#flatline transformers

[mainenorth]

tfp but instead of kobd it’s flatline

[sparklingcamelia]

There are always two sides to a coin.

There are always two sides of the story.

My contribution to the @medicalgradezine in all its glory! This project was so incredibly fun, the mods did an amazing job, and all my fellow contributors delivered such high quality stuff. Can't wait to join future projects like this!

[cosmicdenro]

on my knees. on the floor.

[revelboo]

I’m sorry- I just discovered Flatline and I’m making it everyone’s problem since he checks so many of my monsterfucker boxes. I’m also absolutely mashing some of his ROTF comic aspects with his IDW/G1. Absolutely @drabbletron ‘s fault

Medic

Flatline x Reader

• Venting and reaching to pick you up and deliberately move you to the far end of the counter and away from his patient trying to lure you closer, Flatline growls a warning at Onslaught. Don’t you have any self preservation instincts at all? Trusting everyone, him included. And you just stare up at him in confusion, not realizing that the other Decepticon will kill you just for fun. “Let me play with your little toy, doc,” Onslaught rumbles, watching you busying yourself straightening up anything you can pick up. And okay, you’re too small to really help, but it leaves him oddly warm that you’re trying. “I won’t make ‘em suffer. Why do you even have it?”

• Blinking at the big mech Flatline’s working on, you shiver. Well, that sounded ominous. But then his patients like to joke about squishing you, probably because of how small you are compared to them. Some of them even call you Bug, but you don’t think they mean anything by it. “I haven’t studied biological creatures as thoroughly as I’d like, that’s all,” Flatline growls, finishing a weld while you clean up. And you’re not really paying attention as his patient stands until his shadow falls across you. Hear Flatline snarl right as the big mech he was working on stumbles, hand smacking the counter and skidding into you to toss you into a rack of vials. ‘Oops,’ Onslaught laughs as you struggle to get back up and the bigger mech is leaving.

• Reaching to cup you, he growls at the broken glass you’re laying in. The sharp scent of copper filling the air as your arm bleeds sluggishly. And you whimper trying to help him get you up, cutting your little hands in the glass. “Close your eyes,” he growls and you don’t question him. But you never do, always trusting him. Glancing at the Medbay door to make sure no one’s around he shifts the plating at his chassis, freeing his secondary arms. Useful for surgery since they’re so much more dexterous, they’re still unusual enough that he hides them from everyone unless he needs them. Knows he’s different, a monster even to other Cybertronians. Learned to hide those things about himself other Cybertronians won’t accept early on, a battlemask to hide his sharp denta, augmented plating to let him keep his extra limbs bound and hidden. Carefully picking you up in his secondary hands, he examines the cuts and carries you to the sink. Reaching to turn on the water on low, he shifts you to his primary hands and uses his secondary to pick glass off of you. “You can’t trust everyone,” he mutters.

• “Eyes closed,” he growls, the words harsh when you try to look at him and your shoulders hunch. ‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper, feeling him removing shards of glass. “What am I supposed to do with you?” And you’re about to cry he sounds so disappointed and exasperated with you. Know you get in the way, that you aggravate him. But also that he’s kind when most of the aliens that come in his Medbay aren’t. They’re cruel, taunting you. Sometimes trying to hurt you like that one just did. “Why are you leaking? Is there glass in your eyes?” He asks sounding horrified and you shake your head as he moves you away from the water and you’re settled on a berth. “Keep them closed,” he growls.

• Venting in aggravation at himself for not protecting you, he finds the kit he’d put together when he’d first rescued you. Mass shifting and using his secondary hands to clean and bandage your cuts. None too deep or serious enough to need stitches and that’s a relief. And he cups your cheek, tensing when you grab his secondary hand. And your eyes open. Seeing what he tries so hard to hide. You don’t look at him, attention on his extra limbs as you press your cheek into his palm. “You don’t have to hide these, you know,” you whisper. “Sometimes you hold me with them when you’re recharging.”

• They make you feel safe. Protected. And he’s just staring at you like you weren’t supposed to know or say that. “I like when you hold me,” you say and he leans until his helm brushes your forehead. Feel him vent against you and you shift, hesitantly sliding yourself into his lap and those arms come around you as his optics shutter. Resting your head against him, hearing the familiar thrum of his spark, you wonder what he’d say if you told him you love him? That you need safe and kind. Need him.

• Resting his chin on top of your head, his main arms wrap around you, feeling the warmth of you, scenting you. What would you say if you saw his denta? Would you accept that, too? Or is there a limit to the amount of horror you can handle? He’s afraid to find out. Recharges every night with you against him, your warm softness sprawled on his chassis. His spike aching behind his panel when he comes online as you haunt his dreams, sometimes pressurizing in his recharge and he has to hide it away from you before you wake. Knows it’s from sharing a berth with you, carrying your scent on him. But it’s more than that, you’re his. So why fight himself over this? Cupping your chin to tip your head back, he brushes his cheek against yours. Angry at himself for not claiming you sooner, for not protecting you better. Because you’re fair game to mess with if you’re not claimed. “Strip for me, little one.” Because he’s done pretending that he doesn’t want you.

