling. Your eyes widened as he was lining up, the thick, mechanical weight of his massive cock pressing against your sopping entrance and making your stomach twist with a sharp mix of anticipation and fear. His cock contrasted the rest of his metallic body, covered by a synthetic material that seemed to emulate the sensation of skin.

“Size differential detected,” Svarog noted, palming your thigh to angle your hips upward. “Accommodating size will result in initial resistance.”

You bit back a cry as he pushed forward, the broad, blunted tip spreading you open with agonizing slowness. The pain is sharp, your walls pulsing and struggling to accommodate him even after the preparation.

Too big.

The words barely formed in your mind before the pressure stole the thought away entirely. You gasped sharply, arching as he forced himself deeper, the stretch too much. Burning, tearing, making your legs shake uncontrollably.

Svarog’s grip on your hips tightened as he paused, allowing you a brief moment of reprieve to adjust, but as his optics flickered, scanning the trembling of your muscles and the fluttering of your gummy walls around him.

“Pain response detected. Estimating threshold at 62 percent.”

You cried out as his hands tilted your hips. You were barely able to breathe as he pressed further, the new angle forcing him deeper into your cunt, and your stomach twisted as you felt it. His cock bullied its way in, the meaty girth of his shaft forcing you wider and wider until you swore you could feel it pressing against everything, imprinting his shape inside of you.

Too much. Too deep.

Tears welled in your eyes as your body struggled to take him, your hands scrabbling against his frame, fingers digging uselessly into unmoving steel.

Svarog’s hand pressed against your stomach, his thumb grazing the prominent bulge already forming there.

“Internal displacement observed,” he said, pushing down slightly to feel the way his massive cock shifted inside of you. The sensation earned a quiver of your legs, the pressure in between your legs rendering you unable to utter a coherent sentence. “Pressure response increasing. Adapting angle.”

Your head fell back with a guttural cry as he adjusted, pressing even deeper, his thumb brushing over the bulge experimentally while he thrust deeper, the bulge in your stomach shifting with him. It felt like the wind was knocked out of your lungs. Your lips fell open in a silent cry, eyes rolling into the back of your head. Your body clenched down hard, pulsing and fluttering, struggling against the size, and Svarog stilled.

“Involuntary constriction detected,” he said, his optics dimming slightly.

His free hand reached up, spreading your thighs wider, and he began to move.

Slow, deliberate thrusts that forced you to feel every excruciating inch of him.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.

All you could do was feel. The stretch, the ache, the grinding pressure of him bottoming out inside you again and again and again. The bulge in your stomach shifted with every thrust, a visible reminder of just how deep he was, how much he was filling you.

Svarog’s optics glowed faintly as he observed you, his gaze calculating and unwavering as your body trembled beneath him. Each shallow breath you took, each gasp for air as his cock pressed deeper, he noted, analyzing the involuntary way your body gripped him, how your muscles fluttered around him with every thrust.

“Heart rate accelerating. Muscular tension increasing. Increased stimulation evident.”

He could see the way your body reacted. How your hands clenched, how your thighs shook, how the bulge in your stomach shifted with each deep push, marking the extent to which he had filled you. He watched the way your chest heaved, the way your pupils dilated with every inch of him that stretched you wider, deeper, further than you ever thought possible.

You were on the brink of breaking, the tension in your body growing unbearable as your mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. Your body, desperate for more and yet unable to fully handle what was happening, was his to command, and he couldn’t help but watch in quiet fascination as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

You were becoming dumber. So much of you just couldn’t function anymore. You were speechless, unable to utter a coherent sentence, broken down by the intensity of his cock fucking its way into you, and the way you melted against him was nothing short of fascinating. Your voice was lost to you, your thoughts clouded by raw sensation, but the pleasure you felt was clear. It was painted across every quiver of your body, the sheen of beaded sweat lining your face and neck, in the strained arch of your back, the desperate shuddering of your limbs.

He could hear the soft whimpering sounds, could see the way your face twisted with both pain and pleasure, and his own systems hummed with the data flooding his internal logs. Every reaction of yours was so genuine, so untouched by reason. It was an anomaly he had never experienced.

