#functionism

[cityzenshark]

You know what else would be a gut puncher to the Terrans? Them finding out that Cybertronians in general are extremely racist to organics and segregate bots based on their alt-mode and function.

Since Earthspark tried to make itself IDW1-ish lets assume their Cybertron is similar to it.

The Terrans excitedly talk about wanting to go to Cybertron and meet all these cool stuff that were mentioned in the comics and history books. But whenever they ask Bee, he gets uncomfortable. Bee asks OP, Elita & Megs what should he tell them if they ask if Cybertron would accept the new sub-race.

Telling the truth will be hard, but it had to be him. Bee is their teacher after all.

"Bumblebee, would Cybertron like us Terrans?"

"... No. No, they won't."

Bee had to tell them how bots as small as Twitch and Thrash were once considered as "property", how bots who had Hashtag's ability are "valuable assets", how mechanimals like Nightshade and Jawbreaker are belittled and ridiculed. If they know the Terrans are techni-organic, some might want to "study" them and many couldn't care less about their wellbeing because anything organic are not sentient -- let alone alive -- in their optics.

The Terrans might think humanity's fear towards Transformers are bad enough, then they were told about Cybertron's prejudice towards their own natives, and rebelling that normality only lead to a fate worse than death.

Although the war had destroyed the oppressive laws, some still held on to them like their lifeline.

[sentinel-prime-after-dark]

Function: Pleasure (AO3 link)

TFO Sentinel Prime X Femme Cybertronian Reader

Word count: 3,063

Tags: sticky sexual interfacing, sex work, oral sex, rough sex, light Dom/sub, aftercare, NO SPOILERS

Summary: Sentinel Prime isn’t the best berth partner…but that’s YOUR job, and you take your job seriously.

Sentinel Prime steps into his opulent private suite, Iacon Tower's grandeur reflected in its golden surfaces. His blue optics scan the empty, quiet space and he lets out an irritated vent. He needs this reprieve from the solar cycle’s tiresome politics. He struts over to the large couch in the living room and sits heavily, leaning back with his thighs spread wider than is proper for a Prime.

     "Airachnid," he calls out.

     The imposing spider-like bot emerges from the shadows, her purple optics glowing with silent acknowledgment.

     "Fetch me the most exquisite pleasurebot from AutoExotic."

     "As you wish, Sentinel," she murmurs.

     She swiftly exits the suite, leaving Sentinel alone with his thoughts.

     Sentinel's optics trace the intricate patterns engraved into the floor and walls as he waits. His processor conjures up images of the delightful high-class creatures from AutoExotic, his flight engines purring in response to the ideas of what he could do with them.

✨✨✨

The door to the suite slides open and Airachnid enters, her movements not quite silent. In tow is a stunning vision of gold and purple, a standard-framed femme who radiates an aura of decadence.

     You.

     "Your requested pleasurebot, Prime," Airachnid says before slinking away.

     You step forward and lower yourself to kneel before the Prime, your plating gently flaring out.

     “Sweetspark, at your service, my Prime.”

     Sentinel Prime’s gaze sweeps over you, appraising you as if you were a fine piece of artwork. His optics glow a little brighter.

     “Stand,” he says with a gentle wave of his servo. “Tell me, Sweetspark, what is your specialty in the art of pleasure?"

     “Your desire is my specialty, Prime,” you say softly as you stand. “I am a trained switch, ready to adapt to your wishes on command.”

     His optics narrow, his armor ruffling slightly.

     “Indeed?” He purrs, leaning back against the couch. “I’ve had many who claim such versatility…only to disappoint. Prove your worth, Sweetspark. Give me a taste of what you can offer.”

     You nod and step forward.

     “As you wish, my Prime,” you purr.

     Your optics narrow to sultry slits as you lower yourself to your knees between Sentinel’s strong silver thighs in one slow, gracefully suggestive movement. Not daring to touch him with your servos without permission, you lean forward and nuzzle his inner thigh, your engine purring as you trail sensual, reverent kisses along his plating towards his interface panel.

     Sentinel watches you, his gaze narrow. As your warm ventilations ghost over his armor, he remains the picture of calm, his posture unyielding. He leans back a little further into the couch, crossing his arms over his chassis.