• Breath catching as his growling voice dips lower, you stare up at him. Trying to figure out if he’s serious. Because surely you’re just misunderstanding him? Maybe he wants to check for glass he missed? Those secondary hands brush your own, helping you out of your clothes and his stare is heated. As both sets of hands slide against you and you heat in response, you remember seeing his spike, hearing him murmur your name in his recharge and pretending to be asleep so you don’t embarrass him. And he’s laying you back, masked face sliding against your inner thighs as he shifts to cover you and those secondary hands grip your hips, lifting you up and he grinds against you. “I’m claiming what’s mine,” he growls and you’re on board with that, because you want him, want to claim him as yours. Arching feeling his spike pressurize between your bodies, he’s on his hands and knees over you as he adjusts you and you feel the length of him slide against you. Rocking himself against you as you hang under him, grabbing at his chassis for some semblance of control when he grinds on you.

• Venting to scent you, he wants to put his mouth on you. To taste you, but knows his denta might be a dealbreaker. So he ruts and grinds until you grow slick and then he’s shifting you to line you up with his spike and you’re shockingly tight, all wet heat as he rocks himself against you. And you’re squirming, hips rolling, both of you groaning when his spike sinks suddenly into you. Hips pumping as he uses his secondary hands to move you on his spike and he growls. Hears you whimpering his name and he wants to pin you on your belly, rut into you and hold you to him with his extra limbs. Decides he’ll do that next as his primary hands dig into the berth, denting the metal. Sharp denta gritted behind his mask as he moves you faster, feels you tremble against him and you cry out when you climax, fisting his spike. Elbow smacking down as your shoulders hit the berth, he’s thrusting urgently against you. His. Why did he wait so long for this? Pressing his face against your neck, he overloads inside you, hips rocking and he lets his mask retract. Skims his mouth against the thrum of your pulse as he fills you. And clicks it back into place before he can give in to the urge to bite. To mark you. ‘Flatline?’ You whimper and he eases up his grip on your waist, feeling guilty knowing he’s going to leave bruises. “I have you.” And you’re his. Always have been.

[runawaymac]

Flatline’s hot 😔

[docvigne]

I, uhm... decided to post here the part of the comic that I managed to make...Just finished page number 8

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Six - Feelings

Part Twenty Five

———

Pilots seem to come from all walks of life, it really depends on how or who recruited them. As the death tolls rose, they started scouring the Earth for compatibility in every place that was reachable by both government agency and private industry. 

Compatibility testing is not standardized across the planet, across agencies, or private companies. 

Those first few years a significant portion of pilots were underage, found more compatible than older people, the youngest pilot back in the start of the program was registered at thirteen years old. After years of regulation, it was made mandatory that pilots must be of the same age to enlist to become a pilot. 

As the number of attacks increased and the number of pilots was rapidly decreasing, many of those regulations were repealed in certain countries; namely the US. 

It is legally viable to become a mech suit pilot as young as fifteen in the United States if they are found compatible. One private company accepts people that young for compatibility testing, while the written test is now given with the selective service paperwork to boys once they turn eighteen. 

The written test is offered with voter registration, but not required. 

—

Archa Three was in a system with two nearby stars, the one the planets actively orbited around and one of an extremely close system. At night the sky would shine with the distant planets and stars, Bluestreak was enjoying the night sky in the quiet. Arm around Sunstreaker’s shoulders, staring at the stars reflecting in the water. 

It had only been a few minutes from when Bluestreak went quiet to Sunstreaker falling asleep, the suit slumping just enough to alert him. Ex-venting slowly, he kept his arm comfortably around Sunstreaker, staring at the horizon.

Until his comm buzzed and he nearly growled. Answering silently, “What?” The bite in his voice would have been enough to scare most people, but the voice on the other side of the comm laughed. 

Though he was still laughing, it took Prowl a moment to clear his voice, “I apologize, I didn’t realize you were so invested with your overnight watch.” Bluestreak’s face burned, “Oh just shut up, fragger.” Prowl chuckled lightly again, shaking his head a bit.

Prowl and Jazz were on the edge of Paraxus, as Jazz had left Iacon sometime during their hectic day, leaving Sideswipe and Breakdown on effective lockdown in the Iacon apartment. Paraxus though the city was still rebuilding from the war it had become a tactical hub at the start of the battles with the Quintessons, realizing it could not and would not remain neutral to destruction again. 

“How is Sunstreaker handling the change in command?” Prowl was keeping his voice down, likely meaning even on internal comm that Jazz was asleep somewhere nearby. Glancing down at the sleeping mech, Bluestreak smiled a bit, “It’s going like you thought it would.” Humming, Prowl fell quiet for a moment.

Bluestreak leaned his cheek against Sunstreaker’s helm, turning up his sensors. Checking the perimeter cameras and sensors with a quick scan, humming then, “He’ll be fine, just has to communicate.” He could almost feel the teasing from the other end of the comm, “That’s why I paired him with you and Ironhide.” Rolling his optics, Blue tucks one servo against Sunny’s side.

“He’s been angry, really angry then so calm. Is that normal or something that’s just Sunny?” Prowl ex-vented slowly, and Blue knew he shifted his weight. One of the mechs few tells, “So, not just Sunny?” Humming again, Prowl shook his helm slowly, “When Jazz went through overuse, it wasn’t this bad. But for him it was fight or die, he couldn’t show who he was. With Sunny and the others, they are out of their suits enough that every time they go back in it’s worse, but this is how they do things on Earth.” Venting shallowly, Blue shifts closer to Sunny, who seemed to move closer and lean more into him.

