#brutus writez

Along the horizon, past hills of tall, wind-swept grass, you could see where the blue sky became blanketed by grand, darkened clouds. The haze below them signalled rain, and the visibility beyond that cloak of water was minimal.

That wasn't the only storm brewing. Something felt uneasy.

The cabin you called home was right between the open plains and the Forest of Thristas. It was the only non-mountainous part of the ring that separated the canopy of decaying Silverwood from the rest of the peninsula and the main passage which animals, humans, and occasional witches used.

No one should be in the forest, and yet, you had this sinking feeling someone had passed your gates right into its murky maw.

An inkling wasn't good enough grounds to endanger yourself, especially not with the encroaching gales.

But if someone were out there, you were their only hope.

A quick look, just to ease your conscience.

Your shawl was thrown over hastily. A compass clutched in one hand and the trusty lantern that had seen you through the misty forest so many times before in the other.

"Not sure if I'd rather be right or wrong." Muttering to yourself as you began entry through the treeline, the wind nearly snatched your shawl straight from your shoulders. The storm would be upon the forest in the next hour, if not sooner. You would have to beat it.

It was only a few paces down the trail you'd beaten out from years of travel that a feather caught your eye.

Pure black, pearlescent sheen…nothing native to these parts. The effects of the decaying Silverwood trees poisoning any water and soil in their rotting graveyard caused most wildlife to avoid the forest. Not only that, but a quick examination of the feather revealed holes in the calamus, some filled with broken thread.

The feather belonged to a clothing article. Someone was most definitely present.

"Hello? If you can hear me…it's unsafe to be out here. A storm is coming!" There was no echo within the woods; the silt below your feet was already enough to absorb sound.

For a moment all you picked up on was the squelch of each step you took and the whistling of wind as it forced its way through branches.

And then a faint cough.

You stopped, cupping the back of your ears to try and hear any better over the wind.

Another cough, somewhere to your left. More like a choked gasp for air than anything else.

Pushing through the thicker brush of the off-trail, it only took a few paces to find a hunched-over figure, a mask obscuring their face and hand held close to what you would assume was their mouth.

"Are you okay? Do you need help?" Shoving your compass into your pocket, you reached out a hand.

The coughing got worse, this time jolting them enough to reveal their black-stained hands. They reached out, and you closed the distance by firmly taking hold of their calloused hand.

"I'm sorry, there's a storm coming, and we have to go. Can you still breathe? I can help you better when we're home." You squeezed their hand, and they squeezed back. You caught a nod, dramatized by the pointed cap on their head. The texture of the ink on their hand told you it was crude woodcruor, and if you had to guess, they'd gone and gotten themselves poisoned.

When you pulled, they kept pace with you, steps surprisingly well-footed and cautious despite their illness.

That was good, because the clouds were overhead and small droplets of water were already starting to fall. The two of you were lucky enough to make it under the roofed porch of your home moments before the downpour hit, safely inside the warmth of your home by the time the thunder rumbled overhead.

"Come now…" Pulling a chair out from the table, you urged them to sit and reached for their cloak.

The fabric was heavy, likely worsened by taking in some of the rain. You hooked it onto your coat tree in the meantime, turning back to the stranger.

"Did you ingest some of it? The woodcruor? It's poisonous to us humans—and witches, you know." Though you were frustrated with their actions, you needed to be far more focused on their survival. You brought a glass of water to them, ready to remove their mask to help them drink, only for their hand to grab your wrist.

They opened their mouth to talk, though a cough bringing more black ink to the corners of their mouth stopped them. Instead, they shook their head.

"You don't want to show your face? But—" You bit your tongue.

Witches worked in mysterious ways. But witch or not, you wouldn't want to cross any boundaries and cause mistrust.

"Here, just…" You moved their hand to the glass, making sure they were holding it tight before turning around. "Drink it and I won't look, okay? I'll get a cloth to help you clean up."

Striding back to the sink, you got the stove going under the kettle and grabbed a clean wooden bowl.

While the water boiled, you searched your cabinets, grabbing a large jar of powdered herbs made exactly for this situation. You were the frontline of the forest, and it'd be stupid not to have a remedy for woodcruor on hand at all times.

"That water is just to dilute whatever is already in you. I'm making medicine right now, though. That'll stop the coughing and hopefully stop any serious symptoms." Your hands worked, fast, pouring the boiling water over a paper liner filled with the herbs. Just enough to get the essence out. The other half of the cup was filled with fresh milk.

"I'm turning back around."

"Okay." Their voice was raspy, but you were pleased they could at least manage a word.

Taking the water from them, you replaced it with the steaming mug. They held it with both hands, enjoying the warmth soaking into their frigid fingers.

"It's like milk tea. The milk will help soothe the burning sensation and further dilute the woodcruor. The mixed herb tea is full of ingredients that directly neutralize its poisonous effects." You were going to turn around to give them privacy, though they brought the cup to their lips before you could.

Pale skin showed through the tassels falling from the eye of the mask. They looked to be about your age, but you couldn't discern much else from the glimpse.

