I’m currently on vacation as of making this pinned post and don’t have my computer to make this look good, so excuse how poorly made this is
Blog Warning:
Six-Of-Twelve is an overly religious fascist who manipulates, guilt trips, tortures, and purposefully triggers @rung-official (one of my characters)’s trauma. He believes that all bots must serve a function on Cybertron and if you do not fit his idea of a good function, you should not exist. He is canonically delusional, believing Primus speaks to him and commands his actions. If you interact with this blog, I will take that as permission for Six to try and hurt your characters as well.
If you don’t want to see it, block this blog and block the tag, #TwelveTerribleFascists and it should be completely hidden from your dash.
Private RP between @technitian-bulkhead-official @theadventuresofcrashcart and @six-of-twelve-functionists
This RP contains child kidnapping and (not child) murder
Rung was...distracted. And Crash Cart? Well, she was bored out of her mind. She still had the camera she stole, so why not go take some photos? She took the camera headed out. The city itself was boring, but there were so many colourful bots she could get photos of! Getting in the elevator, she couldn’t help but bounce in anticipation. She wondered if she could collect a full rainbow of different frames and put them up somewhere on display.
“Oh, going down?” Someone in the elevator with her observed as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “All on your own?” he inquired, and Crash Cart nodded in response, holding her camera up for the mech to see. “Ahh… A little photographer, are we?” She held the camera up towards the mech, waving it a little. “Ah, you want to take a photo of me? Well, of course! Who am I to deny such a talented little spark?” The figure took a step back, allowing Crash Cart the room to get a good angle. She held the camera up to her faceplate, peeking through with a single optic and squinting the other shut. Once she was finally ready—
Click!
It took a moment, but a photograph would eventually slip out of the camera. Nothing appeared to be on it, but that was all and well. Crash Cart took the photo and shook it as the elevator continued to descend, airing it out til the colours bled through. “Ah!” the mech pointed out. “There, it’s showing.” The mech in the photo was a dark orange frame with… an oddly shaped head. Crash Cart paused. She hadn’t quite taken a moment to think about it, but yeah! It was weird looking! Looked like the thing in Rung’s backpack!
“Oh, that?” That mech spoke, snapping Crash Cart out of her thoughts. “It’s a Matrix. Is it familiar?” She nodded slowly, optics glancing at the emergency call button. “It should be,” the mech suddenly stepped in front of the elevator panel, blocking the call button. “Considering your creator made it.” Crash Cart let out a gasp, dropping her camera of which Six-Of-Twelve promptly crushed under his pede. “Hello Crash Cart.”
The first thing Six-Of-Twelve noticed was Crash Cart’s lack of a voice. She screamed and thrashed against him as he cornered and picked her up, but not once did she cry for help or saving. No calling out for “mama” or “baba” or whatever she calls Rung. Nothing. Just a lot of crying and screaming and thrashing around. Six-Of-Twelve figured that if she couldn’t use her words to cry out for help, her cries would look like nothing more than a sparkling having a temper tantrum to passerby’s.
And he was right. Six-Of-Twelve was able to carry Crash Cart out into the streets without interference, leaving behind that crushed camera and photograph. He didn’t care. Some janitor would probably find it and throw it away.
It had been a long day working at the lab, and Bulkhead couldn't wait to go home and see his daughter, he had been missing her all a day, but when he reached the apartment building, something felt off.
As he stepped inside the elevator, something crunched beneath his pede, peices of a broken camera. He kneeled down to get a closer look, picking up the flipped over photograph. His spark sank, realizing what happened.
He rushed out of the elevator, looking around for his now missing daughter. "Crashcart!" He yelled out, hoping she was still close by.
Crash Cart continued to scream and cry as Six-Of-Twelve carried her through the streets, though her voice was beginning to tire out. “I for one am glad sparklings are no more where I am from. You things are terribly loud and impudent.” He held her up to his shoulder, rubbing her back in a poor attempt to console her, though his attempts only served to send a shiver through her frame. “Be quiet, won’t you?” he stopped, looking around. “Where was that rift…?”
