syzyspark - Tumblr blog

syzyspark · 4 months ago

Text

Move On - A post Lost Light fic

As promised, here is the first part of a fanfiction centered around Rodimus and Drift, with Rodimus as the main character! I think he’s a wonderful character and wanted to give him a bit more time and attention after the ending of MTMTE and Lost Light.

This will be a partly epistolary fic, featuring some new characters, either OCs or reimagined canon characters (but not from the main cast, of course).

English isn’t my first language, so please forgive any mistakes ! I translate the text myself, use a translator when needed, and occasionally turn to AI for help with figures of speech or grammar corrections.

I’ll also make the original French version available, for the very few French-speaking fans of the comics I’ve yet to find ! I know I’ll find a suspisciously french sounding comment someday. The post of the original will be for them. I hope you will enjoy it. I have the narrative planned and I hopefully won't stray too far from it. It will be available on AO3 as soon as I get an account ! Without furthering the ado ( god forbid the ado is furthered ) :

“I’m up there now!”

Rodimus had the nerve to say that with a bravado that, in another time, might’ve lulled any listener’s skepticism. But here, it fell flat. It was lacking… well, he wasn’t sure what it lacked. All the usual ingredients were there : the confident pose, the upbeat attitude, the glance up at the sky. He’d even made sure to drown his nerves in the drink he downed, before setting foot on the ground. Drift had called out his bluff out loud. Gently. But… still out loud. The feeling had been like a bucket of cold water thrown on the timid flames of his pride. Rodimus replayed those few minutes in his head like a glitched holotape, face neutral, jaw clenched. It had been… nice to see him again. That’s the correct take to have. That’s what he was sticking with. The ex-captain ran a hand over his face, to relax his features. A motion to wipe away the scene still bitterly burned into his vision… or more accurately, onto the ceiling of his quarters. The index and thumb traced down either side of his nose, slid down past his mouth and stopped at the little decoration on his chin… an aesthetic detail shared by about 70% of Cybertronians, even Lunarians. He lingered on it for a moment. One has to admit, it shapes the jaw nicely. It’s distinguished, it frames the face… and it's one of the things about him that did not change. Not that Rodimus would’ve bothered altering his looks anyway, should that detail ever become old fashion. He didn't even have the time to polish his armor, these days. A new look ? No thanks. Don’t change a winning team. And in this case, the team had a handsome face and a proud smile.

Well, it used to be. It’ll come back. The handsome face can team up with… itself. For now. Drift had changed his look, though. A bit. And Rodimus noticed how that suited him, those filigrees and ornamentations on his armor. Then the cape, which gave him this sort of dignified silhouette… Was it just for the occasion? For Ratchet’s funeral ? Maybe the cape, a vague nod to the Necrobot, or whatever customs Cybertron had for funerals these days. But the rest… likely some Spectralist thing to express grief. Or whatever he had for breakfast. Ah, there it is again… that bitterness in his mouth, which came in pair with the tension in his jaw, souring his face with the beginning of a scowl that didn’t suit him. Funny, how your mind always circles back to the stuff that pisses you off. And right now, what pissed him off was that he’d been bothered by Drift’s appearance. Or was it the funeral ? Not sure. He knew better than to act… sour, over a funeral. So, as always, he doesn’t dwell on it, doesn’t analyze it, just leaves it where it is.

That part of him’s never changed either. If he had to choose between a moment of deep introspection and diving into the Exitus’ reactor core engine, he’d be asking the audience to make room so he could get a good running start : if he’s going to jump into a reactor, he’s doing it with a backflip. Maybe even a triple somersault. Hell, throw in a full twist, for dramatic flair, It would make for a nice comma in the descent. That logic made him smile. He rode that little wave of lightness, giving him just enough momentum to start his mental escape with a physical one. The cybertronian rolled to the side, pushed himself onto one elbow, pivoted his hips toward the edge of the berth, and sat up. His pistons sighed. Feet on the ground. Pause. Three seconds. A breath… a roll of his shoulders… an inhale. Another push. Standing. Has it always been… a step-by-step process, getting up ? Whatever. That idea joined the others in whatever part of his processor he shoved unwanted things into. Right next to the failed bravado, the annoying changes Drift made to his frame, ratchet’s death, all of it wrapped up in his utter lack of desire for self-reflection. He didn’t know where he stuffed all that. One thing’s for sure: that place had to be more dangerous to dive into than the core of a reactor. Good reason not to set a thought in this place. Besides, you can’t get there with flips and flourishes. So it’s not worth it. Rodimus logic : still perfectly acceptable, thank you very much. " A Cybertronian lives by rules and a code of conduct. " Ultra Magnus said once. His just happened to revolve around acrobatics, in that particular matter.