     "Proceed," the Prime commands.

     With a low hum, you nuzzle up to his interface panel. Then, you look up at him with adoring optics and extend your glossa, giving his panel a broad, slow lick from the bottom to the top.

     Sentinel draws in a quick vent. He watches you, his chassis rising and falling slightly faster. He uncrosses his arms, letting them rest comfortably on the back of the couch.

     You purr at his reaction and lick him again before pressing a kiss to his panel. “I crave your pleasure, mighty Prime. Won’t you let me serve you?”

     "Very well," he says, keeping up his unaffected appearance except for a soft blue glow creeping onto his faceplate.

     His panel clicks and slides open with a clank, allowing his partially pressurized spike to extend.

     With a light blush of your own, you keep your optics on him as you lean in to nuzzle and lick his spike. You trail kisses up the golden plates adorning the underside of his royal blue shaft, purring as you coax him to full pressurization.

     “You have the most magnificent spike, my Prime.”

     "Flattery, Sweetspark?" He asks, trying to maintain his cool demeanor despite his spike's eager responses to your gentle ministrations.

     You hum, leaning up to give the tip of his spike a soft kiss. “If it is not to your liking, Prime, then I shall refrain from praising you.”

     "Don't be absurd,” Sentinel scoffs, his lips curled into a smirk. “I live for flattery.”

     You smile up at him and lick a broad, slow stroke up the underside of his spike, only this time you wrap your lips around the tip when you reach it. You caress the sensitive slit with your glossa, then slowly push your helm down, moaning softly as you demonstrate just how easily you can take a spike into your mouth, even one as long and thick as Sentinel’s.

     The Prime watches you, his optics narrowing in pleasure. He can't help but let out a low groan of satisfaction. His servos tighten slightly on the couch’s back, but he otherwise maintains his outward composure. Even so, you feel him growing harder, his spike reaching its full potential, eager for more.

     Everything you do is with purpose, your focus solely on your beloved Prime’s pleasure. You keep your servos on your own thighs as you service his spike, your helm bobbing up and down while your glossa caresses the underside of his spike. You moan again and take him deeper, deeper, until the helm of his spike is down your throat and your lips are pressed flush to the base.

Sentinel’s optics widen as the pleasure builds within him. Your mouth feels like heaven, your oral skills certainly unmatched by any pleasurebot he's ever encountered. He watches you, venting rapidly as he fights the urge to thrust into your throat. The way you look at Sentinel, your optics full of admiration, makes him feel like the most powerful being in the universe. His groans grow louder.

     You keep your sultry optics on his as you suck him more intently, swallowing around his spike to deliver a dose of pleasureful pressure.

     The Prime’s optics widen at the sensation, and he can't hold back a low, guttural groan. His spike twitches in your mouth, throbbing eagerly.

     "Ah, Sweetspark," he vents. "Your talents are indeed...exceptional."

     You smile around his spike and suck harder, moving with renewed eagerness as you taste the sweet, tangy flavor of pre-fluid leaking from his spike.

     Sentinel’s frame tenses, his vents hitching. He reaches out and grasps the top of your helm.

     "Faster," he grunts.

     You obey immediately, moving your helm up and down with urgency. You moan, sending a burst of vibrations through his spike as you continue to suck him off.

     The blue and gold mech groans, lays his helm back against the couch, and thrusts lightly into your mouth.

     You moan again at his little thrust, your gaze encouraging when you look up at him once more.

     Encouraged by your response, Sentinel Prime grips the sides of your helm with both servos and begins to thrust firmly into your mouth, his own mouth falling open with a deep groan.

     You take him with an ease granted by experience, your optics sliding shut. You’re more than happy to let him frag your mouth to his spark’s content. This is what you’re good for, what you were forged for.

    ��The feeling of your throat tightening around him is the final straw, and with a an embarrassing noise followed by a loud shout, Sentinel Prime reaches his peak. His servos grip your helm tight as he holds you down to his base, his spike jetting hot transfluid directly into your throat.

