i-iko

[i-iko]

I might be several a months late but your writing is so wonderful!!! I love how snappy and VERY very haughty your characterization of pharma is, you hit the nail on the head,

The charity case treatment but still snubbing the organic coworker, the “Well~ giving ambulon and first aid a friend works too, I guess” mindset is just mwuah mwuah

Since I havent seen much, what other transformers do you like?

🥺❤️❤️ thank you I’m glad you love it!! Writing Pharma was an absolute pain lmao, I had to choose an inside voice for my head/ character from a show I’ve watched to produce his ass. People characterize him differently, but to me he’s so husband material, super snobbish with a liitttleee bit of a caring side, trust me you’ll see more of that later (if I get to write the next chapter anyways)

Originally, mdm was a series of one shots on my ao3. And there’s a main oneshot of that with the same name which kind of sparked the idea to write a full length fic because of that. (You can check it out if you like, though I have to warn you, it’s a spoiler XD)

And speaking of transformers, I’m so down bad for prowl it’s insane. And the reason you haven’t seen much of my writing here is becuase this is actually my side blog where I’m planning to upload all of my fics for better organization XD I complete forgot about this blog halfway and your ask reminded me to resume what I was doing. if you’re interested to read more of my works here’s my main! @ikkosu and my ao3 (Bunsuni!)

thank you for reading!!

[i-iko]

MY DARLING MEDIC

“Pharma has to supervise an organic doctor who’s determined to reel herself into Cybertronian medicine.”

chapter three ; complications

“Why not, doctor?”

YOU'VE been on his mind, then. The little nurse who waddled along the muddy halls of Delphi. Organic, squishy and pliable — unlike his outer metal casing sheathed of cold hardness. Pharma reigned in the ability not to openly seethe when you threw the smug look you always donned his way. Gentle eyes, gentle smile. The connotation behind those reveries, he’s sure are not as prim as Starscream’s insolence. 

It’s been several weeks, now. And, naturally you’re immediately acquainted with the Nurse and The Decepticon. Always, together. Always, hunched over into a small circle — voices hushed as they giggle along your varying words. He’s not one to conjure unruly assumptions — but with how often he’d purposely stride by and the hushed whispers fade to a halt, spinal struts are to the brim straightened — he can only assume the subject of their amusements are him : Doctor Pharma. 

Now not only does he has a chatter box to deal with but the chatter box is an exceptionally sly fox yet to wring his neck parched of air. 

And, now, to  the problem at hand…..

“Oh, she’ll manage.” Pharma clips, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The hallways are, as always, deserted with the only sound echoing across are the metallic footfalls of Pharma and nurse beside him. 

“The best she’ll manage is a charred limb.” First Aid gawks in disbelief, plodding after the as they rounded the corner. “You’re just going to leave her in a room full of mechs just like that?”

“She’s a doctor, is she not? Charading with patients is a top priority and she knows that.”

And, it gives me time to sort another prdicament. He thinks grimly.

“An organic doctor.” He clarifies. “There’s a difference.”

“And that justifies her incapability of performing her duties?”

First Aid narrows his eyes. A step forward to match Pharma's quick long stride. “You know what I mean. Those mechs over there? They’re no saints and if it weren’t for them hunting down those crackhead, rod sniping assholes behind enemy lines — the council would’ve never tolerated them in the first place."

“Splendid observation,” He scoffs, “ But what does that have to do with our lovely doctor?” 

“They hate humans!” He hissed lowly. "It was clear when they stepped in. Can't you see they're going to tear her apart if left unsupervised?" 

Pharma rubs his face. Oh, of course, how could he possibly forget. Humans and bounty hunters. They might as well merge like water and oil. 

“ Your concern is admirable. But you’re aware we’re lacking medics, yes? Do you expect me to hoard all the responsibilities to Ambulon when he’s got enough patients on his servos? Or, you for that matter with the fresh patients from Teran?”

“All I'm saying is this 'checkup' can be held off until I'm free—“

"Then they'll stay here for a week."

"Whatever is good if it keeps them at bay." 