The orange bot looked around, taking in his surroundings with an idle glance as he raised a hand to his neck, trying to release some of the tension in his shoulders. His quarters were smaller than what he used to have, but the layout was more or less the same… an unsettling familiarity that, over time, had just become familiar. A berth and a recharge station. A desk, with a chair tucked under it, that he swore he’d decorate one day… but never did. (Still will. Eventually.)

A viewport to the exterior gave quite the sight over the current starfield, casting the room in dim colors and muted hues. White spots, gentle halos of blue, some flickering lights, some steady so... probably planets, a twin set of blue-... Wait, no. Just the reflection of the light from his optics. Huh.

He looked back on the living space, took a few steps to wake the cables in his legs. Rodimus’ attention lingered on the second set of his own furniture. Even though this space was designed to be shared, Thunderclash had been magnanimous. He gave him the grace of solitude. Rodimus was supposed to request someone from maintenance to remove the second berth and send the extra table and chair to storage, but he never did. ‘Keeps putting it off. It’s not urgent.

Knowing his Captain, it was probably a genuinely considerate gesture. A show of respect and recognition for what he used to be. And also what he is. It spared him a random roommate. Gave him room to breathe. He gave a mimic of a huff, which is a sound that he had to learn to make. A pity then, that the door's hiss covered it. It’s always been a thing : since he learned to do it, when he thinks about Thunderclash, he exhales sharply. Must be allergic. But instead of lingering on his spiteful train of thoughts that he would gladly enabled when it’s about him, he got distracted by the sound of his own pedes.

The steps echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the walls in a hollow, annoying way… clang, clang, clang…

Whoever designed this ship’s interior is as much an architect as Rodimus is a Cybertronian dancer… Or as much as he is an architect, to be fair. But even he knows it doesn’t take a genius to throw a couple of things in the way and slap on some sound-dampening material to fix that god-awful echo. Brainstorm had explained all of that when he’d asked for clearance to renovate the lab wing. Not that the scientist had suddenly developed a passion for decorating, mind you : He’d simply been kindly asked to stop conducting experiments that stretched well into the night. And the ones that kept endangering the ship’s structural integrity, too… but that was the same battle, honestly. Or so they thought, when they ordered him to slow down.

All Brainstorm took from it was the noise pollution problem, so naturally, he had focused on finding ways to muffle the sounds of his experiments. Among other things. Stopping the madness? Not on the table. Just making it slightly less annoying for the neighbors. Anyway, Rodimus decided that nobody needed to hear their own footsteps echoing every time they leave their room. Design flaw. Shitty ship. The former Prime frowned and turned his helm, looking for some kind of distraction in the ink of the black sky, only to catch sight of himself. They had closed the metal curtains over the viewports.

So he was met with his reflection, and that closed-off expression staring right back at him. There was no mistaking the blue points of his eyes with stars, this time. In fact, he realized how dimmed they looked. He rolled his eyes and returned to what's in front of him. What’s with their obsession with shutting the metal blinds over the viewports ? Do the local asteroids have voyeuristic tendencies ? Their second in command, Lunarian-what’s-his-name, already explained it’s for thermal insulation, when they’re too far from a star or any warm celestial body… blah blah, energy savings, blah blah… Rodimus had tuned out about three-quarters of that meeting’s conversation (on purpose) and still walked away with the main takeaway. So basically : Thunderclash and his second in command talked a lot and said very little. If they’re so worried about wasting energy, the Captain should cut his speeches short. If this ship were his, he’d sacrifice a bit of power just to keep the view of the stars, at every hour of the ship’s waking hours. Cyclonus, for example, used to spend days staring out there with his scowl, dentas clenched…Which had gradually unclenched, once Tailgate was at his side. Rodimus wouldn’t have dared take that from him, the ability to stare at the stars outside of his own habsuite, jaw relaxed, with Tailgate nearby. And honestly ? Seeing the ugly mugs of some of the current crew, it might actually be a kindness not to force them to be greeted with their own reflections, given the choice. So really, isn’t he thinking of them too ? Just like he did with Cyclonus, back then? All those unfortunate uggo-bots on this ship. Forced to see their own faces. Poor guys. Shitty ship. … This time, he sighed and shook his head. He had to admit, cynicism started to eat up a lot of his energy these days. Maybe then, he shouldn’t be the one to talk about saving power It exhausted him, actually. He was exhausted. Already.

But, he knew where to find a little spark.

Something to smooth the jagged edges in his head, muzzle the bite of certain thoughts, and spend some time in better company.

Rodimus took the long route to the mess hall. A detour, but at least… it avoids catching his own face in those damned reflections.

26 notes · View notes