"I was lucky you found me, wasn't I?" They sounded a whole lot better, the warm drink doing wonders for them. Your shoulders finally lost their tension, relieved they were likely to make a full recovery.

"Yes, very." Pulling a freshly washed cloth from a drawer, you mixed some of the boiled water with cold water until it came to a nice, warm temperature. "I don't know how you witches function, but there was no good reason for you to be out there alone."

Pushing the cloth into the water, you let it soak as you brought the bowl to the table, pulling a chair out in front of them.

Iguin watched you, though you couldn't tell, as you wrung the cloth of as much water as possible. Not just water, they noticed. There were bubbles of something oil-based on the surface.

"Could I see one of your hands, please?" You held yours out, unstained and skin soft enough to tell them you were no one magical. They relented, holding the cup in one hand and letting you guide the other towards the bowl.

The cloth passed over their palm, oil and water wetting the skin it passed over. At first it looked as though nothing had happened, but as the water began to evaporate and the oil permeated into the skin, the ink began to lift. Each pass of the cloth brought more ink out, slowly staining the clean water with a purple-black wash.

Their hands were stain-free for the first time in forever.

When they finished the tea, they offered you their other hand, which you gave the same treatment. Not only were their hands pristine, but the oil and gentle scrubbing of the cloth fibres softened their skin.

"I've never seen them so clean." They brought their hands close to their mask, observing them.

"Well. I'm glad I did a good job! Unfortunately I can't pull the stain from the nails. Keratin is a whole other ordeal." You got up, bringing the dishes and cloth to the sink to clean everything up.

Iguin remained seated, watching your back as you moved along.

From what they could gather, you thought they were some kind of novice witch. The thought was amusing, and they enjoyed playing along. Had you not been so entertaining, they might not have remained so docile.

Well, they were somewhat glad to have managed their temper. You'd genuinely managed to delight them with your kind gestures.

"You can stay here tonight. Between the storm and your state, I just wouldn't feel right sending you out there." They hummed, tilting their head to the side. If they wanted to leave, they could just stand up and teleport. Make you forget everything, too.

But the idea of playing dollhouse was too endearing.

Their gaze followed curiously when you reached back for their cape, folding it over your arm and passing them to open a set of stained glass doors. You opened both, whispering a brief 'ta-dah!' under your breath.

On the other side was a living room, walls lined with shelves of all sorts of books and scripts. There was a fireplace on the back wall, lit up in a humble flame.

When you urged them to follow, they stood up from the chair to join you. There was a grand wooden desk with all sorts of bottled ink and papers you'd clearly been writing on, all comfortably situated below a large window overlooking the divide between the forest and the plains.

"This is where I spend most of my time. And where you'll be sleeping."

A velvet couch faced the fireplace, with several quilts thrown over the back and arms of it and enough throw cushions to last several lifetimes. There was an armchair at its side, facing towards the coffee table between them and the fire. Most of the colours in the room were different, and yet each was complementary.

"I hope the couch is okay. I'll set you up with some proper linen…" As you spoke, you sorted the cushions and removed some of the quilts, tossing them onto the armchair to make more room.

"That would be appreciated. Thank you kindly." Iguin gave a curt bow, a laugh bubbling out of you in reply.

"Too formal! Much too formal! This is what I'm here for, technically." Sitting on the border. You were technically employed to stay here and keep watch. Not dissimilar from a lighthouse keeper or fire watcher. "I've done this before. Dealt with poisonings."

You sat on the armchair, pulling their cape over your lap as you held a needle and thread in the other.

"And I do have a guest room for these sorts of things. It's just—well, the last person who stayed here was an apprentice. A spell went awry…and, well, I'm still repairing what's left of the room." Iguin let you speak, watching as you mended a few of the holes in their cape.

You hadn't been asked, and yet you did it as if it were the only sensible thing to do.

The witch sat down on the couch, hands grazing the velvet fabric of the sofa cushions. They watched you closely as your hands made quick stitches along areas torn by their time in the woods.

"Magic sure has a tendency to bring about destruction, even when it doesn't mean to, doesn't it?" You spoke it so casually, and yet the smile on your face said you weren't upset with that.

"I would argue magic has always been destructive, a vibrant chaos which we use as a tool to do our bidding." Iguin leaned forward, a lilt to their voice that was nearly too obvious about their playful nature.

You pulled a thicker thread through the already hole-punched feather you found, attaching it to its original home along the collar of the cloak.

"Well, I suppose so." You cut the thread, taking the ends into your hands to begin a knot. "That's why I am glad witches go through such rigorous testing."

"Makes sense it's so guarded. Or at least, I'm glad it is. If anyone could use magic…" The knot was pulled tight, securing the feather in place. Grabbing a match from its box, you struck it alight to use its fire to singe the edges of the thread until nothing stuck out.

Iguin reached over, pinching the match flame with their own two fingers until it was smothered out.

You slapped their wrist.

"Be careful! You could burn yourself!" A sigh escaped your lips, playfully tossing the cape at them. They caught it, holding it out to admire your repairs.

"I could have done it with magic. Save you the effort." The stitching was near perfect but still left an obvious line. They caught your frown from the corner of their eye.

