Imagine a liaison aboard the lost light who calls people 'love' and 'dear' in a very soft, delicate tone.
based on this post because this is just too tempting to not write about, we must sound like debutants making their first appearance in fashionable society speaking in skittish whispers and sighs all the time when in reality organics speak in different octaves and wavelengths. definitely self indulgent cause me and my friends do this.
Imagine a liaison aboard the lost light who calls people 'love' and 'dear' in a very soft, delicate tone. In a ship full of battle-weary, pessimistic, cybertronians desensitized to almost everything, that single drop of warmth coming from a human whose touches feel like silk — feather light and alien, would be enough to make them putty in your presence.
The last time Brainstorm received a — " How clever, Brainstorm, thank you for your help." He had nearly popped a circuit trying to come up with a reply, stunned silent for what Perceptor claimed was the first time he was without one of his usual snarky remarks. Then it was Swerve, who wouldn't shut up about how you had called him 'darling' — Skids was adamant to prove to him that it was just how you spoke to people, even if the theoretician himself had his chest puffed out from being called 'dear'.
Then there was the time that you had scolded Whirl for nearly stepping on you, voice still painfully tender in comparison to the mechanical lilt of metal vocalizers —" Ooop! Careful there, handsome!" You had jumped, swerving just in time before his pedes crushed you. And the watchmaker froze, with a single optic pinning you in place. Then Drift had to chase him down several hallways, yelling that he wasn't allowed to just pick you up and run off.
An intervention was needed when a group of mechs were sent down a Decepticon outpost and returned with injuries. Apparently, everyone wanted to be pat on the arm and have you crooned — " Oh, you poor, brave thing" to them. With your brows knitted in worry, lips pout and slightly parted as they tell you all the heroic things they did. ( Ultra Magnus wasn't too impressed when said intervention from Rodimus was just a plot for him to cut the line and show you his battle scars. Someone in the back of the line had yelled that he wasn't even scratched. Judging from the infighting brewing, it was most likely Whirl.)
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Whirlibirb as a whirlibirb
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It's WHIRL TIME BABY, for now just some sketches as I needed to understand his weird anatomy first-
(He has one of my favourite designs of all time btw - I mean just LOOK at those LEGS, I can't be the only one obsessed with those shapes) <3
Bonus Swerve and Gearshifter sketches :>
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[AUTHORITY: IMPOSSIBLE]
Titus smirks, sets down his can and mirrors Garte. The gesture is much more effective on his broad frame.
“Nah, the boys are just redecorating a bit.” He shrugs, “I can ask Tibbs if he can come by sometime next week, it’s no big deal.”
The obvious provocation lands. Garte’s face turns a ruddy, blotchy pink that spreads to the collar of his shirt. To his own horror, he realizes that he is more of a fight than flight guy.
His index finger juts out, almost of its own volition, and stabs Titus in the sternum.
“You need to get a fucking handle on your little boy’s club and Tibbs better be here tomorrow morning.”
Garte doesn’t allow himself to consider that he must look ridiculous doing this, since he has to crane up his neck, standing so close to Titus.
Titus rocks on the balls of his feet once, then leans down to Garte.
“Or what, barkeep?”
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