Pharma halts and whirls around, gritting his dentas. "I'd rather those Rogues not taint my hospital with their insolence any further. The council wishes to accommodate them and we will do so. For a day." 

"But sir—" 

“She’ll handle herself well since that is what she signed up for.”

“I—"

He held up a servo, halting the discussion. 

“You are dismissed.”

YOU slip on the gloves once you're inside, palms unusually clammy. With a swish the habsuite doors slid close behind you and the luminescent light of the ward bathe the room in a teal blue hue. You adjust to the transition from green; the hallways of Delphi were quite the lush colors of moss and this blue was a little hard on your eyes.

"Good evening." You bow. 

Six pairs of optics bore a hole through your head, each with varying expressions you'd rather not dwell much on. They sat languidly on the berths, sprawled over the chairs with their guns loosely hanging from their hips and servos. Before you came in, you were aware of their animated conversations about their 'duties' off Messatine and a mech grinned when your eyes fell on the obvious energon splatter across his chassis. 

Silently, disregarding the tack of your boots on the metal floor, you made your way beside one of the medical berths and organized the tray, carefully lining up the scalpels s and tools. 

Your back was to them and the silent whispers behind made your neck burn with a prickle. Eight foot tall, seven foot tall, bulky metal Cybertronians. A swat of their servo would reduce you to a stain but you persisted, opting for cool, smooth movements of your arms as though a slight jerk of your fingers would trigger a hostile response.  

"Any one of of you." You turned around.

Silence. And with a grunt, a mech stepped up, the one with energon splatter across his chassis. You glanced behind him and others are strangely solemn. Especially the purple sleek Cybertronian who leaned against the wall, arms crossed, who appeared miffed by your presence. They were now chatting in low tones — the content of discussion unheard. Although, you caught a familiar word : Alphoras, was the term, then all was a blur of sentences. 

You gesture to the berth, a scanner in hand, and he sat down while you stood on a stepping stool to level with his chassis. He held out his arm and you begin scanning the plating.

“You use those often?” You point to his fusion canon in light of making a conversation. 

The mech doesn't grin but there was some kind of mischief as he held it up — surprisingly close to your face. “More than some mechs using their processors, fleshie."

Your nose was assaulted with the ozone smell of gunpowder. It sizzles your face, pricking the skin. Energon, you realize, was quite corrosive. 

"I....see." 

"And a little flick of a trigger—" You head tilts back as he nudged the muzzle against your forehead. It was cold to the touch. "—In blasted pieces they go. Fireworks ablaze. A lovely image." You try not to stumble as he withdrew his canon, amused by your expression. "It's open for experimentation." 

"I'll...decline that offer." You say.

"You scared? I thought fleshies were all high and mighty with their saviour complex." He crooned, amused and mocking. Strangely enough, it almost bordered on spite.

"I would say it's not the most ordinary proposition." You manage out, now scanning his wrist."Though, I am sure you have seen our rules about bringing weapons into the wards?" 

He barks out a laugh and points the canon to your face. "Can't handle a little bit of gunpowder, eh?"

You set down the scanner once it was clear there were no anomalies. 

"That is... not the case, I'm afraid. We have delicate solutions here that could be triggered easily and start a fire—" 

A servo clamped over your wrist and yanked you close. The canon pressed against your cheek.

" Listen here, fleshie." He spat, "Just because the higher council accepts 'Organic' aid doesn't mean we owe you slag."

"You are mistaking my intentions, I never said—"

" You're still an organic, still inferior. Still stupid. So, if you don't want to be smeared like a stain on a floor —" He growls. " Don't tell me what to do."

Quick footfalls patter by in a swift stride. 

Red digits clamp over the Mech’s wrist and you blink as you're suddenly pulled away from his grasp. You're met with Pharma's back. He stands in front of you and his smooth croon is all that is heard when he spoke,  ” How about you behave like the polite little mech that you are and get back to business?”

[i-iko]

MY DARLING MEDIC

“Pharma has to supervise an organic doctor who’s determined to reel herself into Cybertronian medicine.”

chapter two ; first meeting

PHARMA wasn't usually so bothered.