Right. You hadn't thought to consider your repair was crude compared to what magic could muster.

"But I do prefer it this way."

When their head tilted your way, you were able to catch a glimpse at their smile.

You couldn't help but smile back. It was reassuring to see that they were doing okay now and that you'd been able to find them before the storm. Having company out here wasn't so bad, even if you tended to enjoy time alone.

Hell, nobody that lived all the way out here wouldn't be a fan of being alone.

"Well, I'll leave you to rest. If you need anything, I'll be in my room. Bathroom is that door by the entrance we came in." Pulling yourself from the armrest with a stretch and an exaggerated inhale, you gathered your sewing supplies to put them away.

"Feel free to explore the shelves if you can't sleep, too." You were closing one of the doors, moments from closing the other before you peeked back in at them.

"Sleep well, strange witch!"

The door closed, leaving Iguin alone in the living room.

They were able to hear you in the kitchen for a moment, blowing out candles and ensuring the front door was locked. You only left when they could see all the lights had gone out on the other side of the glass, presumably to your room to sleep.

Iguin pulled the pointed hat from their head, lying back into the comfort of the cushions.

Their breath evened, relaxing to the ambient sound of rain and the fire crackling.

"I brought you those linens I mentioned—" They immediately jolted, slamming a cushion over their face so you wouldn't see it. The sudden movement brought on a coughing fit from the poison they'd already forgotten.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see anything! I'll leave it by the door—so, so incredibly sorry!" You nearly slammed the door shut this time, the rushed footsteps back down the hall signalling your retreat.

Iguin's sigh eventually turned into a low laugh.

'Goodnight, strange girl.'

Author's Note ── Honestly I am more in a state of 'I want others to write this character, too' just because it is sooo hard to personify someone who, despite being a main character, has revealed so little of their identity and personality.

This could be viewed as a prequel to my other work about them, Cognitive Dissonance.

Wind rattled the pane of the window in its socket, adding to the static racket of rain as it hit the metal roof.

Living in the hills outside of the town was nice when the weather was forgiving, but with no city walls to protect you from the torrential downpour, your home was forced to take the brunt of nature's rage.

You were lucky that you loved storms. Anyone else might have been afraid the house would blow away, but you were too busy thinking about what good the rain would do for your garden. Oh! And the rain barrels would be full, which meant you wouldn't have to go to the river for at least a quarter moon!

Striking the match along the abrasive strip, you quickly used it to light a candle and tossed the rest of the match into the hearth. The flame exploded into a flurry of sparks the moment it met the bundle of wool and wood shavings serving as kindle between the logs.

There was an additional serenity that came with storms. No one expected you to leave your home in this weather. You could stay in and take a moment to yourself.

Knock knock.

The sound of thunder rumbled through your bones, the sound expected after the bright flash of light filled the living room. It was so loud you were almost certain it could have been roaring right at your—

Knock! Knock!

This time you were certain of it, turning to the door, which was fighting against the wind and its locks.

Someone was outside? In all this rain?

Pulling the quilt from your lap, you were quick to push off of the couch, rushing to the door. If someone had come from town, then it must have been an emergency, or someone had gotten lost, and your home was the only shelter for kilometers.

The moment you unlocked the door, it swung open, forced by the wind, which hit hard enough to steal your breath.

The rain was practically sidewise, hitting your skin through the door.

No one was there.

Wasting no more time in an attempt to prevent your house from earning itself a puddle, you pushed the door back using your entire body weight until the lock slid back into its holster.

"That was rather pointless…" Your voice trailed off, looking down at your—now soaked—legs.

"I wouldn't say so." A voice from behind you pulled a scream from your throat, immediately turning to press you back against the door.

Someone stood not a meter away from you. A brimmed hat on their head and tasseled eye hiding their visage. The feathered cape hanging off their shoulders was ever strange, though the fact that they were perfectly dry was stranger.

"Who are…How did…" Something in your head felt heavy, and your heart was beating so fast you were certain it couldn't be healthy. "Iguin? You're home already?"

Behind the tassels, a smile grew, their arms opening to accept you into a hug. All the heavy fabric they wore was like a comforting blanket you just wanted to sink into. They were warm, too. So warm you didn't notice your wet clothes were suddenly dry.

"It's hard to stay away for long." Their head cocked to the side, letting your hand smooth along their jaw to cup their face.

"Had I known you'd be back, I would have made dinner or tidied up at the very least." Letting go of you once you started to part from the embrace, they watched as you opened the kitchen cabinets, searching through what you had available.

"No need to worry about such things, my darling. I stopped to eat right before I arrived." Right as you were about to point, they reached into their cape. "And of course I brought you something, too."

Unwrapping the parchment paper in their hands revealed a powdered-sugar-dusted pastry, which rapidly caught your attention.

The way you practically bounced back towards them was a treat in and of itself. Your eagerness in something as simple as baked flour and yeast comes from a kind of innocence the witch lacked. Something they wanted to just bottle up and keep all to themself.

Though, one could argue they were already doing that.

"Can we have it now?"

"There is no 'we.'" Iguin set the wrapped pastry into your hands, closing your fingers around it and sealing it with a kiss on the back of your hand. The fabric tassels tickled your knuckles, leaving your cheeks rosy.