“Hm. It’s smaller than it was before.” Six-Of-Twelve observed, stepping through. “Not a problem. It can close for good for all I care. If Rung will not come home willingly, taking his sparkling will certainly encourage him. He’d tear a hole in the universe to get you back, I’m sure.”
He traveled through the other Cybertron’s streets, which were rather empty and dark in comparison. Very few bots left their homes unless necessary or for work. There weren’t any bright lights or pretty sights. It was dark and dull. The Functionist Council was abolished (all except for Six-Of-Twelve), but things were still bleak in their absence. Recovery was a slow, strenuous process for the Cybertronians of this universe, and not everyone wanted to move onto better things. Some mechs, much like Six-Of-Twelve, wanted to keep to the Functionist way of living.
Six-Of-Twelve spun around. He was expecting Rung, not— “No, not you!” A flash of electric light surged from Six-Of-Twelve’s Matrix helm, shooting out at Bulkhead. “You and that blue mech are always getting in the way. It’s a nuisance!”
Six-Of-Twelve’s grip on Crash Cart tightened, causing her to let out another cry. But instead of striking Bulkhead again, the mech suddenly turned and ran. “Damn it! How was I meant to know this thing was yours!?”
Private RP between @technitian-bulkhead-official @theadventuresofcrashcart and @six-of-twelve-functionists
This RP contains child kidnapping and (not child) murder
Rung was...distracted. And Crash Cart? Well, she was bored out of her mind. She still had the camera she stole, so why not go take some photos? She took the camera headed out. The city itself was boring, but there were so many colourful bots she could get photos of! Getting in the elevator, she couldn’t help but bounce in anticipation. She wondered if she could collect a full rainbow of different frames and put them up somewhere on display.
“Oh, going down?” Someone in the elevator with her observed as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “All on your own?” he inquired, and Crash Cart nodded in response, holding her camera up for the mech to see. “Ahh… A little photographer, are we?” She held the camera up towards the mech, waving it a little. “Ah, you want to take a photo of me? Well, of course! Who am I to deny such a talented little spark?” The figure took a step back, allowing Crash Cart the room to get a good angle. She held the camera up to her faceplate, peeking through with a single optic and squinting the other shut. Once she was finally ready—
Click!
It took a moment, but a photograph would eventually slip out of the camera. Nothing appeared to be on it, but that was all and well. Crash Cart took the photo and shook it as the elevator continued to descend, airing it out til the colours bled through. “Ah!” the mech pointed out. “There, it’s showing.” The mech in the photo was a dark orange frame with… an oddly shaped head. Crash Cart paused. She hadn’t quite taken a moment to think about it, but yeah! It was weird looking! Looked like the thing in Rung’s backpack!
“Oh, that?” That mech spoke, snapping Crash Cart out of her thoughts. “It’s a Matrix. Is it familiar?” She nodded slowly, optics glancing at the emergency call button. “It should be,” the mech suddenly stepped in front of the elevator panel, blocking the call button. “Considering your creator made it.” Crash Cart let out a gasp, dropping her camera of which Six-Of-Twelve promptly crushed under his pede. “Hello Crash Cart.”
The first thing Six-Of-Twelve noticed was Crash Cart’s lack of a voice. She screamed and thrashed against him as he cornered and picked her up, but not once did she cry for help or saving. No calling out for “mama” or “baba” or whatever she calls Rung. Nothing. Just a lot of crying and screaming and thrashing around. Six-Of-Twelve figured that if she couldn’t use her words to cry out for help, her cries would look like nothing more than a sparkling having a temper tantrum to passerby’s.
And he was right. Six-Of-Twelve was able to carry Crash Cart out into the streets without interference, leaving behind that crushed camera and photograph. He didn’t care. Some janitor would probably find it and throw it away.
It had been a long day working at the lab, and Bulkhead couldn't wait to go home and see his daughter, he had been missing her all a day, but when he reached the apartment building, something felt off.