Looking back out at the ocean, Bluestreak stared, “They're more stubborn than a miner from Tarn.” Prowl’s comm cut out briefly, likely to choke back his own laugher which brought the slightest smile to his face, after a moment Prowl returned, “That is certainly one way of phrasing it, so then, how are things going for your relationship?” It took everything in Blue to not make a sound, gears grinding painfully as he adjusted in his seat.

Prowl just waited, probably wearing his stupid smirk on his faceplates, “It’s fine. Thank you for asking, you slagger.” The chuckle rang through the comm, “These things change and grow, human relationships are different from ours, not horribly so but different enough.” Venting slowly, Prowl stared out the window of the habsuite he was in, Jazz sleeping on his shoulder like Green would, “You have to have meaningful conversation, not just talking at him.” Blue rolled his optics.

The sand was warmed from the suns in this system, but even now away from the heaters it was starting to cool quickly, “We talk.” Prowl hummed, “Sunstreaker is the quietest human I have ever met, versus you.” “Hey!” Trying to hide his grin, Prowl cleared his vocal components briefly, “I am just saying, you two are different. That’s not a bad thing, it just means you both have to have patience.” And Bluestreak’s face burned, glancing down at Sunstreaker. 

Though he could see him, he knew the real Sunny was asleep somewhere safe, tucked inside the suit and away from the toxic and corrosive things this planet seemed to be blanketed in, “Yeah, patient.” He vented before looking back out at the ocean, nodding a bit, “I’ve gotta get back to watch, say hi to Jazz for me.” Prowl glanced over at his own companion who was sound asleep, “I will once he wakes up, keep a vigilant optic Bluestreak.” Bluestreak hummed before disconnecting the comm. 

He checked over the cameras and sensors, nodding a bit before going back to scanning the horizon. The way Sunstreaker reacted to the Quintesson ship was more than instinct, it was personal anger. 

It would be something that they’d have to talk about some cycle, but Blue figured it would be the same one where he explained the so-called inside joke, “Ah, Primus.” he chuckles lightly and shakes his head a bit. 

—

Staying connected to the suit while asleep was not smart or safe, but many pilots had done it before and many would do it after Sunstreaker was gone. It exacerbated overuse symptoms and increased the chances of the crash, but sometimes it was easier than dealing with the after effects of disconnecting.

The suit jolted at the same time Sunstreaker did, still connected even in his sleep, and he was gasping for air. He couldn’t see as his cockpit was shrouded in darkness. 

A hand collided with his chest and he tried desperately to grab it, “No,” his voice was choked, struggling to get air in and out, the hand on his chest shoved him down, “Relax!” Sunny wasn’t familiar with whatever the muffled voice was saying. Finally, he hits the emergency start up for his visual feed. 

Ironhide was over him, pinning him to the sad, practically snarling at him, “Online! Fragging online!” Sunny’s visor brightens just a bit as the rest of his external feeds kick online, sand was spraying all over them, “What the hell?” Ironhide pulls him up and points, “We’ve got company!” He stared for a moment before swearing and online the rest of his suits systems, “Damnit, damnit!” He grabs hold of the controls and adjusts the suit to standing.

The beach was in chaos, it was just shy of morning and there were craters everywhere. It looked so much like the field in Santa Monica. Sunstreaker finally got his head up and stared for a long moment, it was only one ship but it was doing a lot of damage, meaning Sunstreaker had probably pissed them off.

Ironhide still had him by the shoulder and pulls him back behind cover, “When I put you on overnight watch that doesn’t mean give it to Bluestreak so you can recharge!” Hitting the sand again, Sunny groans slightly, “I didn’t mean to fall to sleep! Fuck, alright, just let me handle this.” He slowly rolls and pears over their cover at the ship that was shooting at them. 

He could just see Bluestreak tucked in cover, holding his shoulder with his rifle leaned against his side, “Goddamnit, I can’t even get a decent nights sleep.” With a deep sigh, he adjusts the extension for his bracers before going over the cover and towards the gunfire.

—

Sand was still blowing against his suit and it had been hard to sleep, but it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Hound had disconnected from the suit for the most part, but kept a screen up with the external feel along with a hold on Mirage’s arm.

He was sitting on the floor, helmet off and eating while watching the outside for the clearing of the storm. Every few minutes Mirage would shift them both and send him tilting the other direction. If he got motion sick, it would make the experience only mildly unpleasant. Right now, he didn’t mind.

The external audio was turned down, mostly wind noise, but some of it was Mirage’s murmurings. Some of it even sounded like praying. Sighing slowly, Hound leaned against the side of his piloting chair, adjusting again as Mirage’s grip shifted again. Grabbing his helmet, he pulls it on before turning on his comm and pinging Mirage.

It took a second for Mirage to answer, “I thought you were asleep.” Hound smiled a bit and leaned his head back against the arm of his chair, “I slept for a bit, but after a while the wind isn’t just white noise anymore.” With a hum, Mirage shifted again, “Are you comfortable?” He chuckled lightly, “Yes Mirage, I’m alright.” Hound sighed slowly. 