Svarog’s mechanical frame moved with precision, his movements controlled and deliberate. His systems hummed as he observed you, his optics tracking every microexpression, every shuddering breath as you struggled to adjust to the overwhelming size that filled you.

He didn’t feel pleasure. He didn’t need it, not the way you did. But the reactions you were giving him—the way your body trembled, the way your walls spasmed around him—were intriguing, data points he had yet to fully understand.

“Subject’s body reacting to size discrepancy. Estimated stretch threshold surpassed.”

Your hands were clutching at him, your fingers slipping over his cool metal plating, desperately trying to find purchase. Your tight walls clung to him as though your body was doing everything it could to resist the sensation, even though it was now obvious that you couldn’t fight it. Your body was becoming swallowed by him, opening wide to accommodate what it was never meant to handle.

Svarog’s movement’s never faltered, his thrusts measured and precise, studying you as your body began to react involuntarily. Your walls spasmed around him, tighter and tighter, almost as though your body was trying to pull him deeper despite the overwhelming stretch.

“Subject’s body is exhibiting signs of imminent climax. Response timing has been measured.”

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your entire body stiffed, an involuntary shudder running through you as every nerve seemed to light up at once. Your vision blurred, the sounds of your ragged breathing filling your ears, mixing with the overwhelming sensation of being stretched beyond belief. Your walls contracted and released rapidly, the pressure inside you finally exploding, and you cried out his name, the world barely a whisper between gasps.

The release sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body, and Svarog could see it. How your body trembled, how your legs locked around his waist, pulling him even deeper—if that was even possible. You were speechless, your mind blank as your body convulsed in ecstasy, your insides gripping him with a tightness that was almost painful.

“Subject has achieved climax. Response exceeds expectations.”

Your breaths came in desperate, uncoordinated gasps as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, and your body was left quivering, unable to do anything but absorb the aftershocks of your mind-numbing release. Your thighs quivered, feeling your cum trickling down your skin, staining his metal plating.

Svarog, ever the observer, did not stop. He noted the way your body reacted to each of his thrusts, the way your tummy bulged with each movement, the way your warm walls clamped down involuntarily as you tried to regain control of your senses.

Despite the fact that Svarog himself could not feel pleasure, there was something undeniably fascinating about the way you came undone beneath him, your body fighting for control even as it surrendered entirely to him.

He continued moving inside you, his mechanical precision relentless, watching as you flinched with each motion, your body too sensitive now to handle it. Your hands, still pawing weakly at his arms, combined with your whimpered protests of it being too much, were growing weaker, and the sensations were too much for you to bear, but still, he kept going, his own curiosity driving him. He wanted to see how much more you could take, how much more your body could endure before it reached its limit.

You were still trembling, still catching your breath, your mind scattered and lost in the aftereffects of your climax. He could see your skin shimmering with sweat, your breasts rising and falling, the way your hips thrusted up to meet his even though you were lost in the throes of overstimulation.

“Subject remains responsive despite signs of fatigue,” he observed. “Data indicates further analysis needed.”

You were so tight, so overstimulated, and yet your body responded again as though it couldn’t stop itself. Another surge of pleasure crashed through you, pulling another, more broken moan from your lips. It was overwhelming, too much, but your body needed it, responding in ways that only deepened his analysis of the situation.

Svarog’s focus didn’t waver. He watched as your body shook with every movement, your legs quivering with the strain of accommodating him, and still, he continued, his thrusts growing deeper, more relentless. His fingers dug into your hips, hard enough to leave litters of bruises that resembled the shade of his metal plating, holding you in place, using your body as a tool for his data collection.

He could see the way you reacted to the sensations, your face contorting in a combination of pain and pleasure, your eyes wide and unfocused, the way your mouth parted as though you couldn’t form any coherent words. Your body had become nothing but a series of responses, unable to control the way you moved or how you moaned, each sound increasing in volume and intensity as he continued to jackhammer into you.

Your stomach bulged from the pressure, each thrust deepening the curve, showing just how much of him you were struggling to take. Your body was so small, so delicate compared to his design—a machine of war—and yet it was somehow adjusting, somehow taking him all the way in, and with each inch he could see your entire body shift, your muscles trembling, walls contracting and clenching around him.