As he stepped inside the elevator, something crunched beneath his pede, peices of a broken camera. He kneeled down to get a closer look, picking up the flipped over photograph. His spark sank, realizing what happened.
He rushed out of the elevator, looking around for his now missing daughter. "Crashcart!" He yelled out, hoping she was still close by.
Crash Cart continued to scream and cry as Six-Of-Twelve carried her through the streets, though her voice was beginning to tire out. “I for one am glad sparklings are no more where I am from. You things are terribly loud and impudent.” He held her up to his shoulder, rubbing her back in a poor attempt to console her, though his attempts only served to send a shiver through her frame. “Be quiet, won’t you?” he stopped, looking around. “Where was that rift…?”
“Hm. It’s smaller than it was before.” Six-Of-Twelve observed, stepping through. “Not a problem. It can close for good for all I care. If Rung will not come home willingly, taking his sparkling will certainly encourage him. He’d tear a hole in the universe to get you back, I’m sure.”
He traveled through the other Cybertron’s streets, which were rather empty and dark in comparison. Very few bots left their homes unless necessary or for work. There weren’t any bright lights or pretty sights. It was dark and dull. The Functionist Council was abolished (all except for Six-Of-Twelve), but things were still bleak in their absence. Recovery was a slow, strenuous process for the Cybertronians of this universe, and not everyone wanted to move onto better things. Some mechs, much like Six-Of-Twelve, wanted to keep to the Functionist way of living.
Six-Of-Twelve spun around. He was expecting Rung, not— “No, not you!” A flash of electric light surged from Six-Of-Twelve’s Matrix helm, shooting out at Bulkhead. “You and that blue mech are always getting in the way. It’s a nuisance!”
Private RP between @technitian-bulkhead-official @theadventuresofcrashcart and @six-of-twelve-functionists
This RP contains child kidnapping and (not child) murder
Rung was...distracted. And Crash Cart? Well, she was bored out of her mind. She still had the camera she stole, so why not go take some photos? She took the camera headed out. The city itself was boring, but there were so many colourful bots she could get photos of! Getting in the elevator, she couldn’t help but bounce in anticipation. She wondered if she could collect a full rainbow of different frames and put them up somewhere on display.
“Oh, going down?” Someone in the elevator with her observed as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “All on your own?” he inquired, and Crash Cart nodded in response, holding her camera up for the mech to see. “Ahh… A little photographer, are we?” She held the camera up towards the mech, waving it a little. “Ah, you want to take a photo of me? Well, of course! Who am I to deny such a talented little spark?” The figure took a step back, allowing Crash Cart the room to get a good angle. She held the camera up to her faceplate, peeking through with a single optic and squinting the other shut. Once she was finally ready—
Click!
It took a moment, but a photograph would eventually slip out of the camera. Nothing appeared to be on it, but that was all and well. Crash Cart took the photo and shook it as the elevator continued to descend, airing it out til the colours bled through. “Ah!” the mech pointed out. “There, it’s showing.” The mech in the photo was a dark orange frame with… an oddly shaped head. Crash Cart paused. She hadn’t quite taken a moment to think about it, but yeah! It was weird looking! Looked like the thing in Rung’s backpack!
“Oh, that?” That mech spoke, snapping Crash Cart out of her thoughts. “It’s a Matrix. Is it familiar?” She nodded slowly, optics glancing at the emergency call button. “It should be,” the mech suddenly stepped in front of the elevator panel, blocking the call button. “Considering your creator made it.” Crash Cart let out a gasp, dropping her camera of which Six-Of-Twelve promptly crushed under his pede. “Hello Crash Cart.”
The first thing Six-Of-Twelve noticed was Crash Cart’s lack of a voice. She screamed and thrashed against him as he cornered and picked her up, but not once did she cry for help or saving. No calling out for “mama” or “baba” or whatever she calls Rung. Nothing. Just a lot of crying and screaming and thrashing around. Six-Of-Twelve figured that if she couldn’t use her words to cry out for help, her cries would look like nothing more than a sparkling having a temper tantrum to passerby’s.