The wind was still howling, “How close to sunrise are we?” Hound closed his eyes for a moment, breathing slowly, “Only a few klicks or so, least it should be.” Hound nodded then hummed, realizing his mech wouldn’t move, “And then we find the source of the storm?” Mirage chuckled lightly, “If there is one, yes.” he sighed slowly and held Hound that little bit closer.

Hound slid a bit on the floor and tried not to laugh as he adjusted, “I really am fine Mirage, sandstorms happen on Earth too.” But the mech remains quiet and Hound’s breath caught, “Mirage?” There was a moments pause, “Yes?” Sighing slowly, Hound stood, “Do they have storms like this on Cybertron?” And Mirage sighed shakily, “Not where I’m from, no.” Hound stared at his visual feed for only a moment longer.

Back in his chair, he connected with a bit of a jolt and moved quickly, trying not to hurt Mirage while he moved them both. The wind was trying to shove his suit back to the ground and Mirage wasn’t much help, wiggling and thrashing before finally they had switched places.

Hound was now pinning Mirage to the ground, though not face first in the sand, and Hound’s mech was cradling the poor man’s head, “You should have said something.” He really couldn’t see Mirage, the sand was that dense in the dark, but he had him on infrared, “You were asleep when the storm hit and I couldn’t wake you. I was fine.” Hound scoffs and shakes his head, “You’re insane.” But he continues to hold Mirage’s head away from the ground.

To be fair, Hound knew if he wasn’t in his mech, it would be incredibly awkward to hold any person like this. Watching Mirage’s face get warmer on infrared was proving that fact, but he just held on as still as the suit would allow, “Back home, I’m from essentially a desert. I only lived there a few years but it’s still home.” Mirage’s optics turned towards his visor, though Hound wasn’t sure if he could see him through the storm.

“We didn’t get storms this bad and there wasn’t a ton of sand, but we’d still get them. We’d also get the densest fog you’d ever see.” Hound just hoped that his talking would help keep the poor guy calm, he sighed slowly.

Clearing his throat a bit, Hound lowers his head slightly and closes his eyes, “On Earth, more specifically back home, out in the fields on the really windy days we’d get very weak tornados that would really only move the dust around. They were small and harmless, but they’d still send sand and crap into your eyes. Uh, they were called dust devils, I think. But it could be the most clear and beautiful day and it would be ruined by the fucking sand.” His helm lightly touched the edge of Mirage’s chest plating.

Mirage was staring, just able to see Hound through the sand and to say the least was deeply embarrassed. It was one thing to be frightened by a sand storm, it was another to be comforted by the most oblivious mech in the universe. His own hands had been stiff at his sides, as Hound’s had held his head just above the sand, the poor mech's elbows buried in sand. Slowly, painfully slowly he’d rested his hands back around Hound who just kept rambling on about Earth.

It really was a comfort to listen to him, and Mirage smiled softly, brushing a hand lightly up Hound’s side, “Earth sounds so nice.” Hound looked up, visor brightening, “I miss it, sometimes.” He sighed slowly, shifting slightly in his chair while keeping the suit as still as he could. His implants felt like they were burning and the skin around them was swollen, “But the work is here. I wouldn’t wish to be there, when there’s so much to do here.” He smiled a bit, “Do you feel better?”

Mirage really wanted to punch the oblivious idiot, “Yeah, I do.” Hound smiled, “Good, I’m glad.” He lowered his suit’s head back down, “Get some rest Mirage, I’ve got you till the storm breaks.” Mirage stared at him like Hound had grown a second helm, the mech was insane and oblivious. Rolling his optics a bit, he vents out.

Tapping a few things in the controls, Hound locks up the suit, keeping it in place. He doubted it was the most comfortable thing for Mirage, but it might be the most comforting. Yawning, he removes his helmet and tosses his legs over the arm of his piloting chair, “God, it had to be the middle of the night, didn’t it?” Mirage chuckled in the dark, “That is the way things go.” And Hound smiled, closing his eyes.

—

The room was pleasantly dark and the bed decently comfortable, his arm thrown over his eyes. Since it was just himself and Sideswipe, the apartment was almost pleasantly quiet. It had been hard, the first few days of bed rest but his overuse symptoms had been limited before the concussion and he had yet to be back in the suit since. 

Almost all overuse symptoms were gone, though Breakdown had experienced them in the past. His were slightly different from the Americans, as his implants didn’t bleed or drain, as most of the skin around them had been cauterized. It was only once on loan to MECHA did any of his integrated hardware get updated. 

Almost all of the new stuff was still in fact new. For the twins, their implants and things were only a few years old, Hound and Jazz had had them for almost or around ten years, as had Breakdown with his original integrations. The ones for the upgrades though, those only came about in the last year or two, they would still itch and burn.

Right now his right arm was burning and he thought about getting up to get some water to put on it, but Sideswipe’s music was being played at unbearable levels in the living room. 

So, Breakdown just turned over and tried to go back to sleep. 

Sideswipe was playing his music while checking through part of the wiring on his suit, nodding along to the few familiar sounds from home that were withstanding. At the end of the week, if Breakdown was cleared by Jazz, he’d be shipping out to join Megatron and Hound while Sideswipe was still wondering who on earth this Elita-One person was. 