     Any other pleasurebot would have gagged on such a tall order, but you keep your throat relaxed and swallow, steadily drinking down everything Sentinel gives you. His overload is intense, his spike pulsing as he empties himself until he lets out a final groan of satisfaction and releases your helm. Panting heavily, he presses back against the couch, his legs stretching out on either side of you and then relaxing with a clank of his peds on the floor.

     You stay put for another moment, enjoying the way his spike twitches with the final spurts of transfluid. Once he’s finished, you slowly pull off of his spike, purring and licking it clean as you set your brightened optics back on his.

     Sentinel’s optics blink open, and he looks down at you. He runs a servo over your helm in a gentle pet.

     "Well…that was quite the performance," he pants.

     You hum, the praise sending a shiver of arousal through you. “Have I proven my worth to you, my Prime?”

     "Indeed, you have, Sweetspark," Sentinel purrs.

     He stands, his towering form casting a shadow over you as he reaches down to gently grasp your chin.

     "Now, let's continue this delightful experience in my berthroom," he says, letting go of your chin and striding towards the adjoining berthroom.

     You stand and follow him, licking the last traces of his transfluid from your lips. The berthroom is already set to a soothing dark blue lighting, the large, plush berth made with a luxurious assortment of golden pillows and soft metal mesh sheets. You glance around, admiring the immaculate golden walls and the well-kept trophies and artworks adorning them. A large mirror hangs above the helm of his berth, taking up an obscene amount of space on the wall.

     “Your berthroom is so lovely, Prime,” you purr. “It is truly an honor to serve you in the privacy of your suite.”

     Sentinel nods. He turns to face you, his spike still semi-pressurized.

     “Please,” he says with a dismissive wave of his servo, “in here, call me Sentinel.“

     You tilt your helm curiously, but don’t question. You just smile and nod.

     “As you wish…Sentinel,” you purr, giving his name a suggestive edge.

     He watches you from the side of the berth, his spike slowly returning to full pressurization.

     “Come here, Sweetspark,” he commands.

     You rev your engine softly and approach him, your optics locked attentively on his.

     With a gesture that speaks of absolute authority, Sentinel Prime points to his grand berth.

     "On your chassis, Sweetspark," he purrs. "Let me show you how a Prime appreciates his shareware."

     You’re quick to obey. You crawl onto the berth and lower your chassis, staying on your knees so your aft is in the air. You look back at Sentinel and bite your lip, wiggling your aft at him.

     The Prime’s optics brighten as he takes in the sight of your raised aft. He steps closer and notices the tiny streaks of viscuous purple from the lubricant that's seeped out of your closed interface panel.

     “So eager for your Prime’s attentions?” He asks, his voice a low, aroused growl.

     Sensing your Prime’s presence behind her, his optics on your aft…it’s all so intoxicating. You let a soft whimper escape you, leaning into his dominant demeanor.

     “Yes, Sentinel.”

     Sentinel Prime leans over you, his servo gliding down your spinal strut and over your aft to rest on your interface panel.

     “Open,” he orders.

     You carefully back up towards him as you allow your panel to slide open, only stopping once your knee struts are on the edge of the berth. You clench your valve, moaning softly as a gush of lubricant drips out of you.

     Sentinel admires the view of your slick valve, his spike twitching with interest.

     “Mmm,” he rumbles, “what a pretty bot you are.”

     He steps closer, placing one servo on your hip and using the other to align his spike with your entrance.

     Had he been any other client, you would have suggested that he prepare you first, but you wouldn’t dream of trying to correct Sentinel Primeon how to properly interface. So, you just spread your legs wider and grip the sheets.

     His servo on your hip tightens as he guides the tip of his spike to your waiting valve. He presses forward with a gentle but rushed firmness, venting at the wet heat of your frame’s embrace.

     "So tight," he grunts.

     Your mouth falls open in a gasp as his shaft immediately stretches your valve. You moan for his pleasure, dutifully ignoring the discomfort that comes with unprepared penetration from his larger frame type.

     “Yes, Sentinel...”

     You glance over at the mirror. Sentinel Prime is watching his own reflection in the mirror, a smug look on his faceplate as he observes his spike sliding into your valve. His servo leaves your hip to caress his own chassis, his engine purring as he admires the sight of himself mounting you.