"Please, Iguin! I shouldn't have this all to myself. Pastries are a delicacy." Your hesitance to accept the gift was shown with how you kept your hands extended, not yet accepting the treat as your own.

"It is truly the least I could do. You earned it for being so patient, didn't you?" This time they turned away, pulling the cape from their shoulders as they neared the couch by the fireplace.

Watching them shrug off all that fabric truly changed their appearance. It was so bulky that it broadened their shoulders and gave them a far more intimidating appearance than they needed. After all, your Iguin was nothing short of a sweetheart.

"I suppose...Thank you." Bringing the sweet along with you, you found your spot on the sofa, shuffling until you were comfortable on the cushions. Their weight on the other side made everything sit perfectly.

"Ouph." The air escaped you when they blanketed their cape over you, nearly drowning you in the feathers along the neckline. You laughed between blowing the feathers away from your mouth. "I might boil between this and the fireplace."

"I sure hope not. Whatever would I do then?" You could hear the smile in their words, prompting you to kick a foot at them. They caught your ankle before you made any contact, to which you begrudgingly pulled your leg back with a huff.

Underneath, you were able to grade your hands along the inner lining of the cape, feeling the ribs and ripples of corduroy.

It smelled like them. Old books, crisp air, and metallic ink. It was heavy, so heavy you weren't sure why they chose to wear it all the time. It seemed like more of a pain than anything.

"I can barely move, you know." You slowly hid your face in the folds of fabric, muffling the end of your sentence. In some way you were trying to prove that your words were only playful.

"Perhaps I put it there so you couldn't escape, hm?" Iguin chuckled as they lifted a book from the side table, flipping back to where they'd left off.

You remained silent for a moment, watching them with a gaze of fondness.

"I wouldn't run from you, Iguin."

The witch paused their reading.

"Is that so?" Though they tried to play off the effect of your words, it took them a noticeable moment to get back to reading.

That heft of the cape had become a comfort. Like layers of fabric holding you down to your bed, begging you to stay in their hold and drift off to sleep. The rain had become background noise, mixing with the crackle and pop of the fireplace. Your partner was by your side, a book already propped open in one hand while their other rested in reach of you.

It wasn't worth fighting back the weight of your eyelids, which lowered with the slipping of your consciousness. You were fast asleep in no time, curled up below the cape with the parchment-wrapped pastry still cocooned in your hands.

The book closed with the tensing of their fingers, placed on the side table so they could lean over your resting form.

"Pulchritudinous. Beyond compare." Iguin hummed, their voice lower than a whisper in fear of waking their beloved.

Seeing you bundled under their clothing was such an endearing sight. While they hadn't planned on staying here long, it felt too cruel to take the comfort away from you now.

It was only when the fire began to die out and darkness sunk into the room that they finally took the chance to move you. Not in any way detectable; you were on the couch one moment and on your bed the next. Their cape was replaced with two of the larger quilts available, and your treat was left on the coffee table for tomorrow.

Iguin remained a moment longer, floating over your chest, listening to your light breathing and occasional shuffling.

Leaving paradise with you meant going back to their busy schedule on the peninsula. Back to the real world, where plans were quickly unfolding and they could only keep time waiting so long.

One last kiss, pressed to your temple, and they were gone in a cloud of thick black smoke.

Their thumb pressed the cork back into the top of the globe, re-inscribing the seal that protected it from breaking.

Inside was your cabin, miniature and protected, the fake rain having settled since they'd kept the globe still for so long during their visit. You were safe in there, where no one could find or save you.

Iguin gave the orb a gentle shake, stirring up the crystals that form the rain, restarting the cycle of rain befalling your home. You'd have no reason to leave so long as the storm raged.

"Sleep well, lover." They kissed the side of the globe as one last sign of admiration and slipped it back into the corduroy-lined pocket of their cape.

Author's Note ── No one asked for this but I wanted it, so...yknow. It is so hard writing for a character that I both adore and know so little about. I really hope we see more Iguin in the manga.

The cold metal plating of his servo met your chest, stopping you from leaning any further over the bridge railing.

"I'm not going to fall, Spots."

"I'd rather not chance it." The mech's voice was muffled behind his protective mask, though the vibrations of his low voice could be felt through his digits. He pulled you back from the ledge despite protests.

It was late spring in the northern hemisphere of Earth, so the water below was still cold, and it was gushing with water fresh from winter's melted snow. If you fell in, you could get hypothermia, assuming you didn't hurt yourself on the riverbed when the current throws you around, or drown.

"Try not to overthink things. We're supposed to be getting away from responsability, remember?"

He rumbled defensively, continuing to walk alongside you down the old dirt road.

This was where you two had first met, a long time ago now. When he had run across you after your vehicle had broken down and left you stranded in the middle of nowhere.

He towed your car the whole way to the next town for you. It would have ended there, with you remaining the unaware citizen and him the typical hero, had he not been ambushed by cons and forced to transform.

Was it strange to be grateful he had gotten attacked? He couldn't help but wonder where he'd be without you today.

