I’ve been obsessed with Transformers since rewatching Bumblebee around two years ago, but now that I'm getting back into writing, I might as well have some fun.
Expect some Tankmen shenanigans as well!
I write with an adult audience in mind. I will block any minors I find. I don’t really take requests per say, but you’re free to suggest characters and prompts. If I like it, I’ll do something with it.
I will always default to and prefer gender neutral; if there are specific biological traits mentioned, they will be included in the tags! (#boobs!reader, #uterus!reader, etc.)
Some of my Transformers fics include sparklings! The notes and tags will contain the specific circumstances of their 'birth'. Whether the sparkling's carried for a period before being transferred to a protoform (#carrier!reader OR #carrier!mech OR #carrier!unspecified) or the reader's body physically develops the protoform (#pregnant!reader). Usually, the sparkling's circumstances are left to interpretation (#unspecified!sparkling).
If I ever forget to tag something, please let me know!
This is a total crackfic lmao. I dreamt about coming home from work only to find Ravage cooking me pasta in a frilly apron and here we are-
I haven't written in a long while, so be nice please lol.
Notes: Reader is gender-neutral. They have a sparkling, whose process of creation is left ambiguous. For more information on sparklings in my fics, please check my pinned post.
Ravage had spoken very little of Soundwave, or any of his previous connections really, but what you’d gathered was that his old friend was a deeply compassionate albeit small-minded mech. One that wanted the best for beast-like Cybertronians, but cared very, very, very little for humans.
So it was understandable, in your opinion, to be surprised by the duo having a sharp, mass-displaced staredown in your kitchen. The air was thick with tension and the smell of dinner on the stovetop. Even with the stupid, cat-print apron you’d nagged him into wearing backwards while cooking, Ravage was posed with a sinister intent that made you shiver.
A rare reminder of just how different a mech he’d been when you’d first met - and before even that. How dangerous he was, even as he moved with mechanical grace and snided you for forgetting a jumper. It was so easy to forget about his fangs these days.
“Ravage: recalled exactly ten vorns ago,” it wasn’t phrased as a question, because it inherently wasn’t. It was pleasantly familiar to the beastmech; that typical Soundwave method of digging, prying, interrogating without limiting the answerer’s response. Moving his front pedes from the kitchen bench to drop onto all four, Ravage couldn’t help the automatic lowering of guard.
Afterall, if Soundwave had wanted to hurt him, or to hurt his family, he naturally wouldn’t be here. He wouldn’t have burst into the kitchen, interrupting Ravage while he mouth-stirred pasta sauce with a cybertronian-proof ladle and, most importantly, he wouldn’t have asked such an obvious question.
“I found myself with other responsibilities,” You had remained silent as your conjunx responded, yet Soundwave was aware of your keenness to pass through the kitchen and deeper into the house. Your thoughts were disgustingly organic. There was no reason or rhythm, it was just a sickening blur of worry, intrigue, pride and a revolting affection for his old friend.
“Negative: no responsibilities requiring you are visible.” Not to Soundwave, and not to the beastmech Ravage had once been. Someone that Soundwave had understood.
“And yet, I remain. Sometimes, that’s how things end up,” With dinner sitting at a safe temperature, Ravage began his outright confrontation.
“Why are you here, Soundwave?” The silence stretched. You remained in the doorway, eyes darting between the mechs and the dim hallway.
“Ravage: sent to observe, to analyse the humans. Ravage: never returned.” You tensed up at the nearly inaudible rustling of bed sheets.
“I sent you a comm, did I not? I said I was staying.” He’d said a lot of things, some he’d held onto for years and some he’d repeated time and time again. However, his goodbye had been clear.
“Why?” You began attempting to sneak past Soundwave, pressed against the wall as he ignored you. The noises down the hall had become more pronounced.
“I told you, I found other responsibilities.” Perhaps there was benefit to being honest to Soundwave, but the risk was paramount. Even if you’d managed to delay their meeting, Ravage knew that, at this point, it was inevitable.
“Why?” The word was dripping with betrayal and almost hatred. Soundwave still hadn’t moved, but his frustration was apparent and building.
As he’d suspected, Ravage didn’t have the chance or need to answer, as the pitter patter of tiny beastmech claws made their way to the kitchen. You, still stuck beside the fridge, attempted to motion the noise away.
Unfortunately, Tamper had inherited your pre-parenthood social awareness, one that could only be matched by a leather ottoman. On other days, you’d adore his bluntness, but right now, your child was about to walk into bitch fight that had been boiling for more than a decade.
“Dinn’r ready…?” The little mech spoke with a buzz to his vocaliser, an non-organic ‘sleepy voice’. One of the countless surprises he’d come with, all differentiating him from Ravage. Tamper’s spikes were rounder, his shapes were softer, and his colours were brighter. His little red optics had a hopeful innocence that both of you were desperate to keep glowing, as best it could in a post-Cybertonian war Earth.
“Not yet,” Ravage moved to approach and lightly nudged his mechling. Tamper’s jaw unhinged with a yawn, before he tiredly nudged back. You were still tense and frozen against the fridge, focused entirely on Soundwave and how he’d respond to Tamper’s entrance.
Soundwave said nothing. You said nothing. Ravage said nothing.
Tamper ‘stretched’, testing his mechanical body before yawning once more.