     You wince when he pushes fully into you, but manage to replace any pained noise you might have made with an erotic, dramatically feminine moan.

     Sentinel starts to move, his spike sliding in and out of your valve with a steady rhythm. His gaze locks onto the sight of his spike disappearing into you and he groans, his frame shuddering before his thrusts quicken.

     You force out a moan on every languid thrust, but you can’t help but let out an airy chuckle between them as you watch him watch himself.

     His rhythm falters slightly, his gaze snapping to the back of your helm.

     "Is something amusing, Sweetspark?" he asks, stilling his hips.

     You gasp and lower your helm to the berth, a deep blush creeping onto your faceplate.

     “N-no, Sentinel,” you whimper. "You're just so...so handsome..."

     Sentinel’s spike stirs within you. He slowly leans over you, his servos sliding down your sides and firmly grasping your hips.

     With a smugness that's almost endearing, he purrs, “I sure am.”

     He slowly pulls his hips back until only the helm of his spike remains inside you, then slams back in.

     “AH-hah! Oh! Sentinel!”

     You tighten your grip on the sheets, moaning as the brief jolt of pain fades into a pleasureful ache.

     Sentinel’s smirk widens as he watches your reaction, his hips rolling against your aft in a sensual rhythm that’s not nearly as pleasurable as it is punishing.

     "Your screams are music to my audios, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You let out a pitifully desperate moan as he grinds into you, rubbing your faceplate into the sheets in imitation of a preening gesture.

     "Look at yourself," he commands, flight engines revving. "Watch me take you."

     “Ahh…”

     You turn your helm toward the mirror, your optics narrow in half-real pleasure as you obediently observe his reflection.

     Flight engines purring, he tightens his hold on your pelvic armor and sets a vigorous pace, his spike sliding in and out of you with the slick sounds of your lubricant.

     "That's it," he grunts. "Watch yourself be claimed by your Prime."

     You moan louder and squeeze him with your valve, drawing a staticky groan from his vocalizer. You know you aren’t ready to take the roughness his larger frame type is capable of, but you also know your client will enjoy being encouraged, and right now, you’re on duty.

     “Ohh, Sentinel,” you moan loudly. “Yes…! Claim me harder…!”

     Sentinel’s gaze returns to the mirror, a deep rumble emanating from his chassis as he watches you perform for him. He slides one servo up your back and pins you down by your shoulder, leaning over you. His hips piston into you faster.

     "Oh, yeah," he pants. "Show me how much you want it!"

     You writhe under him, clawing at the berth and making a vocal show of your pleasure.

     “Ah! Ah! Yes! Ooh, yes, Sentinel! Please, more!”

     His optics brighten as he watches himself in the mirror, plunging into your valve with increasing force.

     "Your screams only make me harder, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You continue to moan and cry out for him, your armor flaring to dump the heat from your frame. You arch your back and push against his thrusts, taking him deeper. Your optics squeeze shut and you pant heavily between your desperate cries for his spike. Finally, he was getting you close.

     “Sentinel! I’m- ahh! I’m gonna-!”

     "Overload," he commands, his voice a dark, demanding growl in your audio receptors. " Now ."

     You let out a loud, drawn-out moan and squeeze your valve around his spike, boosting the stimulation as he ruts into you. Your frame goes rigid and you overload, purposefully ensuring that your scream of ecstasy is loud enough to be heard even by the two guards stationed outside of the Prime’s suite. Lubricant gushes out around Sentinel’s spike, easing his thrusts despite the constriction.

     Sentinel thrusts into you one final time and hits his peak with a triumphant roar. His grip slightly dents your hip and shoulder armor, but it’s fine. His spike jets hot transfluid into the depths of your valve and he groans softly, his armor ruffling as his frame relaxes with the relief of his tension.

     You mewl pathetically as you feel his transfluid dripping from your valve before he’s even finished. You knead the berth with your servos as you relax, a soft moan escaping you between heavy panting.

     Sentinel Prime finally tears his gaze away from the mirror, looking down at you. He takes a moment to admire the sight before pulling his thick spike out of you with a wet slide of metal on metal that drags another quiet moan from your lips. He steps back, his slowly depressurizing spike glistening with your combined fluids.

