#casseticons

[scrimpswrites]

Soundwave every time he brings his cassettes into battle

[driftsart]

How is rumble and frenzy doing?

They're doing okay :)

[interchangable-henchman]

the boys

[averysillylittlefellow]

Waouh it's been awhile since I last posted !!

I present you all with sum more TF art 🫶🫶

[michisadraw]

I dreamt that shockwave and Soundwave had a son who was half cassette and he looked like this.

He was a mix of senator and soundwave.

[chxrry-x-bxmb]

Inktober Day 6!

Rumble and Frenzy should not be allowed to pick up humans tbh, both of em can and will drop a bitch on their head

Being smaller than a cassetticon means you're subject to being tossed around like a ragdoll probably

Also, if you want to toss some requests or simple prompts for inktober in my inbox pls do!! In the meantime, I'm just gonna doodle whatever I want, maybe follow the tfinktober prompt list.

[craftyscraplet]

Got some stickers to show you lovely folk! (Oh gawd there’s so many characters to tag)

[skeletondeer]

Soundwave is the key communications officer between the Mecha and base control, without them, the whole operation goes silent. When they’re not working alongside Megatron and Starscream, they’re taking care of their little sisters, Rumble and Frenzy, and their cat Ravage is almost always glued to them.

Another backlog piece from my Mecha AU! I’ve got more art already on twitter or on my Patreon, but I’ll be uploading it all here over the next few weeks.

[gatorseverywhere]

Recommendations:

These quiet mornings, combat situations, And the music keeps playing, given a sparkling, escape, goodbye for now, dealing with crushes, becoming a family, a family reunited, cassett(icon), Bat, family ties, world in your hands

Oh my god, I'm gonna kiss you. Thank you so much. I will be checking all of these out. 🙏🙏

[the-devil-felled]

Soundwave be like: (ಠ_ಠ)

Soundwave looking at the grossest little dudes trying to crawl into his chest: 😕

[dragoncarrion]

waffle house

[satans-codpiece]

Lazerbeak perches on Megatron in Fall of Cybertron….

[driftsart]

everytime i see rumble and frenzy i go

Babies.

[general-kalani]

"... Ratbat where the fuck-"

[solardrink]

Fandom-specific terminology is sooo interesting . Little pockets of internet subculture making their own fucking codes and nomenclature and shorthand ..

[trainer-sean]

If I was a Casseticon, I'd be a Cyberpanther like Ravage, named Up-Lynx.

pls can I get a lonely cassette!reader being taken in by soundwave???? i need that man carnally and i need to be inside his boobs even more 💥💥💥

The city is burning. It's been on fire for days, the skyline you loved nothing but smoke and ash, and there is no relief in sight. Metal melting into itself and the surroundings, buildings merged together, until it looks like a great beast crying in agony. Fighting to pull itself out from it's own destruction. Your cassette-player is among those trapped under the rubble, squeezed beneath concrete and metal. Perhaps it's fortunate, then, that you know he's dead. You were his only companion, and now you're alone. It gives you comfort knowing he's not the one in your place.

There is no one coming to save you. The Decepticons and Autobots have torn Cybertron apart, your home just collateral among the list of casualties. It had filled you with rage when you saw the way they would cast anything in the way to achieve victory, but your anger is hollow now. You're not even sure you can feel anything at all. All you can think about is where you will find energon next.

There are no more relief stations near you, no more safe encampments that can take you in. All neutral parties, all crisis servants, have been pushed to the very edges of Cybertron where there is still just a bit of energon to mine. It wouldn't matter if you could get to them, anyway. Most have picked their side and will push recruitment if you come looking for aid, ensuring you will be safe if only you will be their fodder.

And you can't leave your home. Even when it is unrecognizable, the bright city lights long since blown out. This is where you want to be, the only place for you. You slowly duck and trudge between buildings, dirt settling in your joints and making the ache of your frame worse. You scan for any sign of energy, a leak of oil even, but it is bare here.

So lost in your HUD, you don't hear the clink of pedes on concrete, the glitching of your processor getting worse and more obstructive by the cycle. You try tapping at settings on your helm, but the static clears minimally. A giant blue mech stands in front of you when your vision clears of errors. You jump back, stumbling over your pedes to stay upright, and lean back to take in the intimidating bot before you.

His face is covered and his visor is red. So red against the white and blue of his paintjob. The blue gleams beautifully under the muffled sunlight, just barely able to break through the ash covering the sky. He must be important, or was. You could have never afforded a polish so uniform and bright. His chest is a window into a docked and rather comfortable looking cassette. You could laugh from how fortuitous this oasis is.

The purple of his insignia almost misses your awareness, but it is an ugly symbol and it hurts your optics to look upon it. You should be angry, but there is nothing. Perhaps this meeting is Primus' mercy, no matter how cold.

The large mech kneels in front of you, his helm still looming above your own, as his servo comes to rub dirt away from your faceplate. You don't shy away, despite the true dirtiness being in his allegiance. It's nice to feel a friendly touch. You eye his tapedeck enviously, like you want to rip the mech out of there and settle in its place. It's a horrible feeling that leaves a pit of shame in your tank. The fear and grief has turned you into an animal hungry for any sign of salvation.

The intimidating mech pulls from his subspace a wrapped packet: energon rations. Meager and half-eaten, it wouldn't be the best you've ever tasted, but you're grateful for the pity. It's hardly two bites before you're done. Despite the quality, it's the sweetest energon that's ever touched your glossa. Lubricant tracks down your cheekplates.

And despite it all, you want to live. A feeling that builds in your chassis and sings in your spark. You want to live, you want to leave this place. You don't care what you have to do. All you want is to tear free of the rubble and rip yourself from the metal melting down around you.

"Inquiry: Free to dock?" You grasp the opportunity with firm servos.