Nearly forgot about this account entirely until fairly recently This blog is a general dumping ground so expect some political posts on the dash multi fandom 18+ Interact at your own risk
I love that four different people on my feed scheduled this joyous person to reblog by 8am on June 1. I look forward to seeing this a dozen more times today.
[ID: A screenshot of Boromir of Gondor from Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring, standing in Rivendell and staring (at either Legolas or Aragorn) off camera. The subtitle has been edited to say
I'm a human from the Quadwal universe here. I have a question. Officially speaking, the DJD is a justice division, and you've referred to the DJD as an administration before, and according to the wiki you also do the paperwork for the Decepticons as a faction.
So my question is, is there actually a formal bureaucratic process for getting on/off the list, or a process of appeals one can go through if they suspect they are on it and want to plead their case to you prior to being hunted down and no one uses it, or is getting on/off the list something decided entirely internally post investigation?
Yes.
There is.
If your commanding officer accuses you of treason with proof, or one of the Conclave themselves names you.
If it is clear beyond a reasonable doubt you are loyal, your charge may be suspended, but only at Megatron's word can it be fully dropped.
As for appeals, you may try, but such action would be seen as a half-proof of guilt.
Official but formally unstated policy is that: If you are loyal to the Cause, and honestly devoted, you have nothing to worry about.
However, if you are accused at all, you are functionally on the list until otherwise positively informed otherwise.
If you believe it is false, but have no proof positive way to prove otherwise, you are welcome to apply to be a watchman of the DJD, which involves a thorough background check. If you pass, you are one of us and suspended of suspicion.
I hope this answers your question.
It does, actually, thank you for taking the time to answer!
It does bring up a bit more questions though, since those with charges suspended have to be formally removed by Megatron himself, and he's only one mech, that implies having one's charge suspended functionally puts one off the list if they're low level enough.
That and the assumption of appeal being proof of guilt.
This I can imagine would cause some problems, especially in the case of false accusations or instances of much larger misunderstandings where defendant testimony is more obviously needed.
Is there a separate process to prevent something like that from happening or does it end there?
Sorry for all the questions, I'm a huge nerd for logistics and how bureaucratic processes affect things functionally so all this fascinates me.
I can understand if there is no time to respond, you're a busy person and taking the time to answer my first question is something I appreciate a lot.
from day old threats, to calling the women's football team infidels and threatening to punish them for not singing the national anthem, to killing many protestors and admitting to do so in such a large scale on national television only for some users with a watermelon emoji and a backpack emoji to tell us that nothing such has happened, and we're making a big deal out of this, supporting the regime just because they're muslims and shaming the monarchists & democrats who want nothing but this large scale killing to stop happening. On social media when we were sharing the videos and proofs of bodies lying down on the streets, blood everywhere, cries of the protestors, people said it's very disturbing to see, but what about the people who've actually been there watching such a horrendous act with their own eyes, they just want your support and attention since the blackout is still going on and there's only minimal ways of sending videos from inside the country and all they get to hear is it's disturbing to watch? I've seen posts where US and israel's doings are shown on tumblr and twitter and they get a hell lot of likes and support from the public, but when it comes to the protestors and posts which contains the people who are still getting executed and killed (even teenagers) are getting only the minimum of 100 reshares or likes, cause people apparently don't care when it comes to Iran. Shame on your selective activism and half sided support.
If still open, breeding program au for the ask game
Post for context
Snippet below the cut.
The letter came the day before they received their scores for their final exam, a summon from the Dean. Pharma recognized the wording, a few other students had gotten the very same request the previous year and the year before that and the year before that.
Anyone with an outlier or specific and rare frame type was marked upon forging and eventually brought before the State to help perpetuate the next generation of Cybertronians, the latest government sanctioned "antidote" to the population crisis. Everyone was encouraged to freely breed of course, but mechs like Pharma would be required to.
Even worse, there was a quota.
Needless to say, Pharma was unsurprised to see a state official sitting in the Dean's chair the next day while his class graduated below him. "We're withholding your branding until you've produced 5 functional newsparks," they explained, projecting the government waver for Pharma's career ascension. "You are not required to raise them, but it is highly encouraged."
Pharma frowned, scanning down the document. "Do I have to carry? Is that part of the requirement?"
"No, the 5 can be sired, carried, or a mix of both. Though the bigger mech will always carry to ensure that any sparklings will not be too large to manage. It will depend on who you are paired with," they explained, their voice bored and clinical like they'd delivered this exact sermon of questions a thousand times over. "Before you ask, no, you will not be choosing who your partner is. Diversity of CNA is a main component of the program, but you will not be forced to interact with them."