     "I think I’ve found my new favorite piece of shareware," he rumbles.

     You take a moment to catch your breath, then carefully push yourself up and turn over to sit on the edge of the berth. You blush at the sight of your lubricant mixed with the Prime’s transfluid on the berth, your thighs, and his spike. You gaze up at him with adoring optics.

     “It is a delight to serve you, Sentinel.”

     He hums in agreement. He steps back, giving you a moment to recover. He runs a servo over his own heaving chassis, smoothing his plating down from its flared position. He frowns when his gaze reaches the mess on his thighs. When he sees you preparing to slide off of the berth, he gestures to the berthroom door with one lazy servo.

     “You are dismissed,” Sentinel says, already walking toward his private washrack. “You may use the guest washrack before you leave. Airachnid will give you my payment information.”

     The door slides open, making you jump and your panel snap shut. Airachnid stands just outside, her multi-optic gaze locked onto you as you walk out of the berthroom. She looks you up and down and, without a trace of emotion, points down the hallway.

     “First door on the right.”

[dimmeddown]

An Opinionated Guide to Cybertronian Sweets (commonly found in vending machines)

This was written from the POV of a pre-war mech, who’s really into sweets, has both the mouth and proboscis to experience them with, and the strength of opinion to write this guide.

The guide itself was distributed by them to little public sharing libraries, or other nooks and crannies where one might find politically-unpopular writing.

Cybertronian sweets are honestly such a fun concept to explore. The idea of having a mouth and/or proboscis (from battle mask or empurata or other), and how that affects one’s enjoyment of different sweets in regards to taste and texture, or if it’s even consumable by one’s method of consumption. And then the politics and history of certain sweets! Ahh! It’s all so much fun :D

This was originally created for the August 2022 #TFZineJam You can see the full pdf on my itchio page here.

All the ideas and headcanons here are free-to-use. Actually, please do use them - it'd be an honor to see them in other people's art and fic! (if you do, link it here - I’d love to see!)

[bellowsmith]

some quick doodles of an humanformer functionist au I keep forgetting to work on. The main gist is that it more or less politically resembles the functionist universe in every way except they're A, human, and B, it's sort of based on America during our own civil rights movement in the 1960's. Except, instead of resulting in the Cybertronian war, Megatron was arrested and executed before he was able to start the revolution. So Starscream ended up more or less running things with Damus as her right-hand man after they escaped jail together via Damus' outlier abilities. They trauma-bonded and are now trying to piece together exactly how to overthrow an entire government except they go about everything wildly differently than Megatron because Starscream operates wildly differently and Damus isn't exactly soldier material. Their solution since violence didn't seem to work was instead collective resistance and malicious compliance. Starscream worked her way into the Senate and is making bureaucratic movements hell on earth for the Functionists while Damus fell ass-backwards into musical fame and being the face of their resistance movement. He's still very much a zealot and loyal to a fault, but because Starscream never groomed him into blind devotion the way Megatron did their relationship is wildly different.

[hellyesalex]

I KNOW it's more of me being insane, but seeing the Royal Guard, and how the overseers all look alike and the different background characters in Transformers One made me think of how functionism worked during the Primal era. How the structures of power were already unbalanced.

Sentinel didn't help, actually he made it worse, but can you really shift all the blame on him when it was already a flawed system of exploitation? Can you shift all the blame on him when you can see that Functionism already existed and was highly enforced?

[askvectorprime]

Why would anyone come up with the Functionist caste system?

Dear Caste Castigator,

As many ideas do—be they dangerous or benign—it began as innocent curiosity. Every generation inevitably asks itself the same question: “What is my purpose? For what reason was I created? What part do I have to play, in our society?” Our alt-modes are important to us, and throughout history, many have looked to our forms for the answer. “Why do I turn into this, and not that? If I was designed this way, then what for?” And as we find that our own bodies have precious few answers to give us, we turn to those around us: “Why are there more cars than particle accelerators?” At the dawn of our civilisation, even my siblings wondered about these mysteries.

It was during the rise of Nova Prime, in response to the war of the Primes, that these philosophical questions morphed into the ideology of Functionism. Nova Prime decided that the tribes had gone astray—that each had their own divine purpose to fulfill, which they had forsaken. He recruited twelve bots—one from each of the original tribes, excepting Onyx's—who formed a council to comprehend and expand this list of functions, forming the first Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy.

