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rotbit · 13 days ago

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(G1) Combaticons adopting a human

Brainrot so strong. I think about the sillies and my brain feed becomes a stream of "MY FRIENDS MY FRIENDS MY FRIENDS MY FRIE-" on loop. Can be read platonic (intended) or arguably romantic, if you really squint.

Vortex probably picked you up, thinking you might have some valuable information on the Autobots.

But like, his dumbass didn't even check if you were involved first. Just yoinked at random and hoped for the best.

And unfortunately, now you know the location of their base, which makes you a threat, so they have to keep you. I don't make the rules, Onslaught does.

In terms of who's the most knowledge about humans in general, that has to go to Swindle. He spends the most time around humans, scamming them cutting deals with them. But, I don't think that necessarily translates to knowing how to take care of a human. More like he understands your jokes and slang more than the others, leading to a lot of inside jokes.

So you're going to have to communicate your needs ToT

Like how "refueling" isn't enough, and you'll get cranky if you don't sleep (which you mostly have to remind Vortex of).

Vortex and Brawl are BANNED from preparing food for you. Not only do they both consistently set things on fire. But also Vortex nearly poisoned you once. ("I was just making sure it got its greens... What do you mean there are some plants it can't eat?")

While we're talking about Vortex, he loves to take you for "roller coaster" rides in his alt mode. If you get easily motion sick... idk, good luck. You're not getting out of it.

Another bot that enjoys taking you for joy rides is Swindle. Although his never tend to be planned, and are more spontaneous car chases as you outrun the cops. This guy has so much contraband.

You're not allowed in Brawl's alt mode. Not since he went charging directly into a skirmish with you still inside.

Don't get me wrong, he's extremely protective of you. If anyone dared harm his weak, little human, they'd be beaten out of history. Along with any poor bastard in a 5 mile radius. But he also doesn't exactly think when it comes to your immediate safety.

Onslaught dedicates far more time and energy than he'd like to admit into keeping you alive. From doing all the proper research, to making sure the others don't accidentally squish you into paste. It's a tough job with all the chaos that normally takes place.

Despite how much effort he puts into you, he never seems to factor in... actually spending time with you. Out of everyone, he's by far the most distant. Sometimes he'll let you hang out on his lap or his shoulder while he drafts up his strategies, but if you start asking too many questions, or Primus forbid try to make suggestions, you're out of there.

The one bot you can always rely on to be a calm escape is Blast Off. It's a very mutually beneficial arrangement. You keep him from getting lonely, and you get a moments reprieve from yelling, explosions, and Swindle trying to rope you into his latest negotiations.

Granted, he can't exactly take you to orbit. He tried to once, but Onslaught had to stop him and remind him that you need. Air. To Breathe. And he's not exactly equipped as an organic friendly vessel.

You dodge death every damn day with these idiots.

#C:\rot #.txt #transformers #maccadam #combaticons #tf vortex #tf swindle #tf onslaught #tf brawl #tf blast off #combaticons x reader #transformers x reader #transformers x human #human reader #transformers g1 #x reader #tf g1

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childrenofcain-if · 7 months ago

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Please let us comfort C about their knee 😭 I'm seriously going to be angry if there's no option to beat the sh*t out of Alain when we see him in game 😡

I'm begging you for a fluff piece, they deserve it ❤️🙏

C’s dorm always felt quiet—as though the silence itself was holding its breath. even when music hummed low from the speakers, even when there was a mug of tea on the desk and a book abandoned on the bed, even when you were there. especially when you were there.

you hadn’t meant to stay this long—hadn’t meant to be here at all, really. but the night had bled into a soft comfort that made time meaningless, and C had let their guard down in that way they only ever did with you, trading their usual biting flippancy for something quieter. something fragile and hidden beneath layers of disdain that you’d spent years peeling back.

they were standing now, aiming to move toward the small kitchenette attached to the common area, their voice low as they asked, “do you want anything? tea? something else?”

“tea’s fine,” you said, leaning back against the wall, your legs curled beneath you on the bed. it was a simple enough exchange, a moment so ordinary it felt almost... domestic.

and then you saw it—the faint hitch in their step, the way their right leg dragged ever so slightly behind the left.

your heart thudded once, hard enough to make your ribs hurt.

“C,” you said, your voice louder than you meant it to be. they froze mid-step, their back to you, their shoulders taut as if bracing for a blow. “did you—did you fall or something?”

they didn’t turn around. for a moment, you thought they wouldn’t answer at all. then, slowly, they turned their head, their profile striking in the dim light. the shadows softened their face but did nothing to hide the tension in their jaw, the faint tremor in their hands as if you’d caught them doing something illegal.

“no,” they said finally, the word flat and hollow.

you sat up straighter. “then what—”

“it’s nothing,” they snapped, spinning to face you. their voice wasn’t loud, but it was harsh, each syllable flung like glass shards meant to keep you at a distance. their chalcedony green eyes burned, but the fire in them wasn’t the usual fury you’d come to expect from C. it was fear, raw and unfiltered.

“C…” you said again, softer this time, and that was what did it. their face crumpled, not quite enough to be called a collapse, but enough for you to see the exhaustion carved into their bones. they sat down heavily on the bed, their head bowed as if the weight of the moment were too much to bear.

“it’s nothing,” they repeated, but it sounded like a lie even to them.

“i don’t believe you.”

you waited, the silence stretching between you, brittle and acute. finally, they looked up at you, their face pale, their lips pressed into a thin line.