What a lonely reality that would be.

"To be honest, it's been hard to relax with my comms being pinged every few minutes." Hot Spot reached up to his helm, reluctantly muting the notifications from pinging him. He had told the others 'emergencies only,' and they were clearly ignoring his request.

You couldn't help but chuckle. You could only imagine what it was like to be forced into a team you'd barely met. If you had to guess, it was mostly Rook or Blades bothering him.

"The night you found me, I was really grateful. I mean, obviously because I got to meet you but..." Your voice trailed off, looking over the stretching fields of green hugged by forest. "I only had my license for a week at the time, and I didn't know this area. I was an anxious mess."

"I remember thinking, man, I'll be stuck out here for hours before I see any other people. And then I saw your headlights in my rearview mirror." His red optics peered down at you, brightening with interest when you stopped in your tracks to look back at him.

"That feeling of relief I felt. I still feel it anytime I see you. It never really went away."

The Autobot was still, his spark humming as his engine rumbled. He knew you couldn't see, but he smiled.

"It means a lot to me, knowing that you trust me." Hot Spot knelt to the ground, scooping you up into his servos to lift you towards his helm. Slowly, and with extreme caution, he pressed you against his mouth guard.

"You're the only reason I still feel sane. Not sure I can do the whole 'leader' think without you." He vented, blowing all the hair from your face in the process, before nuzzling his helm against you.

"Coming back here reminds me just how lucky I was to have found you."

Atomizer

✦ ── The destruction of Kimia was the destruction of all hope Atomizer had that you'd come back. Escaping the exploding facility meant leaving all traces of you he still had behind. You'd left long before it was attacked, declared missing in action, but he'd hoped if he stayed where he was, you'd find your way back to him.

✦ ── Atomizer doesn't do 'moving on' very easily. He is dedicated to you. He will wait, even if it's hopeless. Since the two of you worked for Brainstorm on Kimia, he decides to follow the scientist onto the Lost Light.

✦ ── Imagine his surprise when, on some random side quest, he finds you'd been saved and taken in by the Circle of Light. Whatever insane luck this is, he takes it. He's sweeping you into his arms and not letting go until you're tapping out.

✦ ── Attached to your hip for a good amount of time following your reuniting. He acts nonchalant about it, but he still feels shame for not being able to find you. You had nearly died, and it was only thanks to luck they found you in time.

✦ ── Enjoys telling you about all the news on the ship. What's happened since takeoff, who else is onboard, and the best drinks at Swerve's. Wants to engrain you into the culture of it and get you comfortable. Keeping you safe may or may not fuel his dislike for Rodimus later on...

"I'd feel a lot better if you kept something on you other than a sword to keep you safe. This ship can be unpredictable." Atomizer cleared his vents, walking alongside you to his habsuite.

He was helping you carry some of your things as you finally got clearance to share a habsuite with him.

"Trust me, I do!" Once you set a stack of datapads at the foot of your recharge slab, you reached for the sword on your back. When it released from its holding mechanism, the sword began to transform into a sleek compound bow.

"I refitted the crossbow you gifted me into this! Of course, I had to compromise on the 'cross' part to make the components work with a sword..." Atomizer nearly dropped everything he was holding, engine rumbling.

"I'm madly in love with you."

"Eh?"

Crosscut

✦ ── Both being senators on Cybertron, the two of you had gotten used to seeing one another constantly, more than you were apart. When the war started, that all changed. Being stretched across the galaxies in the beginnings of an awful war made it impossible to stay in contact.

✦ ── The only way he knew you were still online was if he heard your name in passing. Sometimes, if he were lucky, he might have met someone who worked alongside you so he could get some kind of update on your life. From what he gathered, you were a lot more battle-intensive than him.

✦ ── He never expected you to be there at Megatron's trial. He should have, but somewhere deep within his processor he'd started to worry you might have gone offline. But there you were, waiting patiently for him when the Lost Light landed.

✦ ── Ever the dramatist, Crosscut's lifting you up into his arms and spinning you around in front of the whole crew. He doesn't care who can see. This moment is nothing short of inspirational to him.

✦ ── You'd mentioned hearing about his plays, how happy you were he was finally taking up being a playwright, and how he'd joined the infamous Lost Light crew. Some part of him was envious that you'd managed to find out so much about him; if not guilty he hadn't looked harder for news about you.

"Is this based on us?" You had another datapad in your servos, already halfway through the first act.

"Of course it is. Most of them are." Despite the guard covering his mouth, you could see the way his optics smiled from across the table.

You were finally taking the time to get through each play. Not all had been published, and some had never crossed your desk in your time apart.

It was nice to be together, doing something other than work.

"Surely not 'My Shovel, Your Face,' though?" You leaned forward, smile indicative of your teasing.

"Surely not. That'd be ridiculous! But you are a major character."

Motormaster

✦ ── It comes as a surprise to the Stunticons when you appear one cycle, hand on Motormaster's shoulder, with a warm smile. They're pretty sure you're about to get your helm ripped off.