Having arrived at what they believed to be a complete set of categories, they thus set out to fit the planet’s population into these categories. At its basis, this meant that Solus’ followers were assigned to work in the forges; Alpha Trion’s followers to the archives; the Darklanders to the barracks. Few at the time considered this societal structure to be asserted unnaturally. Rather, it was seen as codifying the existing cultures of the tribes, unifying them in its view of Cybertron as a single people collectively working to a divine mandate. The dissenting voice of the Beasts was easy to disregard, given their defeat at the Citadel of Light, and most abandoned Nova’s society to live in the wilderness.

As the Golden Age continued, the Taxonomy grew more and more complicated. The original set of castes was expanded, coinciding with the introduction of ratioism: the more unique your alternate mode, the more important you were believed to be. Castes believed to be “important for society” were heavily subdivided into hyperspecialized classes, allowing the Prime and his followers to be seen as blessed. Meanwhile, laborers remained in larger, more generalized castes, where they were treated as interchangeable.

Naturally there were objections to this—but with the weapons held by the newly-formed military classes, the rebellion was halted in its tracks, and society was forced to accept the caste system wholly, even as it grew ever more byzantine and oppressive.

It may be surprising, given his later reputation, but Nominus rose to become Prime mostly on the back of his promises to loosen the caste system. This was supposedly implemented through the introduction of the intellectual classes—those who were judged to be valuable for their minds, not their alt modes. This was a huge development at the time, bordering on heresy... but in truth, this progress proved to be a fantasy.

[tech-obssessed-shark]

TRANSFORMERS REFERENCE IN MY PSYCH BOOK NOT CLICKBAIT?1?!?

[poetnix29]

Misplaced Rights & Revelations

I should have known,

That we would fall,

And we were prone,

To the lies they told.

They said that we were blind,

Blind from our goals for equality,

But they just ignored our cries,

They were blind from their idiocracy.

You promised us our peace,

We gave you our trust,

You returned placebos as our dreams,

And waited for the lowest to crumble into dust.

(More info under the cut.)

-Inspired by 'Towards Peace' by the one and only Megatron.

-Functionism.

-Are we surprised? No. Are we angry? Terribly.

[earthstellar]

Dance Party Ratchet and the Challenges of Socialising as a Cybertronian Medic

I sure had Some Kind of Day at work today lmao, ranging from dumb stuff to “oh shit we need to find more trauma nurses RIGHT NOW”, as is often the case, sigh

and it got me thinking: that Cyberverse scene where Ratchet is partying and scaring the shit out of everyone on the dance floor just by talking about his day at work? 

that’s so fucking real. like, it’s funny, but also, fuuuuuck lmao 

at this point I’m pretty sure I’m only capable of chilling with other healthcare people because how the fuck do we even start talking about our day with other people LOL

“how was your weekend” 

“two gunshot casualties, one stab casualty, really fucked up the floor in there. pointless loss of life. we did what we could. think I’ll go to the park tomorrow for new years. how about you?” 

this is a VERY censored version of an actual conversation I had with one of my co-workers who works in the A&E dept today.

but it’s like, normal shit. you help each other out and vent and support each other. shit’s hard. medicine is hard. we all feel that. <3 

(and of course I grew up with my dad telling me (in immense detail) his stories from when he was a deployed Army medic, which probably prepared me for life better than anything else ever has and definitely prepared me for going into health service myself in terms of having the right general mindset for it, lmao yikes) 

so like, I really feel for Ratchet in the dancefloor scene 

because this is how he’s used to socialising; I think it probably sounds really fucked up to a lot of people who aren’t used to it, because of course it would, but you really do have to get used to the pace and situations and everything going on when you work in or even just adjacent to healthcare services of whatever kind. 

and as that happens, a lot of people in whatever roles in healthcare often, over time, start to feel a sensation of distancing from others specifically because it can be hard to talk about work with other people who don’t necessarily understand all the ins or outs, or who aren’t prepared for an honest conversation about the immense shit that goes on in health and care service work. 