Pharma bit his lip. Everything about this sounded unappealing. Even if he didn't have to be a parent and raise any newsparks to adulthood, he would still be delaying his career by years. His cohort would be miles past him by the time he stepped back inside a medbay.
And Primus, that was not counting the fact that he might very well have to carry.
Venting, his glanced to his wings; his blank, white wings.
He was supposed to become a doctor today. Today, all his hard work, years of study and toil, was supposed to finally pay off.
"This is so unfair," he found himself grumbling, clenching his fists at his sides.
"Don't be angry, you're doing the planet and our species a great and necessary service," the official said, their tone no less enthused. "Your work with us will be what defines your future, Pharma."
Behind him, the door opened and Pharma suddenly found himself being steered out of the room by a purple Seeker. "What!? Are we leaving now? My things-"
"Will be brought to your new temporary housing accommodations," the other aerial cut him off with a curt grunt. Then suddenly, there was a loud vwoop and the hallway disappeared. Pharma wobbled, grabbing his head as he steadied himself, only for his optics to widen as soon as his gyroscope was stable.
He was on a ship, full of other mechs, all of which looked as equally confused or concerned as he was. Turning to the other aerial, Pharma opened his mouth to speak, but the Seeker immediately let go of Pharma's arm and teleported away again.
"Another aerial, huh..." one of the others muttered once the guard disappeared. "With the way these numbers are leaning, I reckon they're trying to build an armada..."
A different mech, a helicopter, winced and said, "Maybe it's just a coincidence. We're not the only transport picking up volunteers..."
"We didn't fraggin' volunteer for jack dick!"
A murmur of agreement swept the group, annoyed and frustrated. Pharma didn't join in, but he did give a silent nod, his optics sliding to the bay windows. Occasionally the guard, who he quickly learned was named Skywarp, would teleport back and forth, bringing more and more mechs to join the fray.
Once they hit moonrise, the ship departed and they were ushered to small cabins. "We'll arrive at the facilities tomorrow morning. In the meantime, enjoy the complimentary fuel and washracks."
Pharma rolled his eyes, but did endeavor to use up as much warm solvent as he could during his wash that night anyway. He might as well make them pay for this unauthorized use of his frame.
He did take the opportunity to look around the common room during the evening fuel though. After all, any one of these mechs could end up partnered to him and who he was partnered with determined whether or not he would be stuck with the short end of the stick.
Sure enough, most of the mechs aboard were aerial in nature, but there were plenty of specialized technologies and grounders with larger alts. Things that would indeed be quite advantageous in a combat scenario.
And then, he saw the runt of the litter.
Small and orange, alone at a table, claws clasped around a cube. Pharma paused and stared, genuinely surprised that the state would think someone they designated fit for empurata to also be fit to breed.
He didn't realize how long he'd been staring until the mech lifted his head, a single green optic meeting his. Pharma blinked and then cleared his throat, giving the other mech an awkward nod of acknowledgement. "Wonderful day to be kidnapped," he said, tipping his own cube.
The empurata snorted, "I've actually been here for a week. They hit Tarn earlier than Polyhex." They nodded back toward Pharma and added, "But you're lucky. You were the last stop so now it's straight to the base."
Pharma winced. "So I don't even get any time to process all this."
"Believe me," the other mech said, "The sitting around and waiting is worse." He then paused and scooted to the side, patting the empty bench next to him.
For a moment, Pharma stared, wondering if he should engage any further before his curiosity finally won out. This mech had to be special. He wanted to know what it was and if he was to learn anything, he'd have to keep chatting.
So he sat down next to the other mech, offering a hand. "Pharma of Polyhex," he said, "And you are-"
The mech stared down at his hand and raised a claw before gingerly pressing it into Pharma's grip to shake. "Damus of Tarn," he murmured right back. "Pharma...that sounds like a medic name."
"It is," Pharma confirmed. "I actually just graduated with my doctorate, but...my official paperwork is being withheld until I've filled my quota." He grumbled as he spoke, practically chewing the words like rocks against his teeth.
Damus' optic widened. "That's so..." He sighed, shaking his head. "You have every right to be upset. That sounds needlessly cruel."
"It's their insurance that I'll stay in line," Pharma said with a shrug. "I'm sure they have something similar on you?"
The other mech paused, tapping his claws together over his cube before saying, "I think it should be obvious, doctor. I know better than to try and fight back. I have...personal experience with the matter."