✦ ── No such thing occurs. Instead, you are pulled against his frame so quickly the clash of metal indicates you've both just scratched your paint to all hell. But what does that matter? It's been tens of thousands of years since you last saw one another. Thousands since you last spoke. Hundreds since you last messaged.

✦ ── Being a gestalt, let alone the leader, means he has no 'private' life from the Stunticons. He cannot go where he wants, especially not as a soldier. Menasor is needed. You, in your more technical skills, were kept far from the battlegrounds.

✦ ── He is gruff, cold, and blunt even with you. But he grips your servo tightly, keeps your frame close, and will severely damage any teammate of his who so much as looks at you wrong.

✦ ── Doesn't feel the need to 'make up' for lost time. No time is lost so long as you two are Conjunx, even if it is not spent side by side. Knowing you were out there was all he needed to maintain his will to lead and fight. The only reason Menasor fights not just to win, but to survive. All from his will to see you again, however long that is.

It was surprisingly difficult to keep up with the semi-truck as he raced along uneven terrain, the growl of his engine drowning out your own. He was made for this kind of thing, while you certainly weren't.

"I might have to walk from here, Motormaster." Your voice excited this radio, his tires screeching to a halt as your own got stuck in the half-molten tar of the planet's surface. You were forced to transform, trying to pull yourself out of the muck.

"What's the point in having such a useless alt mode?" The mech grumbled, backing up until his wheels hit the back of your knees, making them buckle until you fell back onto the deck plate.

"Motormaster!" Chains hooked themselves around your peds, pulling you from the muck without any struggle.

Unfortunately for you, they continued upwards until you were fully strapped onto him.

"Motomaster, let me off!" All you got in reply was a chuckle, and the mech took off in the same direction, this time with you in tow.

Siren

✦ ── The two of you were separated halfway into the war. Dreadfully, it had been sudden and without warning. One cycle, you were in the same squadron. Next, he was told you'd been relocated as apart of an emergency effort.

✦ ── He's waiting to hear from you. Then starts looking for any signs of you. But two million years of nothing convince him that maybe you've gone offline. He once told you that when the war was over, he'd perform the Conjunx Ritus for you. Siren holds himself to that, refusing to perform the Ritus for anyone else.

✦ ── You can imagine his surprise when just after Megatron's trial, he bumps into you on the Lost Light, escorting Megatron to Rung's office. He's louder than he's ever been, screaming as he grabs onto you to make sure you're real.

✦ ── And you are. And you seem just as happy to see him, but far less shocked. Turns out you were sent as a spy, and you'd been working along the Decepticon Elite most of your time apart. Is he proud? Of fucking course! And now he's telling everyone on board how cool his (soon to be) Conjunx is!

✦ ── There's a certain hurt that comes with not being told, but he understands spy efforts require such secrecy. He's far more happy to see you than upset, that stupid grin stretched across his face. Much to everyone else's annoyance, he's only gotten louder with you back at his side.

"SOUNDWAVE? THE SOUNDWAVE?!" Siren jumped up from his seat, nearly bumping his face into yours. You laughed with his enthusiasm.

After being kicked from Swerve's for being too noisy, and then the halls for being loud, the two of you are now in the oil reservoir, far from anyone's unwanting audio receptors.

"I hadn't expected it either! Prowl had me fitted with a processor scraper so he could only read the thoughts we wanted him to. But I was still pretty nervous he would find me out." Being a spy and integrating with the cons was always nerve-wracking work, though. "The trick is to stand out on purpose."

"You're amazing," Siren vented, his voice the quietest you'd heard all day. Reaching forward, you placed your servo against the side of his helm.

"I had great inspiration."

Trepan

✦ ── It was his fault you two never crossed paths, and he accepts that as a flaw of his own nature. The New Institute needed him, and he couldn't tell anyone he was close to where he'd be or what he would be doing. Especially not the one he loved most.

✦ ── But he continued his work in hope that whatever it was he was doing behind the scenes, no matter how sinister, would help you out there in the main battle. Thankfully, he not only heard of you, but he'd also see you in the memories of some he poked and prodded at.

✦ ── Your reuniting with him is chaotic. He's nearly offline in a medical facility in backwater areas of the galaxy he'd been held in by Overlord. Someone was sent to kill him, and someone was sent to save him. In the end, his near-lifeless corpse was brought to you just in time.

✦ ── He's in the best care under your tools. No longer the medic in training he knew so long ago, you're now the head medic in a facility dedicated to saving mechs like him. Mechs had little to nothing left to salvage. When he finally wakes, he could have sworn he was in the afterspark, seeing your optics looking right back at him.

✦ ── If he could hug you, thank you, kiss you, and apologize to you, he would. But for now, he remains unable to move as you slowly nurture him back to health. For the first time in a long time, he is the patient. Trepan, for only a moment, wonders if he deserved to be treated so kindly after all he's done.

"Good morning, Trepan." Your voice took time for his audio receptors to interpret, optics lighting up to see you stood over him. Light was filtering in through a window in the room, giving your plating a warm glow.

His racing processor relaxed, pausing its self-repairs to bask in your company.

"That's a saying on Earth, the planet we're on. I can't wait for you to really get out of this room and see it. The views are beautiful, and the inhabitants are very lovely." Your servos were already working on one of his, doing the tedious work of rebuilding his mnemosurgery interfacing tools.