sometimes there is literal poop. there is often poop, actually. more often than anyone thinks. and not a lot of people want to hear about it!!! lol 

a common concern is the possibility of traumatising others by simply talking about some of the fuckery that goes on, sometimes. it’s reasonable to be hesitant when talking about stuff, if opening up might hurt the person listening. nobody wants to cause problems for anyone else, and that’s a normal first instinct. 

but it’s really important to not let a sort of invisible wall start to build up; I know plenty of people who struggle with this. it’s a common issue, and not everyone realises it’s happening. people start to censor themselves or shut down, or not even try to find alternative ways to debrief themselves if they feel they can’t talk to anyone else in their lives (therapy services specific to healthcare staff do exist, at least where I am). 

so I really like that Ratchet is clearly not struggling socially in that regard; he’s out with everyone else, he’s chillin, just talking about work. maybe he’s had a little engex, his filters aren’t as strong as they usually are. 

but the nature of the work is just not stuff that most other people are prepared to hear about. 

and it still sucks; even though Ratchet is obviously confident enough to try socialising, it’s clearly still difficult for him to find an appropriate audience. understandably, but it still doesn’t feel good to put off people by talking about stuff that is relatively normal for you-- and that can be the case for a lot of professions, not just medicine! 

for example, I have a friend who is a knife maker, and even when he gets orders from professional chefs who need specific cooking knives to be made, they don’t want to hear about whatever else he has on offer-- even if it’s other sets of cooking tools! knives have a lot of negative connotations; it can be hard for him to find people to talk with, either because of negative ideas around knives as being inherently dangerous etc. or because it’s a specialised trade and it can be difficult to find other knife makers to converse with. 

but also, he doesn’t want to risk upsetting someone by talking about knives in general--- knives are his job and passion, but they’re also potentially weapons. you never know what someone else has been through, or what someone will associate them with emotionally or in terms of memories, etc.-- nobody wants to hurt anybody by talking about things that might bring up bad feelings or trauma, which is understandable! 

so it’s not just medicine that can create this problem; whatever you do, it’s important to find “your people”, but it’s also important to not let yourself withdraw too much. <3 it’s really hard to do, sometimes. it can even feel bad or weird, to try to pull back and not talk about what seems totally normal to you, since it feels normal to you! but it’s important to re-centre yourself every now and then. 

with Ratchet in this scene, we don’t hear the conversation beforehand; it could be that others were also talking about stuff they were doing that day, and Ratchet decided to chime in with his own day’s work, and it’s just very hard for medics to do that. for a lot of reasons, but also because of reactions like this: it’s easy to freak people out. 

or it could be that Ratchet was just excited about not having to work after hours (god do I feel him on that lmao) and was glad to have an opportunity to actually get out and talk to people for once. it’s a hard job, an isolating job, and generally in most TF media we tend to see the medic characters portrayed as at least reasonably sociable, but when there’s more than one medic around, they’re usually together in some way-- same faction, same trauma team, etc., so there’s a general air of cohesiveness. 

most of the time, when we see medical bots, they’re fairly social, in one way or another. Ratchet is the same way, in almost all forms of TF media, despite his gruffness in the more modern content, lmao <3 

I’ve had this long running sort-of-headcanon that the medics in the TF universe mostly (or at least historically, pre-war) generally may have existed within social and cultural circles that are specifically medicine-dedicated. 

in IDW 1, this would have possibly been a Functionist thing. after all, Functionists would want their brightest medical minds to mingle, right? professionally and otherwise. but, perhaps, largely amongst themselves and those permitted to access them. 

you want your medics to be loyal to you, and the lineage of Primes, and the high caste to provide the best of care to the upper classes. it won’t do if you have medics running around, seeing the real detriments of Functionism as an ideology. it wouldn’t serve the interests of the Council if your best medics were fixing miners or builders or gutter mechs, because the lower classes are deemed a wash by default, not worthy of the supplies or clinical time, in the eyes of those who run Functionist society. 