He handled problems far worse than any mech had seen, stumping veterans, sullied and drained, who'd seen a lot  more than a bloodied mass of bodies. So his expectations were often (if not all) barred from surprise.  Primus forbid anyone   attempting  a one-way fuel pump operation with one's life on the line. He’d chip off a plating before his pride were trampled — worn, eroded, or hailed on with rain upon a jagged, cut mountain top.

Well, usually it was.

For the first time, however, the moment the sliding doors hissed open — the moment he catches sight of leather boots pattering across the gunmetal floor, to the lab coat over your shoulders, the scarf over your neck and to your face, a vibrant pull of a smile— he was incredibly bothered. 

"I've heard you've been lacking doctors." You say, wringing your hands in an attempt to warm them. "Or, medics of some kind."

By his right, sunlight spools through the wide panelled window. Beyond, is Messatine's delight — mile on mile of barren snow. The pale sky, scathed with pearl-ish clouds, could've merged with the horizon if it wanted to. Only thing keeping them apart was the gentle gradient from ivory to blue. The rays, though— it basked your face in a warm, gentle glow. 

Pharma fully lowers the datapad. No point pretending you don't exist, now. He knew you were coming, knew the moment Ambulon consoled his comms with ‘do be gentle, Pharma’  and the enthusiastic demeanour First Aid showed today. ‘A new intern!’ He chirped. Change was prominent, and at the back of his mind, it was a fervent wish that there wasn't. 

‘Let’s just get this over with’. He eyes you curiously, blatant repulsion written all over his face.

"I'm sure you've seen my request?" You asked. 

"Ah. So, I've been told…." 

A frown eased onto yours. You shift on the spot — he held up a servo and you halted, a foot away from his desk. 

"Oh, don't worry. I have seen it. That's all I've done, though. Seen it. You see, darling, all there is — to — to this 'request' you have ." He leans against the chair and with a languid, careless toss of his servos, the datapad clattered  onto the table."Clearly, you are not understanding the 'consequences' of your employment, here. Now, I don't blame you  — usually humans are always , well, determined to prove a point even when they are not so well endowed, themself. Are you aware of what will happen when you work here?"

You folded your hands primly behind your back. "I thought I made it clear, I was."

"Delphi. Here ." He clarified, optics narrowed.

You tilt your head, "Is there a problem with that?"

Of course there is, you foolish, foolish girl.  He thought bitterly. "Take this into perspective. You've come all the way here, from Earth, or whatever planet you do. And, of all medical facilities you chose — a remote, desolate, decrepit hospital is your preferred working space?"

Not to mention, the cold, snowstorms, hail — blizzard . He's done enough modification on his circuits to withstand such abnormalities. And, even then his digits, pistons, and the like would still seize up lest he isn't careful with how long he stood outside for a smoke. Ambulon could barely fare enough on normal days. First Aid, most of the time. And, Pharma? Just enough .

The plush of your cheeks pulled into a gentle smile, unrelenting.  "If the risks are worth the effort, then I'll take it." 

Oh, how he envied your enthusiasm. 

"Really, darling , you are trying." He sighs and cushions his cheek on a palm while the other drummed the table irritably, muttering."Not that there's anything wrong with this. I was advised by a colleague to be more….gentle. I’m simply curious. What are you trying to prove?"

"Nothing." You said. "I'm interested in helping out. I’ve heard Delphi has been lacking medics. There's all that there is to it." 

He scoffs and you notice how he arranged his stylus and datapads on the table into a neat pile. "And, here is what comes to mind? Surely, there are better facilities for you to prod."

You smile wryly. "...You see, doctor. Teran has too many expectations. Iacon, too many prodigies. And, well, most facilities that are available aren't so..." You cringe a little.

“…welcoming to organics like me." .

"And Messatine is," He begins, "Not the same as you imagined it to be, compared to others?"

You thought for a moment.  "Is it not?"

Pharma lowers his eyes. There was a moment of silence. You were particularly too chatty for an organic, if not a little brazen in your manners. 

What use could you have of, here? 