"You're doing an impressive job reworking your processor. I can see all the progress you're making. Keep it up." Every word out of you was an encouragement for him to hang on.

He could hardly wait to move again. To stop being your patient and go back to being your partner.

Author's Note ── I have never struggled so much finding pics for my banner EVER. Motormaster just gets pretty pictures to frame his evil face.

✦ ── When you joined his warworld you expected to fall into the background. Find yourself a comfortable spot and hope this will be the last time you'll have to find a new team.

✦ ── But Deathsaurus' warworld and following fleet are a completely different breed of con in a surprisingly nice kind of way. You are not only welcomed, but your skills are also celebrated and put to genuine use.

✦ ── The work ethic drilled into you from your previous jobs helped, of course. A lot of the cons around you were far more relaxed and into the world-ravaging part. Meanwhile, you held skills in navigation and management.

✦ ── When a friend of yours overheard that Deathsaurus needed an extra hand with administration after someone retired, they immediately recommended you for the position.

✦ ── He's as charismatic as the first few times you crossed paths. Working alongside him everyday made it far more obvious it wasn't an act but his genuine care for the crew. In turn, it made you genuinely enjoy your work and put more effort into it.

✦ ── Your friendship starts with a few drinks after work, where he'd invite you to sit with him to introduce you to other higher-ups in the fleet. It isn't long before there's always an empty seat beside him waiting for you, and you don't wait for an invite to join him.

✦ ── He's already catching feelings by the time he invites you on a small mission alongside him, just the two of you. Being alone in close proximity gives you the first glimpse at your feelings.

✦ ── May or may not be amused by your lack of fighting experience, but it gives him more of an excuse to show off his strength when you come under attack during your mission. It's a dramatic display, him taking on several others on his own and still having time to flash you a cheeky grin.

✦ ── Wants to court you properly, so he won't rush. Especially not since he's your superior. Deathsaurus wants to feel out whether you're being polite out of courtesy to your superior or out of genuine interest in him.

✦ ── Once he has the first hint that you enjoy his company on a personal level, then he'll start making his advances obvious. Until then, he is content sharing drinks and enjoying time with you.

✦ ── The first time he sees you cry, he's worried it's a far more serious and deadly symptom. Last time he dealt with tears, it was people rusting out from the inside, and now he's terrified humans can do that too.

✦ ── But once he knows what's going on, he never forgets how to handle it. He gets a lot more efficient at figuring out whether it's a good, bad, or really bad kind of cry. They all have different responses from him, of course.

✦ ── Has a little compartment on him reserved for a human med kit and a few comforts, such as the tissue box he hands you whenever you need it.

✦ ── You're a great means for practicing his bedside manner with patients, too. Cybertronians don't tend to express discomfort as openly as humans do, so you're allowing him to prepare for the event a patient needs him more emotionally.

✦ ── Typically his soothing words are super sweet, but he'll occasionally knock you straight from tears to laughter with some of the strange things he says, thinking they're comforting.

"It's okay if you need to cry for a bit. Woud it help for me to collect your tears so you can recycle them?"

It takes a moment for the words to register, but when they do, you're crying harder, and he's holding your shoulders, worried he's upset you further.

"Humans don't recycle tears, Aid." You were laughing despite the sting in your eyes. "Any water is fine."

✦ ── Once he gets the go-ahead, he much prefers to offer comfort physically. Running a servo up and down your back in smooth circles. Pushing pressure points in your hand to help relieve the tension in your head. Letting you lean against him.

✦ ── In fact, let him lay a few thick blankets on himself, and you can crawl right onto his lap. He'll wrap you in a cocoon of comfort, put on some music, a youtuber, or any media you like to fill the silence, and spend some time reading reports on his datapad.

✦ ── Genuinely take as long as you need. He can sit in silence and let you cry or talk you through whatever you like. First Aid is amazing at following your mood to figure out what you need and is happy to adapt if that changes.

✦ ── While he doesn't like seeing you upset or overwhelmed, he does feel a sense of pride that you go to him as a source of comfort. Feeling like he's doing a good job at taking care of you makes him more confident next time you need him.

✦ ── Whenever you're on a safe planet or Earth, he'll let you into his passenger seat and drive for as long as it takes. Windows rolled down, driving down empty roads along coasts or through beautiful scenery. Anything to soothe you.

The radio was tuned to a local station playing 80s songs, the volume low enough that the lyrics blended into the breeze from his open windows.

"Cows..." You mumbled into the fabric of the blanket wrapped around you, eyes peeking out at the lush green meadow you were passing by.

A herd of dairy cows along the fenced side of the road ate peacefully, some ackowledging the ambulance as it slowed.

"Hughland Cattle, from my searches. Some of the friendliest in the Bovidae family." You could feel the vibration of his voice when he spoke. "There's a petting zoo several kilometres along. Want to try?"

"Roddy!" the familiar chirp from the human was easily discernible in the crowded navigation room, the distinctive patter of their footsteps increasing in volume.