They couldn’t be that bad, most of who he’d met had been nice enough. Sometimes a little scary but he doubted anyone reached Megatron’s level of intensity. 

The little comm on the wall started to ping, which would go ignored until Sideswipe could get his helmet microphone working again, so it would just sit there and ping. He swore loudly as the wires he connected burned his fingers lightly, kicking his assistance suit off the table.

Breakdown covered his ears and turned into his pillow.  

— 

It wasn’t particularly hard to disable its small shuttle craft, these were run of the mill and more typical back home than they had been in the nearly seven months that they’d been among the Cybertronian’s. Then again, they were fighting an army of these freaks compared to the one or two that was able to topple an Earth city.

Sunstreaker was breathing heavy, mask back on as the air in his tanks was starting to drain with the exertion, “Fall back!” He throws his arm behind him a bit, tangled with the Quintesson, whose ship was above them and still laying down covering fire through the cybertronian camp, “Sunstreaker, don’t be stupid!” Ironhide was behind him, just barely covered by an overturned crate and holding his arm.

It was singed and sparking painfully.

Barely sparing a glance over his shoulder, Sunstreaker drags his blade across one of the tentacles of the Quintesson, splattering his mech in that familiar disgusting green, “Ironhide, fall back and get the others to a safe distance! That ship isn’t going to be able to stay up there if it uses up all its energy on the covering fire!” The Quintesson quickly tugged him back and screamed, trying to pry at his plating. 

Someone yelled loudly and several blaster shots came incredibly close to Sunny’s visual feed, one camera cutting out with a flash as he swung around, foot colliding with the beak of the enemy. It shrieked and reeled back, Sunny bringing one of his bladed bracers down on it again, splattering more green across the light sand. 

There was no more yelling behind him and he could finally focus on just the fight, Ironhide pinging him to alert him of their retreat location. With a bit of a smile, Sunstreaker dove at the monster again, pulling at its limbs with a horrific squelching noise. Wrapping its limbs around his arms and pulling, tearing them away from the alien and cutting them when they wouldn’t give, it screamed and tried to get hold of his legs again.

He stomped on it and headbutted the thing, though he thought for a second he heard his visor crack, another camera was quick to pop offline, which he doubted was a good thing. Sunstreaker was still able to maintain his entire visual feed, resorting to auxiliary cameras.

This particular specimen had denser skin than other Quints he fought, harder to pull apart and nearly impossible to cleave in two without Sideswipe there, but he was still trying. Spraying the beautiful beach in green as the ship above lets out its final pathetic shots on the distant sand, its menacing hum turning into a pathetic whine. 

It started to let out an alarmed sound, which caused the Quintesson to look up and gave Sunny the perfect moment to jump forward, arm going half way deep into its body. It gurgled briefly, spraying the front of his mech greener still, before its tentacles fell from around Sunstreaker and it’s body gave way. It almost dragged Sunny to the sand too.

He hardly had a moment to catch his breath before turning than diving the other way, the absurdly large scout ship crashing onto the beach where it’s energy cells were quick to explode upon impact. Spraying the once beautiful organic paradise in a horrible mix of technological and organic shipwreck. Leaving the beautiful beach on fire. 

The concussive wave hit last, slamming into Sunstreaker’s suit like a perfectly placed punch, enough to knock the wind out of him.

Laying in the sand, the water comes up and brushes over parts of his mech and Sunstreaker tried not to laugh. There, on the beach, staring up at the brightening sky, it really did remind him of home for a long moment. 

Chuckling and sitting up, he rubbed a hand over his covered face, moving to remove the oxygen mask before stopping. Starting. The hand of his mech had glass sticking in its seams, a light blue glass, “Oh shit.” He didn’t know how bad it would be, but that would be a part that would be incredibly difficult to replace or explain having to replace.

With a shove off the ground, he pulled up the coordinates sent to him by Ironhide and started that way, a few mechs already appearing from around the area to try and start putting out the fire. A few had upgrades that were able to put down extinguishing agents.

Sunstreaker kept walking, even as a few people he knew stopped to gawk at him, which was not a good sign to be able to explain this away.

It got even worse when Flatline came running up to him, the mech was large and intimidating but an incredible medic, “Sunstreaker, you need to stop, just hold still!” His hand lightly grabbed Sunstreaker’s suit, and Sunny pulled back, holding up his hands lightly, “It looks worse than it is, I swear.” Poor Flatline looked horrified, “There are going to be mechs who actually need your help, cause of the explosion and stuff.” Sunny added lamely. 

This was not going to help his case, even as he kept backing up, now in the tree line and edging close to where Ironhide had ordered the retreat to. More mecha were gawking at him or even gasping, this was bad, “Sunstreaker, it is more than just appearing incredibly painful, your optics,” “Are fine! I swear, it’s just the visor, I think. I can see.” He tries sidestepping the medic, when sends him colliding with his commanding officer. Today was just turning into the perfect mess.

Ironhide looked ready to yell when Sunstreaker turned to him, before going pale, or cold, Sunny wasn’t entirely sure which to describe it as for a mech, “Sweet primus, how are you still standing?” Sunstreaker winces, “Is it really that bad?” Ironhide gawked at him as someone nearby was sobbing.