Svarog observed with detachment, but a small part of him couldn’t ignore how your body seemed to respond, how the very tightness of your searingly hot walls seemed to tug at him, pull him deeper as though it wanted to trap him there—needed him to stay there. The way you trembled beneath him, struggling to remain grounded as your body was filled with something so vast compared to your form. He noted how your skin glistened, how you arch your back, trying to take more of him, trying your damned best to accommodate his size.

Svarog noted how you were losing coherence, your once-clear expression now a mess of uncontrollable need, your eyes glazing over as you gave in to the rhythm he set. He couldn’t deny the way your body seemed to yearn for more, even as you struggled with the sheer size of him.

The final stretch was the worst for you, and the best for him. He felt your body grip him, squeezing him impossibly tight as he buried himself to the hilt. This earned a strained sob from your lips. Your stomach bulged more than ever before, a visual testament to just how much of him you had taken, how far he had pushed you. He could see your body tremble, your limbs shaking, your quivering lips gasping for breath.

Yet, even as your body was on the edge, unraveling beneath him, Svarog did not stop. The data was still incomplete. He needed more. He needed to see how much you could endure, how much pleasure your body could take from the sheer act of him pounding into you.

And so, he continued, calculating the rhythms, watching as you came again with a scream of his name, your body seizing, the loud moan that escaped your lips barely audible over the overwhelming noise in your head. It was the most raw, vulnerable he had ever seen you—or any human—and it only fascinated him more.

With another deep thrust, you shuddered, and this time, Svarog could see your body collapse against the surface beneath you, completely undone. You were breathless, barely coherent, your limbs shaking as the final waves of pleasure raked through your senses.

Svarog paused, his cool hands steadying your trembling body, allowing you to come down from the dizzying high. He could continue for as long as he wanted, but your body was too spent for further testing. He could still see the evidence of your come, dripping down in translucent milky strings to the surface beneath you, painting your inner thighs. Svarog decided that this must be what humans described as “beautiful.”

“Conclusion: Subject’s tolerance to size discrepancy has surpassed previous estimates. Data collection complete.”

[frownyalfred]

People give Bruce so much shit for wanting his cowl on at odd times but frankly if I had cutting edge technology like detail-enhancing lenses, bone conducting comms, sensors with tones indicating movement/etc, and various other tech all built into one thing, I would have that shit on my head all the time. Ear protection. Eye protection. Head trauma protection. Multiple comm lines. Cooling and heating ports. An expandable mouth/jaw cover for breathing underwater or in gas. A voice modulator. There’s probably a million things in there all hooked up at any given time, and yes it looks weird but it’s extraordinarily useful!

[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~~

[charseraph]

Agents make do

The approximate emotional state of everyone is picked up by external sensors. Prior to insertion, C&A calibrates to each agent via direct and remote biometric observation over a short period. C&A is thorough so they tune for arousal too. It doesn’t happen too often but when simultaneous agents start showing markers, especially on multiple occasions, something is up.

[flamintgo]

There's also an underlying accusation to that question that non-drummers would probably not directly get, even though you did correctly pick up on the rude tone. Not only are they calling the kit flashy, they're also calling him a fake. II's perfectly succinct response to that question was both the actual answer and a shut down (Imagine, if you will, those big, beautiful, blue eyes rolling in his grumpy skull mask. He is among Sleep's eepiest).

'why so many triggers' ' for gates' But what does it mean??? This was before my time 😭 I'm so excited

I don’t have the screenshot so if anyone wants to add, please do!

Basically, in the way that often happens, somebody on Twitter replies to a photo of ii’s setup and went “why so many triggers?” and like trying to say there’s too much shit on his kit, it’s for looks, it’s overkill and too many, just like general dissing energy

And ii, being on twitter and ready to fight at a moments notice, replied within very short time and just said “For gates.” (Admittedly, not a drummer, so I don’t 100% understand the nuance of this but) which we all basically took to mean “because fuck you that’s why”

Basically the drummer equivalent of “drift, why so many band posts? You’re not adding any music to the world, there’s no creating in what you do, you just yap and thirst and are annoying like why do you post about them so much?”

“For fun.”