"Hey! What's going on?" He spotted the Earth device in your hand before anything else, optics brightening. Whenever you sought him out, it tended to be for something exciting, and just about anything would be better than discussing routing with Mainframe right now.

Crouching until his servo could reach the floor, he wrapped his digits around you in a comfortable embrace before lifting you closer to his helm.

"I'm planning to confront Magnus about his insane confiscation tendencies, and I'm trying to prove a point. Could I record you listing some things he's got right now?" You held your phone up at the mention of recording, hopeful smile on your face.

It wasn't exactly what he was expecting from you, but who was he to deny your request?

"Totally, sure." Setting you down on a portion of the console further from the others, he let you fumble with your phone until you were holding it up, lenses taking in his fiery appearance.

It hid the smirk growing on your face from giving away your less-than-pure intentions.

"You can start whenever."

"Let's see… I'll start small and build up to the big stuff. Starting with Nautica's wrench. Tailgate's hoverboard. Rung's—"

A chorus of laughter erupted from one of the booths at Swerve's, immediately capturing the interest of the mech who was still riding off the high of freshly escaping another boring Magnus lecture.

The group, made up of many familiar faces, appeared to be crowding a datapad. Cramming himself into the personal spaces of Skids and Brainstorm to get a better look, he grumbled when everyone paused to look at him.

"What? Have I got something on me?"

"More like something IN you." Swerve snickered, though the humour was lost on the captain.

"What he means to say is good job. No one thought you had it…in…you." Nautica started strong, though her sentence broke down into little fits of giggles. "I don't think I want that wrench back."

Thoroughly confused, Rodimus reached for the datapad in the middle, which still had the video it was previously playing pulled up.

The thumbnail was of him in the navigation room. Judging by its point of view, it had to have been the video you'd recorded earlier in the day. While he was under the impression others would see it, he hadn't expected it to gather such an audience.

A blue claw pressed play for him, eager for the shit show the helicopter anticipated.

"Things the captain and I have shoved up our butts. Personally, I have never put anything up mine." A festering suspicion that he had been deceived bloomed in his processor, readily confirmed by the sudden cut to the recording of him.

"Let's see… I'll start small and build up to the big stuff." He grimaced at how much worse this sounded with the caption 'items shoved up butt' on screen.

He began tapping the pause button, trying to get the video to stop playing.

"Starting with: Nautica's wrench. Tailgate's hoverboard. Rung's entire Ark collection. Primus, it's too much stuff. I can't believe it all fits—"

The datapad promptly crashed into a nearby wall, catching the attention of everyone currently in the bar.

Clasping his servos together, he let out a sharp vent through a strained grin.

"Anyone know where they last saw the resident human?"

The same rubber-soled patter was heard in the new silence, his optics immediately catching your form escaping from the bar out into the halls of the Lost Light. You were laughing…! At him…!

The shifting clicks and hiss of plating folding into his alternate mode preceded the burning screech of tires on metal flooring as the sports car took off after you.

You weren't outrunning this one.

✦ ── Any excuse to see you is a good one, in his eyes. Whether it's him in trouble or some administrative work he's volunteered himself to help with. Usually it ends with your task taking much longer because he's spending so much time trying to get to know you.

✦ ── Knows you aren't allowed to get close to him to ensure no conflict of interest and other such moral nonsense. That's fine. You won't get in trouble if it's him doing all the work, right? You are just doing your job, being a polite little IR manager and indulging him.

✦ ── You know your work isn't all that interesting. You and Ultra Magnus do similar bureaucratic work: the things that need to be done but no one wants to do. Getaway is nothing like you. He's always called for the missions the main crew partakes in, always asked to participate.

✦ ── Maybe that's why you lean into his friendliness so quickly. You are supposed to be in the know of the crew's dynamic, and he fills you in. But something a little more selfish enjoys that of all people he tells you. Seeks your company out.

✦ ── Getaway gets you out of your office more. You end up spending nights out, to the surprise of many, and getting the chance to get a little more friendly with others.

✦ ── Not too friendly, though. Getaway hides his intentions well when he slips between you and that bot, getting a little too close for comfort. When someone mentions bringing you to an event he isn't invited to, you, he's suddenly reminding you of some work you have due. Just trying to keep you on track, that's all!

✦ ── It isn't his intention to corrupt such a sweetspark, but with how much attention and time he's pouring into you, it's near inevitable the two of you get close. Anytime you pour over worries of how your relationship to a client will seem, he's got some manipulative way of spinning it.

✦ ── Not just with you, either. If anyone else gets antsy about how close the two of you are, he'll either find a way to silence it or snuff those concerns at the source.

✦ ── It won't be a problem when he takes over as captain of the Lost Light, anyhow. Not only can he rewrite the ship policy, but he can also promote you to full-time personal assistant of his instead. Poof! No more conflict of interest, no more worries.

✦ ── For now he'll have fun with the fleeting romantic gestures and poorly kept secret of your blooming relationship. It's fun to play along in this innocent display of affection.

Author's Note ── Getaway may be fucked up and evil, but goddamn, is he capable and hot and charismatic and holy hell. I get you anon. Thank you for the excuse to write about him!