Not an incorrect answer, but not the one he wanted. Pharma nevertheless nodded and took a sip from his fuel. "What's your quota?" he asked quietly. "Seems all the aerials got stuck with five."
Damus vented. "As many as necessary," he said.
As many as necessary. That could only mean one thing: outlier.
Of course...the chances of an outlier producing an outlier was higher than producing an outlier from two standard sparks, but it was still a low percentage. Damus would have to either carry or sire as many sparklings as possible until a green spark emerged. Though given Damus appeared to be the smallest mech in the group, it was unlikely he would be forced to carry.
Pharma hummed. "Do you think they'd keep you forever if it came down to it?"
That earned him a cold snort and a slightly hysterical laugh. "I really hope I don't have to find out. I thought I was done with this. I thought they'd taken enough of me!" He hiccuped and then straightened, collecting himself with a deep vent. "Anyway...I'm sorry to hear about your graduation, doctor."
"I'm not a doctor."
"You finished your doctorate, you're only missing the brands," Damus argued, gesturing to Pharma's frame. "Just because it's being withheld doesn't mean you haven't earned the title."
Pharma found himself smiling, a small unconscious quirk of his lips. "The sentiment is appreciated, but it doesn't mean much. I can't practice without the brands. The last few centuries of my life are functionally worthless."
"Even so, congratulations on completing your doctorate," Damus bowed his head. "That's an amazing accomplishment." He then raised his cube and Pharma obligingly clinked it against the other mech's glass. "I imagine you would be out celebrating with your friends right now if not for...all this."
Yes, he would very much be. The plan to find Ratchet after the ceremony and show him his new brands and then...
...finally confess, finally tell that clueless, brilliant ambulance how he felt.
He'd planned it all out, spent the last week anxiously imagining every possible outcome and how he could respond worst case scenario. After all, regardless what happened, he had to keep both his reputation and friendship intact.
Not the easiest task...
Well, now all of that worrying was for nothing. After all, there was no guarantee that Ratchet would be willing to wait for him even if he knew the truth. If another mech came along while he was stuck here-
Pharma pulled himself back from his doomspiral, shaking his helm with a frustrated sigh. "Not exactly what I planned for tonight, but well, at least we won't be alone in our suffering."
Another nod of agreement. "By the way, thank you for not being...weird," Damus said, "-for the lack of a better term. Usually mechs keep their distance from me...unless they have ulterior motives."
At first, Pharma blinked, but then realization hit and he groaned. "Oh yeah...trust me, it's not much better with wings. Same kinda creeps."
"No, not the same kind at all," Damus said, his tone suddenly dead serious. "Your wings aren't a disfigurement, a mark of shame. People fetishizing your natural frame isn't the same as people who-" The other mech stopped and huffed. "How about we just change the subject?"
Or maybe he should just end the conversation entirely. Pharma had already stepped across multiple sensitivities with this mech. Besides, he had gotten what he wanted. He now he knew what the government wanted out of an empurata like Damus.
And yet, he still didn't know why this mech was empurated in the first place or what his outlier even was.
Obviously, he couldn't ask about the former without appearing rude. That might forever remain a mystery. But...
"Alright, you're clearly an outlier so...what is your power?" Pharma asked, leaning his helm into the side of his palm.
Damus stared, tapping his claws against the rim of his glass. "You're definitely STEM. All blunt, no tact," he muttered with a laugh. "But you're also the first person who's talked to me the entire time I've been here..."
He shrugged and tipped his cube back into his funnel of an intake before quickly closing it, the opening more of a tube than a mouth. Then he wiped his flat face and met Pharma's optics. "I can disable machines. It used to only work with inanimate objects, but I've moved onto living metal." He waggled his claws, adding, "Currently, I'm trying to adapt around the limitations of touch. I was actually enrolled in a special program that was working to both enhance and study it until this week." Damus hummed. "So that gets to go on hold until all this is finished."
Disable machines. Sentient and non-sentient through touch alone. Aerials en masse.
All signs were definitely pointing to some sort of combat preparation on the part of the state. Pharma's brow narrowed and he glanced down at his reflection in the fuel. It was bad enough that his frame was being coopted against his will, but the idea of it all being done just to fuel a future war-
So much for the greater good of Cybertron. "I can only imagine how that will work out with newsparks," Pharma murmured.
"They'll keep me around to train them. I don't get to leave after they're born."
Pharma blinked and then said, "Wow...and here I thought I was getting the short end of the stick." He glanced around and lifted his cube, gesturing at the other mechs crowded around the various tables. "At least you won't be stuck carrying. I doubt there's any bots here smaller than you."