A chatter box for First Aid, perhaps. Even a friend for Ambulon. That poor thing deserves a companion, for once. Though, there was something else — it wouldn’t be too much of a problem having a newspaper boy around. That is, if you’re fit enough to make some rounds around the wards upon his behest. 

" Mhn . Alright, then." He grunts, pulling his shoulders back and chin high. The sound of chair scraping metal echoed as he stood up and circled around you slowly. "What is your area of expertise?"

‘Not much, I suppose’ He mused to himself. 

You seem a little startled at the change in tone but once he was going through the datapad — looking at your files— you steeled in your nerves to reply. "I'm a professional field medic. The emergency unit. "

"Ah, combat?"

"Yes."

"Experience?"

"Seven years."

He raises a brow, a little skeptical at the information on his pad. He stops just left of you. "...I would assume you're incredibly... endowed to acquire a position that young. Primus , 25? What, were you deployed when you were a mere sparkling? What is this? ”

He's not well versed with human lifespan  but he's aware that even that is much too young and gnarly for a human to boot. 

"I was born during the war," You explain, and his  understanding comes full circle with a simple 'ah' and he resumes walking. 

Most children who are so, often had to endure training at a young age, since the military needed— desperately needed more medics. An oversight on their part for mingling with cosmic factions. You pulled the scarf tighter around your neck and despite your obvious struggle of keeping a composed demeanour — you were shaking.

"I see." He mutters. "If that's so, then I suppose I can trust that you can manage some problems on your own. That’s to say if you’re really certain you are what you say yourself to be. The future will pave for itself, though darling — Moving on.”

After a few more, if not another half hour of endless 'quick-to-the-point'  questioning, really it seemed like he does not want to be here one bit,  Pharma sets the datapad down. He's back behind his desk and leans over, lacing his digits. 

“To tell you the truth, I wasn’t planning on hiring anyone. Especially Organics for that matter. The only reason I’m following along this interview is because I’ve been advised by my…” He thinks for a moment, struggling to find the words. “Workers— fellow medics, er, colleagues that I see through it so.”

Your smile thinned and as you shifted on the spot, the rays flared your thinner strands a soft white. “That is….unfortunate. Even for you, doctor,”

“Now, don’t be so sullen. You should know I tolerate your kind. It’s not a surpise  you’ve got some uses after all..” He crooned. “But I must ask — 

“Why should I hire you? Why should I be bothered enough to hire an Organic, when I can hire Cybertronians to do the job, much less an even lesser kind than your own?” 

This time, a small smile breaks between the whites of his dentas. You've learned to know that it's not all genuine, on his part. ‘He’d grovel on his own pride’ You mused. And, he would. The way he carried himself like you were a lesser being, the way he peers over the crook of his nose — his optics lazy and lethargic, like he couldn’t care less. ‘Then I’ll breach it so.’ You teeter close to his desk and watch as he leans away, repulsed, and the smile falters almost to a grit. 

"Surely….," You smile and lean over a little until his helm tilts back and yours, several inches from his own,  and you tap the datapad — his datapad, a one, two, three times smack of your index — right on the spot his digit once lay. 

Pharma grimaces. 

"Why not, doctor ?"

[i-iko]

MY DARLING MEDIC

“Pharma has to supervise an organic doctor who’s determined to reel herself into Cybertronian medicine.”

chapter one; prologue — warnings : description of robot gore

THE operating room was shrouded dim in a green moss glow as the bulb ,hooked over the decrepit beam, flickered with a pulse that flared his silhouette on the opposite wall much in the same tandem. 

Pharma hunched over his shoulders, pressing his helm against the cool edge of the gurney. His legs were barely able to upholster his own balance as ozone dredged up his throat, prickling his tongue with a burn.

Given the recent ‘isolation’ of Delphi — that is, it's title as the main consignment zone had been stripped off since the battle had waged far and beyond close to Nexus —the influx of patients decreased much just as the volumes of corpses he can harvest, and to quicken the pace for a much needed batch is nothing short of desperate at this moment.  