”That bad? Kid, your visor is shattered and you’ve got a graze that took out part of your finial.” The sobbing got louder, “Oh Blue, he’s alive! Calm down, for sparks sake.” Ironhide sighs slowly, staring, “Does it hurt?” Sunstreaker could only offer a shrug and the truth, “I don’t feel a thing, but I was designed that way.” Flatline made a strangled noise and Ironhide looked ready to either pass out or murder mankind, he wasn’t sure which at the moment, “Come on kid, sit down, let Flatline at least, at least cover it.” Nodding a bit, Sunstreaker slowly sits.

Flatline filled most of his visual feed in the next second, “I don’t have the parts to replace this,” “I don’t think you could if you wanted to. A lot of your stud won’t integrate with our systems.” Flatline looked to Ironhide, who could only nod, then Flatline swore and started to put god knows what across his suit's visor.

It went quiet for a bit after that, Ironhide disappearing out of Sunny’s field of view and Sunstreaker couldn’t move without being growled at. Intimidating indeed. 

It was only once the shattered visor was mostly covered and Sunstreaker had adjusted his cameras did Ironhide reappear, with Bluestreak to his left looking horribly distraught. Sunny smiled and realized that Blue wouldn’t see it before sending him a ping, which opened far faster than would be humanly possible. He still offered a smile, but it didn’t seem to improve Blue’s mood.

Ironhide cleared his throat a bit, “Sunstreaker, I gave an order to Bluestreak here to fire on the Quintesson when he had a clear shot.” He pauses and looks at Blue then back at Sunny.

It honestly looked Sunny way too long to put two and two together, he paused before staring with a slightly slack jaw, “Wait, Blue shot me? In the face?” Bluestreak made a pained noise, “To be fair, he was shooting the tentacle that was trying to wrap itself around your face that you were ignoring. The second shot just hit your face since the first one severed the thing.” Nodding slowly, Sunstreaker goes to rub his face in thought and three mechs were quick to grab his arm.

”Don’t touch it! It’s only a cover till you can get it repaired.” Flatline was glaring now, so Sunstreaker slowly lowered his hands. Ironhide sighed deeply, “This could have been a lot worse, if we were using the weapons from the war.” Nodding for a moment, Sunny looked to Ironhide, “You’re not using the weapons from the war?” “Primus no, those things were designed to kill us. To go through cyber-mater. We only use the new stuff now.” He nods a bit, clearly worried but unwilling to show it. 

Bluestreak’s hand lightly covered his mouth, “It’s… It’s only supposed to-to hurt organics.” His voice wavered and rose, but Ironhide’s hand came down, “See? It’s nothing personal, kid. We all get shot by an ally at some point, though it’s usually Mirage as the high caste bastard can turn himself invisible.” Bluestreak looked at Sunstreaker, clearly still distraught and horrified, but Sunny nodded a bit and moves over, taking his hand, “I’m not hurt, I swear.” Ironhide and Flatline shared a look.

With a deep sigh, Ironhide rests a hand on Sunstreaker’s shoulder, “I think it’s fair to say you're off punishment Civi, just, get some rest while we try to recover anything from camp. Try to recall Skyfire and the shuttle to get the pit out of here.” He nodded a bit before going off, barking orders again.

Sunstreaker stared after them, “That Quintesson comms station was at camp.” Bluestreak took his hand and held it tightly, “That doesn’t matter.” Looking at Blue, Sunny shakes his head lightly, “I’m not hurt Blue, it just busted up a camera or two.” But the pain on Bluestreak’s face wouldn’t be going away any time soon, “But you look hurt and I caused it.” Sunstreaker sighed, leaning his head against Bluestreak’s shoulder.

Even though they were in the tree line, the waves were still audible, “I’m human Blue, whether I was hurt or just my suit, we both know this is what I was made to do.” Bluestreak’s grip held tighter, “I hate that you pilots feel the need to live and die for this.” Sunstreaker smiled sadly, “What else would there be to live for? When your world would die if you didn’t at least try.” He sighed slowly, running diagnostics.

They sat there, silently, Bluestreak looking both at the suit and the human in the corner of his visual feed, unable to stop thinking about the fact that his gun was re-designed specifically to kill organics. 

———

A/N

So I basically wrote this all tonight, cause I lost track of time and forgot it was Monday after posting an earlier chapter on Ao3. I was busy today anyways.

It’s not likely that I’ll have part 27 for you guys on Friday, just cause I have to write some personal statement for applications this week.

Also also, earlier when I mentioned it being action and fluff? Yeah, I have written up till Sunny was just starting the fight with the Quint, I did not anticipate the later part of this chapter.

Sunny’s visor for his suit has a small chunk taken out of it, right near where his right eye would be, and it had spider webbed the glass. It’s not a pretty picture, plus the tip of his finial thing had been sheered down. I promise if you look at @cosmique-oddity ‘s art for Arcturus you’ll know what I mean.

Uh, anyways. I hope you enjoy this late chapter. P. 25 didn’t do great last week so we’ll see?

Also I have no idea who Flatline is. I know he is a decepticon medic from IDW and I needed a medic that could be on Archa three with them.