“my father,” they said, the words forced and clipped, as if they were prying them loose from their lungs with a metal wrench. “when i was little. he… he didn’t like that i accidentally broke a china plate from the kitchen while grabbing some food. apparently it was antique and one of its kind. believed i needed to be punished for being so careless.” they laughed bitterly. “he used a baseball bat to teach me a lesson.”

the air in the room shifted, stifling. you couldn’t speak, couldn’t fathom the kind of cruelty it would take to do something like that to a mere child. to C.

you swallowed hard, your throat tight. “let me see.”

they stared at you, their eyes wide and disbelieving. “what?”

“your knee,” you said, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it. “please.”

for a moment, you thought they would refuse. they sat motionless, their hands clenched into fists at their sides, their breath coming shallow and uneven. then, slowly, they nodded.

C stood, their movements stiff and deliberate, and pushed the waistband of their pajama pants down far enough to reveal their knee. the act itself wasn’t sensual, wasn’t sexual; it was simply them letting you in, letting you see a piece of them they’d spent years hiding. but perhaps that knowledge made it all the more intimate.

your breath caught as your eyes fell on the fair, marble-like skin stretched over the joint. the shape of the knee was uneven, the bone obtruding out at odd angles where it had healed wrong. there were faint scars, pale and jagged, like ghostly reminders of the violence that had shaped them. the area around it was slightly swollen, the skin faintly discolored, a muted blue-gray hue that looked almost tender to the touch.

you reached out before you could think better of it, your fingers brushing lightly against the damaged skin. C flinched but didn’t pull away, their eyes locked on yours, their breath hitching as if the contact ached in ways that weren’t physical.

“good god,” you whispered, the word trembling on your lips.

C laughed, uncharacteristically nervous. “it’s not as bad as it looks.”

“it’s worse,” you said, and the anger in your voice shocked you both. but it wasn’t anger at them—it was at the man who had done this, the man who had taken a child and broken them in ways that could never fully be repaired.

without thinking, you leaned down and pressed your lips gently to their knee. the kiss was soft, reverent, more an act of devotion than anything else. C gasped, their hand flying to your hair, their fingers trembling as they threaded through it.

“what are you doing?” they whispered with a surprised look in their eyes.

“loving you,” you said simply, shutting them up.

see, childhood had been a knife stuck in C’s throat for the longest time, honed sharp by alain’s hands.

it was a knife that dulled with time but never stopped twisting. even now, years removed from that godforsaken house, from that evil man, they felt its cold atmosphere in every step they took, every chronic flare of pain in their knee when it rained or when they put too much pressure on their right leg, every stumble they hid behind a sharp tongue and a perfect façade.

vulnerability was a language they had unlearned as a child, carved out of them with every slap, every shout, every moment alain had twisted ‘love’ into something entirely unrecognizable.

and yet, here you were.

your lips pressed to their knee, the damaged joint that had never quite healed, and C felt like they were being slowly undone. the kiss was so gentle, so absurdly soft against the place they hated most about themself, that they thought they might break apart entirely.

no one kissed scars like this. no one kissed something so damningly ruined and made it holy.

C looked down at you, your face turned toward them like you belonged there, like you didn’t see the unflatteringly jutting angles of their bones or the bruises still hidden deep inside their soul which was wrapped in the rage that they inherited from their father.

you saw them. and in that moment, C wondered if you were the only reason they had managed to keep breathing through all the years of pain and silence.

they remembered the first time they laid eyes on you during middle school. you had been all fire and light, laughing with some friends, your smile so bright it had burned them. C, sitting alone at the back of the classroom, had felt a squeeze in their chest they couldn’t name. not yet.

at the time, it had felt like resentment—how dare you shine so freely when their world was filled with shadows which often made them taste the coppery taste of their own blood? how dare you be a star, so untouchable, so effortlessly seen?

but it wasn’t hatred, not really. they knew that now.

for years, they had convinced themselves that their fixation on you was because they wanted to outshine you, to prove they were your equal. they had fought you in every class, thrown snide remarks, done everything they could to make you notice them.

because the truth was, they would have torn the world apart just to make you look at them the way they looked at you.

and when you finally did—when your gaze settled on them, not with pity or contempt but with something startlingly like understanding—they had felt like they could truly breathe for the first time in their life.

now, as you knelt in front of them, your breath ghosting over their skin, C thought that maybe they had been living for you all along.

and it scared the fuck out of them.

because loving someone like this, needing someone like this, was just a brand new knife against their throat. and the most terrifying part of it all was that C’s heart didn’t mind it this time, not at all.

“tu es tutus,” you murmured, your lips brushing over the misshapen bone of their right knee. you’re safe.

they closed their eyes, their lips quirking up in a faint, almost disbelieving smile.

“amor meus, vita mea,” they said softly, their latin perfect, their voice unsteady. my love, my life.

you leaned into them, your forehead resting against their thigh, and they tilted their head back, their breath caught in a way that broke your heart.

C wasn’t a religious person. alain had beaten any notion of faith out of them long before they were old enough to properly understand it. but as they looked at you, they thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something divine about you.

my sweet starkid, they thought, god—or fate, or the universe, or whatever cruel, indifferent force that exists—must have made you just for me.

they reached out to you, their hand trembling slightly as it settled on the back of your neck. they pulled you closer, their lips pressing against your temple in a kiss so light it barely counted as one.

“stay,” they said, the word cracking slightly. it wasn’t a command though; it was a plea.

“i’m not going anywhere,” you replied, your voice steady and sure, and C thought that maybe, for the first time in their life, they believed it.

that really did hammer the nail in the proverbial coffin. you loved C unconditionally, so they lived.

#“i’m not going anywhere” LIAR LIAR LIAR #breaking C’s heart like alain broke their knee 😔#bonding activities with the in-laws ig #the actual scene will be a lot more lengthier and softer hehe #majority of it being C’s POV cause why tf not #if: the ballad of the young gods #interactive fiction #interactive novel #interactive story #twine wip #ro: c lacroix #ro scenarios

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