“No, worries. I’ll cut the hours half-time.” Pharma waves him off dismissively. He had a habit of doing that – avoiding his problems.  

 “Half-time?” Tarn regarded him with a silent tilt of his head.

Pharma flinched. A bad call.

“Surely, it must require more.” He had now fiddled with a book. An organic book, unfortunately, and he freezes up every time the sharp purple talons would clinch the papers a little too tightly. 

“While I do prefer things to be of order in a much quicker ratio — I'd rather you regard the subject of ‘Quality over Quantity’.” Amusement laced his tone, spooling out like venom. “Customer service prevails even in the rage of war, don’t try to flatter yourself too much, doctor. After all, your hospital is on the line if a single cog is but decrepit.”

“It's not a matter of flattery.” Pharma bristles, cheeks strained as he grinned. “Lets not make this a problem, shall we? I assure you wholeheartedly Tarn that the commodities will be wrapped in a gift packet before you could even think.” 

The book is set down, tossed to the side, and withour much care. “Ah, ensuring that you do so, doctor.” 

From his vocalizer, wisps of vapour heaved with a steady pant. Primus, if the lord himself would know what he's doing now. One servo gripped the rim to steady himself, the other clinched a scalpel, caked with energon, fluorescent purple, frolicking green. 

It plinked to the ground with a steady rhythm, cutting through the pounding of his head.It mingled with the puddle on the floor and  smeared  the cobalt grey a dull green.

He’s reminded of that autobot.

Air raider, was it? Seeker build. Purple black plating with yellow highlights. Arrogant loon, that one. Ridiculously green eyes. 

Pharma scrutinised the scrapes and cuts on the berth, the limp flesh of metal, strapped and strewn on the operating table, disregarded.

"You see, doc."The seeker drawled. 

He remembered lacing his digits, a terse smile on his own faceplates, leaning over, while the purple black droned on about his delusions. About how he thought ‘a mask up and up high’ was how he got through everything.

Life was a play.

Theatrics and all.

He adored Loki — that organic god.

"What’s a play without a facade?" The chip on his digits was plucked, sprawled to the air like he was scrutinising it.

"You take a role. No one gives two slags about whether it’s the moral high ground of a character or not. Hell, the worse the better. Audiences love the drama. The gruelling, complex characterization of someone they're not. And then, when you’re done. You pick and choose — Then, you play."

He curled his digits back into a fist, resting it, a prim proper tap on his desk.

Pharma watches as he raps the surface.

Tink. Tink.

Like a doctor knocking the skull for density.

Air raider grins.

"What’s got you so twisted, doc?"

He wonders so himself. 

 Survival is a first and primal instinct, bordering on a thin line of delusion— something he’s purged himself with often. A facade to upholster and a forced grin of pleasantry is nothing new. 

And yet, his legs give out from below slamming his knee plates against the metal floor with a clang, palms kissing the cold. 

There is something about the barren optics that gets him. The hanging mouth, unhinged jaw and parched purple tongue prickled much like a used rag. And the unspooled coils and sprawled digits that swung over the side of the berth bore the insignia of death all over.

He grimaces and scrambled to sit upright, pressing his back against the hind legs of the berth, wheeled away from the operating table. It's plenty dirty. Plenty all too much dirty. He'd scrub it all off his paint in a moment, scrub it until the white would flake and the red, scratched out— it makes his skin crawl, trapped in a room that makes him want to retch.

He curled his legs close to his chassis.

First Aid warned him about memory diving, reliving the captured memories in his processor, said something about it being an ‘unhealthy coping’ mechanism lest he exploited the contraption. 

He didn’t care. He’s losing his mind. Losing everything. His control. His sanity. Furled away from the grasps of his digit much like satin ribbons unspooling. The last thing he ever wants are to lose are the memories he forged. It’s his last reign of control. His last empire. 

The communicator pings.

“Get Helex to haul the crates.” Pharma presses a digit to his temple, forcing out the words. “It’s all ready for transport, Tarn.”

He’ll have to keep on dreaming.

[i-iko]

hi. place where I dump fics.

NAVIGATION .mdm -> my darling medic (pharma x reader)