TAGS!

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist @naaaafam @elegantmantaray @emichusai @waterlilykitty @diabolichare

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[blighted-lights]

@novafire-is-thinking gave me the idea of glit hanging out on pharma's engine nozzle and i decided to draw it <3

pharma is SO hard to draw for no reason, forgive me. this is pre-war so i wanted to make pharma look a bit softer but i think it backfired 😔. anyways will b drawing much more of these two soon, i think of them so much.

[hysterical-random-things]

Mermay Day 3- Yellowstripe Neon Goby Flatline

[novafire-is-thinking]

I’ve been scrutinizing the badges and medical symbols (or lack thereof) of the medics of IDW, and speculating about what these might say about each of them.

Out of all the medics, Flatline’s badge(less) arrangement stood out to me, so it’s time to make this way deeper than the writers and artists intended.

To wear a badge, or not to wear a badge…

Thanks to Alex Milne, the Autobots got their own medical cross:

This is worn by Pharma and First Aid, and by Ratchet before the war and during the earliest days of the conflict. He later removes the cross, but switches between a couple of different symbols and no symbol throughout the course of the war—his time spent on Earth having a lot to do with that, I suspect. Even so, after the war, he chooses not to wear any indication of his status as a medic—only an Autobot badge.

Meanwhile, the Decepticons have no universally recognized symbol for their medics. Instead, they each have their own unique symbol, or none at all. Glit has a vaguely medical-looking cross that differs from the Autobot medical cross, and Flatline has a symbol resembling the pulse of a spark:

…which I can only assume is meant to be the Cybertronian version of the following, but with a circle for the spark instead of a heart:

Meanwhile, Spinister and Nickel have nothing. Just their Decepticon badges.

Now, to combine these with faction badges:

Badge + medical symbol: Pharma, First Aid

Badge + no medical symbol: Ratchet, Fixit, Velocity, Spinister, Nickel

No badge + medical symbol: Flatline, Glit

No badge + no medical symbol: Ambulon

There are three medics who don’t wear badges; all of them are or were Decepticons. This is interesting on its own, but I’m more interested in how this may correlate to their attitudes towards treating Autobots:

Even though Glit’s KP version is willing to treat people regardless of faction, this is never confirmed for his IDW version. There isn’t enough evidence to infer how he feels about Autobots, or treating them. Yes, he was at Grindcore, but that says nothing about how he treated Autobot prisoners behind the scenes.

As for Ambulon, he switched sides and underwent the Act of Affiliation, but—evidently—not the Rite of the Autobrand. I could speculate all day about why, but that’s not important because, whatever the case, he treats patients of both factions without hesitation. Because he’s been on both sides, he has an externally observable reason to do so.

This leaves Flatline as the only badgeless—and only Decepticon—medic who’s proven to uphold a moral value of treating people regardless of faction. Unlike Ambulon, he has no externally obvious reason to do so, but he does it anyway because it’s personally important to him.

The following roams into headcanon territory, but based on what can be inferred from Flatline’s few appearances, I like to think his choice to not wear a Decepticon badge serves two purposes:

It’s his way of signaling to potential patients: “I don’t see you through the lenses of your faction and ideology, but as a person.”

It’s a personal reminder for himself of his commitment to being blind to factions when treating people; it’s a way of reminding himself he’s committed to the preservation of life first—not to any group or “order” of medical personnel.

This is not to say medics who do wear badges and belong to an order of medics don’t also treat patients based on similar values—as we see First Aid and Ratchet treating people of the opposing faction.

This is just me playing around with the possibility of inferring something deeper about Flatline’s character—what he values, how he sees himself and the world, what sets him apart from others “like him,” etc.

And besides, Autobot medics are expected to uphold their medical oaths. Decepticon medics—perhaps unfairly—are assumed to be lax in that area, so it means more to have a Decepticon medic who holds to their personal moral values despite the general attitude towards the enemy seen in many of their comrades.

On that note, I would love to know how Tarn sees Flatline…

A Decepticon who refused the Rite of the Deceptibrand.

A Decepticon who refused to cut into his spark casing to signify his commitment to the Cause.

A Decepticon who values commitment to his personal morals above adhering to any external ideology.

[phoenixisobsessed]

Some IDW Flatline if you don't mind :D he's so pretty I love him

(I know you're super backed up with asks, (GOOD LUCK WITH EXAMS BTW!!!) don't worry about fulfilling this one quickly, I plan on forgetting about this (memory problems be damned) and being graced with it when I check your blog or the flatline tag in the future hehe)

And after 72 days…Surprise.

HUEHAU There were a few different designs so idk if this is the one you meant?? But this is Alex Milne’s design. Was the easiest to do since he did a Flatline drawing I could use a reference (instead of finding comic panels and praying). I heavy fuck with Flatline though. What can I say. I just love myself a medic. HEHEHE.

Also if anybody was curious regarding my latest yapping post, yes I have started writing a fic, no I don’t know if I’ll ever complete/finish it. Currently writing some backstory as character introduction. Very hehe! Anyway I’m so tired may nap guys have a great day.