Damus shrugged, only to pause as the intercom switched on and they were all instructed to return to their assigned rooms for the night. "Well, thanks for chatting, doctor. I doubt we'll speak again before we're assigned so I wish you the best."
Standing, Pharma tipped back the last of his fuel and said, "Good luck to you too." After all, what else could be said given just how bizarre and twisted their whole situation was.
From there, they parted, Pharma dumping his glass into a sanitation chute before heading to the hall lined with their assigned rooms. He looked up, briefly meeting Damus' eye one more time before stepping inside his cabin, the door closing behind him.
The next morning he was woken by a distinct change in air pressure. Pharma winced, his wings fluttering as the ship descended before rolling up to sit. Sure enough, the intercom came on to announce they'd arrived at the compound where they would be evaluated and sorted.
They lined up in the common room by serial number, lowest to highest, and waited for their designation to be called, entering the medbay one by one.
When it was his turn, Pharma stood from the bench and stepped inside, letting the attendant lead him into a private examination room before taking the offered seat. Immediately he was subject to a full diagnostics scan and multiple physical tests to ensure both his health and the stability of his code. Then the doctor ran him through a series of questions:
Do you know any of the mechs involved in the program?
Not from what I could tell.
Review this list. Are any names familiar to you?
No.
Do you have any specific concerns with the program?
Does the answer even matter? It hardly seems like I have a choice regardless.
They will be noted on your file.
Then no.
How do you feel about the idea of carrying and of parenthood in general?
I have no desire to carry or be a parent.
No guarantees can be made on role.
Yes, I'm aware.
Would you prefer to use artificial means of insemination or natural if you are chosen to carry?
The last question nearly made Pharma choke. Of course, it was a necessary question, one he had expected, but hearing it said so plainly still felt...
He vented. "Artificial," he muttered before adding, "Since I'm a medical student, I assume I can be trusted to handle the procedure myself?"
The attendant nodded and Pharma vented. Well, at least he would be given some small measure of dignity.
After they'd finished the questionnaire, Pharma was given a datapad and sent to a waiting area with the other mechs who had already completed their evaluations. He took the time to read through the packet, reviewing all the rules and ramifications that would be dictating his life for the foreseeable future.
Upon being partnered, they would be assigned "houses" on the campus to share where they would repeatedly attempt to spark. Once carriage was confirmed, the pair would remain functionally roommates until emergence. After emergence, the pair could stay partnered, or be switched out to new pairings. Switching would also occur should they fail to spark after a month.
They were to remain on campus for the entirety of their stay. No venturing out into the nearby Iacon. Of course, everything they could need or want would be provided (within reason) but this whole operation was essentially a prison.
A prison with a fucking quota.
He'd just reached the end of the documentation when the final "volunteer" was walked through and the overhead screens came to life, displaying a familiar face. It was one of the Senators, but Pharma couldn't place the name; he'd never been overly interested in politics.
"Thank you all for your cooperation," they began with a bright smile.
Silence met the greeting so he just continued, clearly unphased by the lack of enthusiasm. "Your profiles have been reviewed by the Senate prior to your arrival. Since there were no confirmed medical or psychological exemptions, we are going to go ahead with the assignments."
The screen flickered to a side by side shot of two mechs. "Silverdrive of Rodion and Augment of Helex."
Pharma's optics widened and he looked around, seeing both mechs find each other in the room, nervous awkward glances exchanged.
"Rotorstorm of Praxus and Cross Stop of Tetrahex."
More eyes, everyone darting around to see who was stuck with who as new names and faces flashed across the screen.
"Damus of Tarn-" Pharma swallowed as the empurata's face stared down at the room blankly. Then he saw his own face appear, the photo that was taken of him on his forging day, forever assigned to the serial number inscribed on his frame. "-and Pharma of Polyhex."
Pharma froze, mouth open, unable to look away from the screen even as new names and faces replaced theirs. Damus...he was assigned to Damus.
And that meant-
His processor continued to roll over his new reality, tumbling the idea around like an uneven rock. He slipped into auto-pilot, following the attendant's instructions as the screen darkened and they were separated into their pairs. He glanced to Damus who seemed equally as miserable as they marched through a massive compound of houses. Every pair was given a set of keys before having a tracking brand affixed to their chests. "We'll know if you remove it," they warned as Pharma winced through the sear of the brand. "And more severe measures will be taken if necessary."
More severe measures, likely an inhibitor chip, maybe even an electric leash.