it’s a way of segregating people based on profession, among other things, and when it comes to medicine, that is a fatal approach for a vast majority of the population. you end up with shit like the American healthcare system, where the vast majority cannot afford or access decent treatment, and the “best” clinicians are often from upper class rich backgrounds themselves, due to the extremely high barriers involved in even trying to get into medical schools or programmes in the first place. which leads to an inherent lean towards discrimination; it pervades all aspect of thought. including clinical reasoning, unfortunately. 

when you make your medics isolated among the upper classes, of course they will prioritise the upper classes, because that is all that they know to value, and it is the only society they get to participate in. 

so in Cyberverse, we don’t see much of Ratchet because he’s typically busy. and when he’s not, the one time we see him reach out to other bots, just talking about his day is enough to scare them away. 

it had to feel shitty for him. I know it felt shitty for him. 

but in other TF media, like TFP or IDW 1, I wonder about how relatively socially isolated most medics probably were, under the system of Functionism or the general caste/class system. 

medical professionals are generally almost always deemed “high priority” people. most clinicians, especially those in certain speciality fields, are almost always from upper class backgrounds themselves. 

I feel like this had to be mirrored to some degree in IDW/TFP. every now and then we see a little bit of a stuffy edge to TFP Ratchet (how he initially treats organics, how he reacts to Wheeljack who is coded as a relatively lower class/caste individual, etc) that hints at his previous possible social privilege, and in IDW 1 I’ve mentioned in a few prior posts how I think IDW Ratchet’s pre-war social circles may have influenced his thinking far more than he realised (or realises, even later on, to some degree). 

anyway, I’m tired as hell, I hope this is coherent at all LMAO, I didn’t edit this whatsoever-- it’s all stream of consciousness, so thank you if you read all (or any) of this!!! <3 <3 <3

[sixtus66]

Police State.

My contribution to @cfanprojects’s Transformers calendar event for 2023~

[eeriansadowtwopointoh]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Transformers (IDW Generation One) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Minimus Ambus (Transformers), Megatron (Transformers) Additional Tags: MiniMegs Week 2024, prompt: lecture, Bigotry & Prejudice, Alternate Universe - College/University, functionism Series: Part 3 of MiniMegs Week 2024 Summary:

Minimus is late for class.

@minimegsweek

[barbelo-babe]

one bot’s Functionist Council is another Matoran’s typical societal and biological structure.

[dimmeddown]

IDW pre-war functionist propaganda brochure, focusing on the email address!

This was originally written for the CYBERTRON WANTS YOU! fanbook, which focused on transformers propaganda. It's available for download here!

You can also download this brochure in its full quality, 8.5x14 pdf at my itchio here : )

[overlordraax]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassettes & Soundwave (Transformers), Megatron & Soundwave (Transformers) Characters: Soundwave (Transformers), Cassettes (Transformers), Megatron (Transformers) Additional Tags: Pre-War, Inequality, Poverty, Functionism (Transformers), Surveillance, Gladiator Megatron (Transformers), Origin Story Summary:

As a Host Model, Soundwave is tasked with recording and archiving the complete history of Kaon. It is a role he has been consigned to since his creation. However, as he further documents the inequalities of life in the city he starts to wonder about his role in life and whether there is more he can do.

Especially when a prominent gladiator rises to power...

(Originally written for the Slice of Cybertron zine)

[strangeduckpaper]

I know I take a lot of cues from IDW comics, but one I will change is the process of Empurata and the significance of cyclopean bodies in Functionist society.

The Functionist obsession with form and function placed special emphasis on ‘nimble servos’ and ‘focused optics’ in robot mode. The latter of these sayings was actually embodied by cyclopean heads, their single main optic denoting laser focus. Cyclopean Cybertronians enjoyed a measure of privilege in society, and you needed to be a cyclops (by forging or surgery) in order to be considered for the Functionist Council.

Instead, Empurata referred exclusively to the mutilation, removal and replacement of one’s servos with claws that often lacked contact sensors, fine motor skills, and in built tools like mnemosurgery needles. This crippled the victim’s ability to function in robot mode, forcing them to rely on robot mode, forcing them into their Functionist-assigned role.

But if you were really bad, Empurata wasn’t the end of your torment. Instead, the unfornate ‘bot would be forced into and locked in vehicle mode, and their T-Cog would be surgically removed, forcing them to fulfill their assigned function.