And he was right. Six-Of-Twelve was able to carry Crash Cart out into the streets without interference, leaving behind that crushed camera and photograph. He didn’t care. Some janitor would probably find it and throw it away.
It had been a long day working at the lab, and Bulkhead couldn't wait to go home and see his daughter, he had been missing her all a day, but when he reached the apartment building, something felt off.
As he stepped inside the elevator, something crunched beneath his pede, peices of a broken camera. He kneeled down to get a closer look, picking up the flipped over photograph. His spark sank, realizing what happened.
He rushed out of the elevator, looking around for his now missing daughter. "Crashcart!" He yelled out, hoping she was still close by.
Crash Cart continued to scream and cry as Six-Of-Twelve carried her through the streets, though her voice was beginning to tire out. “I for one am glad sparklings are no more where I am from. You things are terribly loud and impudent.” He held her up to his shoulder, rubbing her back in a poor attempt to console her, though his attempts only served to send a shiver through her frame. “Be quiet, won’t you?” he stopped, looking around. “Where was that rift…?”
“Hm. It’s smaller than it was before.” Six-Of-Twelve observed, stepping through. “Not a problem. It can close for good for all I care. If Rung will not come home willingly, taking his sparkling will certainly encourage him. He’d tear a hole in the universe to get you back, I’m sure.”
He traveled through the other Cybertron’s streets, which were rather empty and dark in comparison. Very few bots left their homes unless necessary or for work. There weren’t any bright lights or pretty sights. It was dark and dull. The Functionist Council was abolished (all except for Six-Of-Twelve), but things were still bleak in their absence. Recovery was a slow, strenuous process for the Cybertronians of this universe, and not everyone wanted to move onto better things. Some mechs, much like Six-Of-Twelve, wanted to keep to the Functionist way of living.
Private RP between @technitian-bulkhead-official @theadventuresofcrashcart and @six-of-twelve-functionists
This RP contains child kidnapping and (not child) murder
Rung was...distracted. And Crash Cart? Well, she was bored out of her mind. She still had the camera she stole, so why not go take some photos? She took the camera headed out. The city itself was boring, but there were so many colourful bots she could get photos of! Getting in the elevator, she couldn’t help but bounce in anticipation. She wondered if she could collect a full rainbow of different frames and put them up somewhere on display.
“Oh, going down?” Someone in the elevator with her observed as she pressed the button for the ground floor. “All on your own?” he inquired, and Crash Cart nodded in response, holding her camera up for the mech to see. “Ahh… A little photographer, are we?” She held the camera up towards the mech, waving it a little. “Ah, you want to take a photo of me? Well, of course! Who am I to deny such a talented little spark?” The figure took a step back, allowing Crash Cart the room to get a good angle. She held the camera up to her faceplate, peeking through with a single optic and squinting the other shut. Once she was finally ready—
Click!
It took a moment, but a photograph would eventually slip out of the camera. Nothing appeared to be on it, but that was all and well. Crash Cart took the photo and shook it as the elevator continued to descend, airing it out til the colours bled through. “Ah!” the mech pointed out. “There, it’s showing.” The mech in the photo was a dark orange frame with… an oddly shaped head. Crash Cart paused. She hadn’t quite taken a moment to think about it, but yeah! It was weird looking! Looked like the thing in Rung’s backpack!
“Oh, that?” That mech spoke, snapping Crash Cart out of her thoughts. “It’s a Matrix. Is it familiar?” She nodded slowly, optics glancing at the emergency call button. “It should be,” the mech suddenly stepped in front of the elevator panel, blocking the call button. “Considering your creator made it.” Crash Cart let out a gasp, dropping her camera of which Six-Of-Twelve promptly crushed under his pede. “Hello Crash Cart.”