[aecholapis]

Week 3 of Transformuary by @misqnon

15. OC slot (Helios and Suryasekhar) 16. Medic (IDW Flatline) 17. Empurata (IDW Damus) 18. Favorite Continuity (Aligned) 19. Combiner (RID 2001 Team Bullet Train - Rail Racer) 20. Leader (G1 Optimus Prime and Megatron) 21. Tragedy (IDW1 Getaway)

[candychameleon]

Also preview for the merch I made for the @medicalgradezine !! :D I made both a lanyard (which will come with a rubber charm) AND a charm of Hook!

[revelboo]

So uh, Flatline huh? 👀 👉👈

He’s adorable. Sorry about the silence yesterday, got blindsided by a diagnosis out of left field

All At Once

Flatline x Reader

• Grimacing as he gingerly slides a servo under a tiny arm to lift it, he’s beginning to reevaluate his conviction that humans are a bunch of violent savages. Because the ones that keep getting brought in by their panicking partners have been docile for the most part. Some even nervously trying to chat with him. It would be so much easier to treat them with his secondary arms he keeps hidden inside his chassis, but those only come out during surgery when no one can see and judge. So he’s stuck trying to gently examine the humans with his main hands and at this point, he’s almost sure he’s seen every human on the Nemesis. And all for the same thing. Contusions on their soft skin, bruises. Though honestly, he’s surprised he’s yet to have one of the delicate, little organics brought in with broken bones. Knows some of his fellow Decepticons aren’t exactly gentle and still has trouble believing Cybertronians are interfacing with humans. Without breaking them.

• “Are you in pain?” He asks, running the scanner over the tiny organic while their partner hovers close by, looking ready to snatch them up any klik. That one’s definitely infatuated and protective. When the human shakes their head with a tired ‘I told him it was fine,’ he turns to their partner. “Humans are delicate. If you grip them too tightly during interface, you’ll leave marks on their skin. I’d recommend letting them be on top until you can learn to not frag them so rough. They’re going to be sore,” he mutters aware of the other mech’s plating ruffling with a slight metallic rasp and he tenses waiting to see if the other Decepticon will take a swing at him. Relieved when the mech only snarls, scooping up his human and stomping off.

• Servos flexing, he imagines he can almost still feel the warmth of your little arm against his servo. The rest of the day blurs together, his patients surly Decepticons injured squabbling with other Decepticons. Nothing new there. Most of them temperamental enough and with a lull in the fighting, tempers are fraying. Leaving Medbay, he hesitates at the commotion in the hallway. A group of Decepticons arguing loudly and at the heart of it, Swindle. Whatever the little crook is up to, it looks like he’s about to have more patients. And then he hears a shriek when one of the jostling mechs grabs for something in Swindle’s hand and he’s striding forward.

• ‘Fifty shanix or a case of enjex for one joor,’ Swindle is saying, gesturing with a struggling human in his fist. Fragging Shockwave and his ‘educational material’ he keeps distributing and fragging Swindle for making him deal with this. “What do you think Megatron would say about this?” He growls and heads turn to look at him. “Or the high command? They’re rather fond of humans, aren’t they? I can’t imagine they sanctioned you renting one out as a frag toy.”

• And he braces, because he’s definitely not the biggest mech here and he’s not much of a fighter anyway. He’s a medic, his hands meant to heal not harm. And a shadow falls over him, the mechs surrounding Swindle backing away. ‘Hand the human over, Swindle,’ Bonecrusher snarls from behind him and he’s relaxes. Because the Constructicons have a human mate they’re extremely overprotective of. And Flatline cups his hands when you’re passed to him without hesitation, wide eyes staring up at him. Afraid, but not nearly afraid enough making him wonder what lies Swindle’s told you. ‘Hey, sure. No problem,’ Swindle says, grinning and he knows the little son of a glitch is just going to kidnap another human. He can’t walk away from a potential profit.

• Staring up at the new alien holding you, his red optics flick to your face as Swindle retreats. Just leaving you with this guy when he’d said he’d look out for you. ‘Are you hurt?’ The stranger asks and his voice is a deep, soothing rumble. Shaking your head, you look up at the giant looming over him. When Swindle had approached you, saying he had a once in a lifetime offer to get up close and personal with actual aliens, you’d been fascinated. Felt special for being chosen. But being pawed at by that crowd had been frightening. You wonder why he ditched you with this guy. He’d said you two were friends. “Hey, what’s a frag toy?” You ask as he growls and the bigger one starts laughing.

[hexusproductions]

I am so bad at posting things promptly. But anyways I wanted to show off the absolutely INCREDIBLE Flatline art that I received from archie-sunshine!!

You may have noticed it's been my icon for most of this year. I absolutely love it to bits and I'm beyond grateful to have been chosen as one of the winners of his KF contest. I'm not exaggerating when I say taking part may be the most positive experience I've had in the Transformers community.

There is a third part to this that I have shoddily (sorry Archie) hidden, because that one's just for me :)

[vixendoesstuff]

Here are even more memes for my AU propaganda, featuring the Wreckers and the Circle of Light (I have yet to include them so these memes would make even less sense, but I hope the image conveys what I plan to do with their dynamics and personalities)

The Wreckers (aka found family of disgruntled army men and the kids they decided to adopt)

And the Circle of Light, aka 80% of Dai Atlas' impulse control