#spinning-the-classics

[terrortimestwo-archived]

(( when you wonder if friends are still here and okay because you’ve been away so long, but you’re too afraid to tag them and find out ))

[rumblemakesbotstumble]

Starter

@spinning-the-classics

“What the frag are ya lookin at?” Rumble sneered at Blaster as the Autobot stared into his jail cell. If the cassette wasn’t cuffed he would definitely have attempted to rip him through the cell bars. He didn’t care if the slagger toward over him.

[leatherjacketjacker]

💛💜💖

💛: Loves them platonically.

💜: Finds them sexually attractive.

💖: Finds them aesthetically attractive.

“Right back ‘atcha, B.”

[littlegreenufo-blog]

文

Send in 文 for a confession from my character on what gets them hot

:: Wh-What?? Uh... I mean... Um. :: 

Flustered. Ohhhhhh so flustered. 

:: Nothing really that wild... Larger frames, my arms being pinned, dirty talk, aahh... :: 

Cosmos whined in embarrassment. 

:: I don’t know. Stuff like that. Um... what do you like? :: 

Wait, that was probably a personal question. 

:: You don’t have to answer that! :: 

[benevolentcannibal]

My gift for @Spinning-the-classics through the @tformers-secret-santa​ . Hope you like it and Happy Holidays!. :3

[tformers-secret-santa]

Gift for Hal0prime

If asked later, Cyclonus would probably blame the entire command staff for this slag.

Instituting a holiday wasn’t such a strange occurrence, in fact, Rodimus and Swerve between them tended to be overly fond of theme nights and excuses to ignore work. But making a holiday mandatory reeked of Ultra Magnus. Something about improving morale and bringing everyone closer together in light of recent events. Cyclonus was unsure how Megatron fit in but he’d also be willing to bet that this was a part of Magnus’ “softening his image” campaign.

And thus, Cyclonus was stuck wracking his brain to think of a present. A present for Tailgate. They only needed to show commitment to this silly occasion with one gift to one bot and then report it back to Ultra Magnus to receive recognition for their participation in the event. Frankly, it was a waste of time. But it was still one that Cyclonus found himself being forced into for the sheer fact that he couldn’t afford to cause much more trouble right now.

But figuring out what to give Tailgate was truly the issue. He didn’t want to go asking around, Primus knew that none of the mechs Tailgate spent time with could keep a secret. And rifling through his personal effects was right out. Staring out the window in thought wasn’t helping him either if he was being entirely honest with himself.

A walk might clear his helm.

He ended up at the oil reservoir far faster than he would have hoped and was, unfortunately, not alone. He could hear Whirl muttering to himself about something, fussing with some piece of metal between his claws.

“I know you’re there, Spooky.”

Cyclonus responded with a grunt, standing beside the crouching helicopter. It was clear that Whirl was trying, and partially succeeding, at building some sort of clock. His claws were growing more dexterous it seemed, more able to handle smaller and smaller objects as time passed. The clock itself was nothing entirely special, smooth edges and simple gears, but it was a small success against a backdrop of failure and Cyclonus admitted that the meaning in and of itself was special.

“Who are you giving a gift to?” he asked, looking away, feeling that optic on him.

“This?” Whirl held up the half finished clock, “it’s for Rung.”

“Ah.”

“So, what are you gettin’ Tailgate?”

Cyclonus would have asked how Whirl knew he was getting Tailgate something but it was a stupid, stupid question and the answer was too obvious.

“I’m not sure.”

Whirl put down the clock, humming for a moment before his optic flashed bright. If he had a face, it would have been split in an earth-shattering grin.

“I know what you should get Tailgate.”

And Cyclonus, desperate as he was, decided to go along with the idea.

A few hours later, Tailgate was humming a tune to himself as he walked to his habsuite, a large, blue box held in his servos, the glittery ribbon bouncing with every little step he took. He hoped Cyclonus would enjoy the gift, after all, he’d spent days on it with Rewind. He’d wanted to make something meaningful for the other mech.

It made the minibot wiggle a little in excitement at the idea of his surly roommate cracking into one of those rare smiles of his, each as rare and precious to Tailgate as anything in the galaxy could possibly be. He was decked out in those glittery bows himself too, one wrapped gently around his neck and another stuck to the top of his helm.

Swerve said it would be cute, and Rewind and Swerve were wearing ribbons too so it wasn’t so out of place. And he had to admit, he liked the glitter, even if Ultra Magnus was losing his mind over it being everywhere.

So, a trail of sparkling silver glitter behind him, Tailgate marched into his habsuite, ready to put the gift on Cyclonus’ berth.

He wasn’t expecting Cyclonus to be home.

Nor was he expecting the tall flier to be there, a giant golden bow tied haphazardly around one of his horns, holding a small box in his palm while gazing out the window, looking surlier than ever before.

He’d be lying if he said his spark didn’t tumble about in his chest.

“Cyclonus?”

As if woken from a stupor, Cyclonus jerked a little, turning to face the minibot, taking in a deep vent before nodding to him, inviting him closer.

After a few quiet moments, he opened the box in his servo and pulled out what appeared to be several white crystals strung together with wire and held together with a purple ribbon. Tailgate tilted his helm to the side, watching as Cyclonus held the strange little creation over the minibot’s helm. He started to speak before he felt the hard line of Cyclonus’ mouth pressed against the side of his helm, lips softening a little and making the minibot sight happily. It was almost too romantic.

And over all too soon.

“Cyclonus?”

The flier paused for another long moment, looking down at Tailgate before taking a knee to look him in the optics. “I care for you,” he said, simple and honest, voice rumbling like distant thunder and so very clearly uncomfortable with having to voice what he felt was obvious, “a great deal. A greater deal than I believe I can adequately express. I would like to become better at making sure you know that you are loved.”

The noise Tailgate made could have been heard down the corridors for days as he jumped up into Cyclonus’ arms, nuzzling against his neck with his face mask and practically trilling his joy. Glitter got everywhere from his ribbons and the little crystal creation was pressed to his dorsa from how Cyclonus had caught him.

“I love you too!” he practically shouted. He’d known they loved each other, but hearing it was entirely a different story, it made everything in him fill with warmth. He could feel the quirk of Cyclonus’ lips against the top of his helm, the same joy reflected in that tightly controlled EM field. He pulled back a moment, looking at the bow on Cyclonus’ helm with a soft laugh. “Does that make you my gift?”

“I suppose it does,” Cyclonus conceded, still smiling, harsh features softened through context. “Is that acceptable?”

“Better than acceptable. It’s the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

They waited a moment, the seconds ticking by into centuries.

“Happy Holidays, Tailgate.”

“Happy Holidays, Cyclonus.”

A pause.

“How are we going to explain this in our holiday report to Ultra Magnus?”

“I have no idea, Tailgate.”

-------------------

For @hal0prime from @spinning-the-classics

[protectobotmedic]

Dream

Dream: Three wishes I have.

Oh gosh. That’s deep. 

I wish for the war to actually be over. Not this… whatever this is. This flux. 

I wish for my lovers and I to be safe and happy and maybe someday find a place that we can call our own. 

I wish for maybe a peace of mind?? That’d be great. I’d love to be able to move on from things holding me back.

……………………..

This was probably a lot deeper than you wanted. 

>.>