Taking a deep vent, he looked at the key card in his hand and unlocked their assigned home. It was a simple layout: a large shared living space, two bedrooms, two sets of washracks. The furniture was simple and modern. All very comfortable but undeniably impersonal. It was also very bright with plenty of windows and sky-lights that were tinted for privacy.
No doubt for the mechs who chose the natural route.
Upon entering the bedrooms, they noticed their things had already been dropped off, though Pharma was quick to note what was missing: his cy-garettes.
Scowling, Pharma felt a ping in his subspace and pulled out his assigned datapad. The packet had been updated with a new set of instructions.
ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION INSTRUCTIONS:
PATIENT: PHARMA OF POLYHEX
Pharma groaned and shoved the tablet back into his subspace just as Damus appeared to get his own notification. The smaller mech paused, flipping through the pages before saying, "They want three vials a day."
The jet couldn't help himself. "At least that's all you have to do! I have to put it inside me." And wait for it to take root. To grow a whole damn sparkling.
Pharma shuddered. No, not just one sparkling.
Five.
Primus, he hoped Damus' quota didn't retroactively apply to him too now that they were paired.
At first Damus was quiet, but then he sighed and said, "I want this about as much as you do, doctor. This wasn't either of our choice."
Pharma bit his lip. That was true...and at least Pharma would get to eventually leave and go back to his old life. Damus would have to stay for however long it took to train any sparklings.
Their sparklings.
That was such a strange thought. It felt like a joke.
Pharma sank down onto the couch and rubbed over his helm. "When are we expected to start trying?"
Damus glanced back to the data pad, scrolling through the text before murmuring, "Tomorrow. The medical staff will be...monitoring our progress."
Tomorrow. As unlikely as it was to spark in a day, the fact that he could very well go to sleep a day from now sparked filled the jet with dread. "Getting right to it, I see..." Pharma said, pinching his chevron. "Suppose it saves on the expense of fueling all of us."
Reluctantly, Pharma fished out the datapad again and scanned over the instructions. Sure enough, after his baffles were removed in the morning, he was to be manually inseminated three times a day and plugged between each dose.
His tanks rolled at the thought. He could only hope that it would be quick so he wouldn't be left to dread each damn day.
He felt a tap to his shoulder stack and Pharma glanced up to see Damus holding a cube of fuel. "You can test fuel, right?" he asked. "Can you...can you tell me if they drugged it?"
Pharma nodded and extended a hand, dipping his finger into the liquid. His optics narrowed as he scanned the molecular components and he sighed, "No, but who knows if it'll remain that way. They did offer the use of whatever toys and appropriate stimulants would be needed to get the job done."
He retracted his finger and Damus gave a grateful nod before funneling it into the hidden tube that composed his intake. Finishing the portion, he wiped his plates and sighed, tapping his claws against the glass. "Who do you think will be first?"
"First to spark?" Pharma asked with a raised brow. "A rather sick bet."
Damus shrugged and Pharma snorted. He supposed it was better to just lean into the twisted absurdity of the situation if only to keep sane. "That set of tanks seemed awfully eager to get their hands on each other. How fortunate that they had physical attraction on their side."
"Unlike me," Damus said with a pointed nod. Pharma winced.
"I didn't say that."
"It was implied," Damus dismissed with a wave of one claw. "It's fine...I'm not blind. I know I'm not going to be winning any beauty pageants...not that I was all that much to look at before, but...it was certainly better than this." He gestured at his helm and then toward Pharma. "The newsparks will simply have to get their good looks from you, doctor."
Pharma paused. "Good looks, huh?" he asked and Damus just hummed.
"As I said, I'm not blind," Damus murmured before turning back toward the fuel dispenser, leaving Pharma ever so slightly aghast.
They didn't continue conversing after taking their evening fuel, instead both of them quietly retiring to their respective rooms. Pharma's wings slumped as soon as he stepped through the door, one hand brushing over the shiny blue brand. All the carriers had been marked blue and the sires red, an easy way to distinguish everyone's roles at a glance between visible carrying cycles.
Anyone who took one look at him would know.
Sliding into the berth, Pharma was reluctant to admit that the slab and sheets were incredibly comfortable, far nicer than the academy dorms or his cramped apartment slab back in Polyhex. He'd be pampered and given everything he wanted but the price was steep.
Five sparklings. It seemed like such an insurmountable task and yet he had to get through it if he wanted to become a doctor. Even if he couldn't be with Ratchet romantically, he at least wanted to be able to work with him again.
So he had to get through this. Which meant he had to take this stupid situation seriously and do whatever he could to increase his own damn fertility.
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