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"Are you alright?"

“Never better,” Rodimus grits out, spoiler held in a stiff ‘v’ as he slams a fist into the hanging punching bag. “Absolutely stellar, thanks for checking in, it’s really appreciated.”

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He’s just going to scream, maybe. Maybe.

No, he’ll choke it back, but— screaming. Always on the table.

Rodimus instead checks himself into one of the training rooms and hangs a punching bag from the ceiling.

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happy 5th birthday to this blog lmao

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"I think I saw god today."

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“I’m going to cause problems on purpose and get in Megatron’s way when he tries to fix them. This is a great idea that definitely has no consequences for me.”

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“Chaos ‘befits’— Dude, you have got to, like, stop speaking like you’re delivering a grand monologue to a crowd of outdated Senators, holy shit.”

Any and all sources of inspiration and creativity are welcome, in Rodimus’ opinion. Even if the results are indiscriminate chaos or an unexpected consequence, like losing his forearms in the ship’s probability drive.

“Maybe I’ll just sort a shelf of datapads by reverse color order.”

{ @unicronnomnomnomnomnomnomnomnom }

SET A MEDIUM-IMPORTANT THING ON FIRE AFTER MOVING IT TO AN INCONVENIENT SPOT

Should he be taking advice from, as far as he can tell, some shambling horror that is more or less a splinter of a fraction of a manifestation of Unicron?

No. Probably. Usually these kinds of things are bad ideas.

Rodimus scrunches his face up. “I don’t think I can physically lift Magnus’ beloved office printer.”

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{ @unicronnomnomnomnomnomnomnomnom }

SET A MEDIUM-IMPORTANT THING ON FIRE AFTER MOVING IT TO AN INCONVENIENT SPOT

Should he be taking advice from, as far as he can tell, some shambling horror that is more or less a splinter of a fraction of a manifestation of Unicron?

No. Probably. Usually these kinds of things are bad ideas.

Rodimus scrunches his face up. “I don’t think I can physically lift Magnus’ beloved office printer.”

[achievedsomething]

“I feel like I should do something stupid now so that I use up the stupid energy and I can be smart later when we need me to be smart.”

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jack of no trades. master of fuck all

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“Hey! Hey, he’s not allowed to just pepper in random French to flirt with somebody. That’s my thing!”

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“Uggghhhhhh,” Rodimus groans. “Ughghhhhhhhhh.”

He flops into the nearest chair, helm thrown back and limbs sprawled.

“It’s so early. It’s too early. Oh my god.”

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{ @blustering-old-fool }

"Nope here have a highgrade."

Rodimus can't say he's not chuffed for some booze, but... Kup, y'know.

He takes a seat next to the old timer, an arm slung around the pickup truck's shoulders as he taps their glasses together.

"Wanna talk about it or nah."

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"Are you happy?"

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Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run

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He can shift back and forth between a full salamander wyrm form and a humanoid, bipedal look with some effort, but no one's going to mistake him for a human any time soon. Golden-orange scales still stud his skin; feathers erupt in a wild mane that curls around his horns and trails down his back along the length of his tail. Teeth and claws and wild bright eyes remain.

But it does make it a little easier to get into places the Fae set up for themselves, and so long as Rodimus isn't too obnoxious, no one seems to mind having a dragon poking his nose in their business.

Sometimes he follows Drift on his pathguide circuit. Sometimes he makes a pest of himself in the branches of Metroplex.

He doesn't go home anymore. There's no home to return to.