The B in LGBT stands for Bomb Disposal!

Indie Tailgate, mun is 23, under works

[servusendura]

{ @its-babe-disposal } "Cyclonus, kneel for me?"

{ @its-babe-disposal }

As ancient as she is, it is not often that her audials fail her.

Tailgate often asked all sorts of things, or said all sorts of things, in public, regardless of who was around to overhear; this had in the past led to some... unfortunate circumstances, such as the incident with Siren, of all mecha, who had preceded to repeat her question loudly enough for the entire bar to offer their commentary on.

But this was-- surely she had not meant it, but she said it, and--

Cyclonus goes an unfortunate shade of mottled rose pink as she does, in fact, hit the decking on her knees with a solid clunk.

[its-babe-disposal]

Tailgate, contrary to belief, was not actually entirely unaware of the effect she had on Cyclonus. There was no small thrill over knowing Cyclonus was so into her, and beyond that, it made her feel..

Powerful? In a way? That Cyclonus would go so weak in the knees about it, just drop to the ground immediately for her. Spark thrumming hard in her chest, a little skipped beat of excitement, she moved closer to cup Cyclonus' face in her servos, and gave her a gentle squish. "You're so cute. I found a nice collar and I want to put it on you, is that ok? I think it'd look real pretty on you." A sort of.. possessiveness overtook Tailgate, then, of the idea of Cyclonus wearing a collar she'd put on her. A mark from her, around Cyclonus' throat for anyone to see. She pulled the item from her chassis' storage compartment, and offered it up for Cyclonus to look at.

A posture collar.

[servusendura]

{ @its-babe-disposal } "Cyclonus?"

{ @its-babe-disposal }

“Tailgate.”

Cyclonus is already hunching over on herself to hear what the minibot has to say, a servo reaching forward on habit to steady Tailgate in case she comes over too quickly and trips.

[its-babe-disposal]

Cyclonus reached her servo out, and Tailgate, visor brightening, pressed her servo into it, little digits wrapping around two of Cyclonus' bigger ones.

"Have I ever told you that you're the most beautiful mech I've ever laid optic on? Because you are."

[prevailinghatred]

SOMETIMES I LET MY ANGER DECIDE MY DESTINY.

Rules | About | Tags | Mun Coded by COBALT.

[no-more-dead-dogs]

yeah, this is my pet knight, she's a rescue. i gave her a brief act of mercy and she followed me home and sat outside my door to guard me from intruders. she swore her undying allegiance to me in exchange for a gift of grace and now she sleeps at the foot of my bed and weeps when im late coming home. and yeah, she only eats wet food because she's a snob, also.

[its-babe-disposal]

“Do you want a cuddle, Tailgate?”

"I'm always up for a cuddle," Tailgate, who at this point had just woken up from a nap, ambled over to Rung to nudge up against him. "Especially when you're running all warm."

[its-babe-disposal]

“Come here, little love.”

And oh, but Tailgate was helpless but to follow the sound of Cyclonus' voice, the lilt of it.

She knew some might say that Cyclonus' voice was flat, or even monotone, but there was an undercurrent of warmth when she spoke, little intricate notes that betrayed the mood she was in.

Tailgate was in love with her, frankly speaking.

"Yeah, Cyclonus," she managed, without making an entire fool of herself, she thought, ambling over to settle a servo on Cyclonus' waist.

[its-babe-disposal]

“Is… everything alright?”

"Oh, everything's alright- except for one thing." Tailgate thinks things could be better- mostly, Cyclonus should be way closer than she actually is.

"Come over here," she beckons from where she's sitting, and then pats her lap.

[servusendura]

“Tailgate,” Cyclonus hisses in warning, because the audacity of this little thing. Patting at her lap like that. No one would be able to misinterpret the gesture, and Cyclonus shifts uncertainly, the tip of one pede briefly tapping against her opposite ankle joint as she shifts her weight. “Here?”

Surely… Surely, Tailgate isn’t so bold as to… suggest a public display of affection.

[its-babe-disposal]

"C'mon! No one cares- just you an' me, anyhow." And maybe Scourge, who knew, he was always lurking around somewhere.

She patted her lap again, visor bright, and made little grabby servos at Cyclonus. "I wanna hold you for a while. ..s'at ok? I mean, if you don't want to, that's ok, but I like when you sit in my lap, pretty baby."

Tiny engine kicking on into a little purr.

[its-babe-disposal]

“Is… everything alright?”

"Oh, everything's alright- except for one thing." Tailgate thinks things could be better- mostly, Cyclonus should be way closer than she actually is.

"Come over here," she beckons from where she's sitting, and then pats her lap.

[its-babe-disposal]

Shakes hands. Cyclonus appreciation.

Tailgate's servo is absolutely dwarfed by Galvatron's, but she does nod solemnly.

Cyclonus appreciation.

[primadomina]

FUND TO BUY CYCLONUS A MAID DRESS

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Voting ended onMar 26, 2024

[its-babe-disposal]

Cyclonus enters the room slowly, pushing the door open with her shoulder and bringing a floating cart in behind her. “Pardon the interruption, Master, but I brought you something to drink.”

It flickers Its visor in acknowledgement, beckoning Cyclonus forward with a curl of It's fingers, cheek resting on Its knuckles.

What a silly, eager thing Cyclonus was. And yet..

"Come here then, come closer."

[servusendura]

“Of course,” she obliges, guiding the cart over to stop before the throne and gesturing to the glass and decanter. “This gin is from Tesarus. I believe we acquired it during one of the coastal raids, from a downed trader schooner. I have never tasted it, but Scourge assured me it was good, so…”

Cyclonus bows carefully, still not able to directly look at Unicron’s avatar.