The first thing Six-Of-Twelve noticed was Crash Cart’s lack of a voice. She screamed and thrashed against him as he cornered and picked her up, but not once did she cry for help or saving. No calling out for “mama” or “baba” or whatever she calls Rung. Nothing. Just a lot of crying and screaming and thrashing around. Six-Of-Twelve figured that if she couldn’t use her words to cry out for help, her cries would look like nothing more than a sparkling having a temper tantrum to passerby’s.
And he was right. Six-Of-Twelve was able to carry Crash Cart out into the streets without interference, leaving behind that crushed camera and photograph. He didn’t care. Some janitor would probably find it and throw it away.
It had been a long day working at the lab, and Bulkhead couldn't wait to go home and see his daughter, he had been missing her all a day, but when he reached the apartment building, something felt off.
As he stepped inside the elevator, something crunched beneath his pede, peices of a broken camera. He kneeled down to get a closer look, picking up the flipped over photograph. His spark sank, realizing what happened.
He rushed out of the elevator, looking around for his now missing daughter. "Crashcart!" He yelled out, hoping she was still close by.
Crash Cart continued to scream and cry as Six-Of-Twelve carried her through the streets, though her voice was beginning to tire out. “I for one am glad sparklings are no more where I am from. You things are terribly loud and impudent.” He held her up to his shoulder, rubbing her back in a poor attempt to console her, though his attempts only served to send a shiver through her frame. “Be quiet, won’t you?” he stopped, looking around. “Where was that rift…?”
The Matrix chose me because I united our people, freeing the Cybertronian race from the chaos and oppression induced by Quintesson rule.
Thy Functionist state is a proud sickness born of fear, a parasitic rot that narrows the vision of a magnificent species until they can see nothing past their own bodies.
I recognize not thy titles.
I recognize not thy ranks.
And I will see thy entire drab machine dismantled to liberate the grand lineage thou hast desecrated.
In the name of Primus, Lifebringer.
So says Nova Prime.
@imperium-stellarum-offical
Such cruel words coming from such a noble Prime. My, how the mighty have fallen from grace.
The Functionist state was a necessity. If one does not have a functional alt-mode, does not contribute to our society, what purpose do they serve on Cybertron?
Why do any of us exist if not to serve a greater purpose? When Cybertron stopped producing hot spots, it became clear that we had not given enough of ourselves to Primus. Something had to change. It was our god-given duty to make ourselves useful. To embrace Functionism. To keep the cogs in the machine turning.
Yes, the Council was against it at first, but the Cold Construction you introduced us to turned out to be our race’s saving grace. Creating an entire population of mechs with designated functions which serve Primus and keeps Cybertron running? It was just what we needed. And for that, I cannot thank you enough, Nova Prime.
You are pathetic, all you do is bitch and moan about how you want to lick Primus's pedes but then turn around to kill his children and use his name as an excuse for your sins.
The only reason you still have power is because of that idiotic matrix for a helm you have, so one likes you, no one wants you, and no one needs you.
You must be the sparkling. How... small. I could almost step on you. It's rather peculiar of Rung to create a minibot. Unexpected. Does he even know what you are?
Ah. Of course. You wouldn’t know, would you? Rung doesn’t either. At least, as far as I am aware he does not. Minibots are a thing of the past. They’re irrelevant now, useless—Though… you do appear to have a use. A defibrillator, are you?
Hurt… her? No, no, little one. I would never hurt your creator. Did he— she mean the generator I had wired into her processor? You misunderstand, little one. I did not hurt her. I made her better, just as you make her spark better.
You must be the sparkling. How... small. I could almost step on you. It's rather peculiar of Rung to create a minibot. Unexpected. Does he even know what you are?
Ah. Of course. You wouldn’t know, would you? Rung doesn’t either. At least, as far as I am aware he does not. Minibots are a thing of the past. They’re irrelevant now, useless—Though… you do appear to have a use. A defibrillator, are you?
Hurt… her? No, no, little one. I would never hurt your creator. Did he— she mean the generator I had wired into her processor? You misunderstand, little one. I did not hurt her. I made her better, just as you make her spark better.
Six-Of-Twelve @six-of-twelve-functionists - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