“…Please allow me to serve you. And if this does not satisfy, I will find something else.”

[its-babe-disposal]

Of course, Cyclonus' first duty was to Galvatron, always, but It's presence here divided her attentions. It imagined Galvatron was not terribly happy about that.

But then, Galvatron disliked anything to do with Unicron.

"Pour it for me," It encourages, with a wave of a little servo, visor dimming. It hadn't engaged in mortal delights like drinking since Liege, so perhaps this was a bit different than his usual drinking habits. It did so like.. new things to try.

[its-babe-disposal]

Cyclonus enters the room slowly, pushing the door open with her shoulder and bringing a floating cart in behind her. “Pardon the interruption, Master, but I brought you something to drink.”

It flickers Its visor in acknowledgement, beckoning Cyclonus forward with a curl of It's fingers, cheek resting on Its knuckles.

What a silly, eager thing Cyclonus was. And yet..

"Come here then, come closer."

[primadomina]

{@its-babe-disposal} "My Wrath," echoes the call of the Void, from the Throne room, followed by what can only be described as a sort of grabbing- not a pull, this time, but an earnest demand. "Come here, to me."

{ @its-babe-disposal }

“Uchk!” Galvatron gasps, having been suddenly seized by a cold grasp about her spark in the middle of taking a swig of coolant. “Hhhkh. Kfff!”

What the fuck. Awful. The only one who gives her any modicum of the rightful respect-slash-awe she deserves is Cyclonus.

But she does not dare invoke Unicron’s disappointment, or worse inspire the minibot puppet to go wandering around where it might get into things better left behind closed doors, so—

Galvatron thumps a fist against her chassis to forcibly clear her intake and goes, shoving open the door to her throne room to stand awkwardly in front of the End of All Matter.

“What.”

[its-babe-disposal]

So small is it, in what is certainly Galvatron's throne, that it is, ironically, nearly swallowed up by the seat. Even still, it tilts its helm, visor oddly blank, before reaching a servo up and towards its Herald. "Come closer," it beckons. What an odd creature Galvatron is. So so very angry, raging at any form of control over her. Hissing and spitting at what it considered to be her birth-right. ..her second birth, perhaps. The Trumpet to the End of Days. "Bend down. I want to see your face." It is a simple command, it thinks, all things considered. It could ask for any number of petty things, and Galvatron might fight, but she would certainly lose. Of that, it was sure.

[its-babe-disposal]

It is easier, to go unnoticed in a crowd full of what is, apparently, side dishes to the main event. If you want to make your hunting more difficult, by all means, use Cyclonus.

[its-babe-disposal]

"All this fuss, for Primus spawn." ..cute.

[mementomorii13]

Svn.die on Instagram

[its-babe-disposal]

“If… if you would allow me,” Cyclonus murmurs, leaving the statement open ended as she trails off, unable to actually look the minibot in the visor. There was no questioning that they were Unicron’s chosen manifestation for the moment, not with how swiftly they took Galvatron in servo like it was nothing—

Her wings droop from her normally stiff posture, submissive and distraught.

“Please.”

"Come here, in front of me," Unicron says. The Hierophant appears, then; she is well built, it thinks. There is a powerful engine under there, strong combat systems- yes, well chosen for Galvatron.

Where is Scourge, it wonders. Slnking in the shadows, somewhere, likely. Perhaps he is watching? Or perhaps he is keeping his nose out of it, which seems more the case. Unicron gestures, from where it has taken a seat in Galvatron's throne- a bold claim no one else would make.

"Speak your peace, little one."

[servusendura]

Still dusty from her patrol, grit clinging to her armor, she puts her sword aside and pops out the firing mechanism cartridge from her boltor to leave them behind on the floor. It is unthinkable, and yet. This is the first time she has willingly divested herself of her weapons for any reason but to clean or recharge since receiving them.

They will do nothing mighty against a deity.

And. And this form is so small. Tender-looking, with rounded edges and little servos, and Cyclonus lifts her chin to come close as bade and feels her spark stutter when she meets that glittering visor.

“Please,” she whispers again, another heavy step forward, then two, and then she is down on her knees before the throne with her servos clasped together in supplication, tears threatening to spill. “My master does not understand. It is her nature to thrash and fight, even against things that mean to help her, and Lord Galvatron has never dedicated herself to formal study. She knows you only in pain and hunger she herself has suffered, and turns outward on others. I understand. I submit. Whatever grievance my master has committed, take it out on me, instead. She will gain no clarity from punishment, only further distress. Please.”

[its-babe-disposal]

What a wretch, this creature in front of it is.

Cyclonus dismantles herself in front of Unicron and kneels, so achingly miserable as she begs for it to have mercy upon her master. It huffs in amusement and bends, reaching with open servo to place it between her long, curving horns. "You need not worry yourself with such things- your master and I have come to a sort of understanding." ..it thinks. Galvatron is volatile, and so her opinion could change within the next orn, perhaps.

It pets Cyclonus' helm for a few moments, and then, lightly, presses, a moment indicating for Cyclonus to bow her helm, lay her head on its knee. "Your master was made for me as you for her, Cyclonus. When she drank of my essence, I felt her connection to me thusly, with all the rage she has ever had. I know of her nature- I have tasted it many a time, before she ever killed Liege. I knew it with every victory she had taken, and I will know it with the rest. So hush, little one. You would worry yourself sick in her stead over what supposed punishment I might give her. Worry yourself no farther, and hush, hush. Free yourself of this, and worry only about your service to her."