restitutiopax - Tumblr blog

[restitutiopax]

“There’s a spare room. We could put in a workshop. That’d still leave a spare for the little ones in the future, plus my collection can always be displayed in the main room for any future inclusions. So we have three spare rooms in total.”

He, too, leans in. This one is always warm, always appealing, and he can’t imagine a better person to settle down with. Someday, someday, they may add a third; but for now, just them is fine. There’s room to grow here, room to be warm and cozy. Room to have dogs, room to have children, room to... be themselves.

He leans up to kiss his chin.

“I trust your opinion, dear. If you think one suits, then one suits. Besides, you know Twilight loves big pups. It’ll be good for her to have someone to play with.”

    “Big tall ceilings? Check! A bathtub? Check! A backyard? Check! It requires fixtures rather than things that are part of the wall, unfortunately, but that’s okay! I’ve always wanted a big, cushy sofa.”

     Pats a listing of a four-bedroom, one bath house.

[restitutiopax]

     “Ooh, we should get a heated table! Won’t that be nice? Working while warm and cozy. Plus, Twilight and whatever hounds we get in the future will be able to snuggle under there!”

     “... but first, we need to buy the house yet. What do you think the reaction of the seller will be if I put your name on the lease, next to mine?”

    “Big tall ceilings? Check! A bathtub? Check! A backyard? Check! It requires fixtures rather than things that are part of the wall, unfortunately, but that’s okay! I’ve always wanted a big, cushy sofa.”

     Pats a listing of a four-bedroom, one bath house.

[restitutiopax]

    “Big tall ceilings? Check! A bathtub? Check! A backyard? Check! It requires fixtures rather than things that are part of the wall, unfortunately, but that’s okay! I’ve always wanted a big, cushy sofa.”

     Pats a listing of a four-bedroom, one bath house.

[restitutiopax]

    And now he’s a drunken, giggling mess.

[restitutiopax]

    It’s strange, how one imagines their Leaders.

He knows High Councilor Hot Rod isn’t the most uptight mechanical around. That’s always been his selling point: he’s personable, he’s honest, and he’s just like everyone else. Sure, he’s an Outlier and a Point One Percenter, but he’s also a Megatronus Spark. His power is in his Fire, a thing often scorned by Cybertronians of the past.

     He’s also, apparently, quite good at mixing drinks. He gets right behind the bar, high-fives Maccadam, and mixes a Citrine Drop and a Cosmo. He waltzes it right on over with the skill of a seasoned waiter, smile as bright as the ever-present flicker of fire dancing out of his seams. 

    “Yes, I did work here. Optimus wanted me to stay with Maccadam during the War. Sure, my siblings got to be warriors and leaders and whatnot, but... he really saved my goose there. I might be just like Bumblebee if I didn’t stay out of the fight.” Hot Rod, who prefers Rodimus, says. “Sides, I know I ain’t the favourite. If Mom really is showing his dead self to anyone, it’d be Bumblebee.”

      “Do you believe him, then?” he takes a sip of his drink and yes, it’s very good. A bit strong, though. “That Optimus is trying to guide him to keep the world safe.”

     “I think Kup started seein’ ghosts to the end too.” the High Councilor replies. “People get sad, they see what they need to so they stay alive. A bartender friend told me that once; apparently, he used to be a psychologist or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if Bee was having trouble. All these states of Optimus give me trouble too and I barely knew the guy.”

     “I’m... sorry you have to deal with that.”

“Don’t be. Keeps me from turning into a weirdo around you, so it’s all good in my book.“

[restitutiopax]

  “Hey. Uh... Orion, right?”

He looks over from where he was leaning against the wall, trying to wait for the crowd to abate. Matrix blue optics stare down at him, one hand loosely holding a judicial crown as the other settled on a brightly shaded hip. 

    “I’m Hot Rod.” the mech, who he knows because everyone knows him, introduces. “I know you’re mad at him, and I know you got a right to be, because hell if I ain’t mad too, but... is Bee okay? Like, did he seem happy?”

     He pauses. “I... think so. He seemed to struggle with being Leader, but he enjoyed seeing the others do well. And, apparently, he got... very poisoned once and reverted to a child. He seemed happy then.”

     Hot Rod’s bright eyes go wide. “... ya got photos of that, kid?”

     He holds out a datapad. 

[restitutiopax]

    He sits, awkwardly, next to a press officer as the Council debates. 

He doesn’t want to get the others in trouble. Grimlock, Strongarm, Fixit, and Sideways were only following set examples. They didn’t know any better. 

     He supposes he’s a fool to have gone along with it for as long as he did. He just... didn’t want to leave them be. There’s no sense in that team. Drift helps, but even he can be... eccentric. 

[restitutiopax]

    “It is my belief, evidenced by my journals and recorded accounts, that Senator Bumblebee coerced several young mechanicals, and a gaggle of ill criminals, into assisting him in recreating his time on Earth.”

     “I’m not sure if this is a factor of unmediated PTSD yet. Senator Bumblebee seemed well, albeit anxious in a way that resembled that of the Late Prime, but repeated claiming that he was able to speak with said Late Prime worried me from the start. I stayed to keep an optic on the others.”

��     “I won’t say it was all terrible. I met one mechanical that was positively influenced by the experience, growing out of his aggression and sensory needs. But the others... I worry about them.”

     “I’m happy to provide coordinates for their base on Earth, but I’d like it stated that I believe only Senator Bumblebee, Decepticon Thunderhoof, and the Decepticon Steeljaw are worthy of being punished. Everyone else has been influenced by them in some way.”

[restitutiopax]

    He steadies himself with a breath, takes a glance at his speech, and strides into the Council Room. 

    It’s full. Press, lesser politicians, New Kaonites; anyone who wanted to know a first hand account of Earth’s current situation arrived, enticed by the standardized form published by the news outlets. 

    Senator Bumblebee Found, Waging War on Alchemor Decepticons

A bit clickbaity, he thinks, but it is what it is. 

     Cybertron’s latest drama is enfolding once more, enticing all those with curious audials. He can see the regret on High Councillor Hot Rod’s face, the gruff worry on Councillor Ratchet’s (the only mechanical from Team Prime who was allowed in the building), and the stiff grimace on Lord High Protector Cyclonus’ features. 

     “Archivist Orion Pax, reported Archival Unit of ‘Team Bumblebee.’” a doormech announces, tapping their spear on the ground. He takes another heavy breath and takes his place at the witness stand. 

[restitutiopax]

reclusiveformerwarlord​:

“Anyone who smiles all the time is either hiding something or has something terribly wrong with them.”

     “He rather looks like my therapist. Is this a good reason to change providers, do you think?”

     “He, my therapist, is very... loving. Is that normal? We hug at least once a session. And he gets all excited when I bring up sparklings. Not that I’m not excited either, but... goodness, he’s a little strange.”

[restitutiopax]

    “Am I the only one creeped out by the always-smiling therapist over there?”

“Something about him isn’t quite right.“

[restitutiopax]

of-crowns-and-men​:

“Maybe for you, but a war-built mech like me has gotta be big. More power and strength.” He grunts, “Strikes fear into the enemy, just how we like it.”

Grimlock crossed his arms over and leaned against a wall, visor still focused on the tiny thing.

“Who you anyway? Look like a mech I know.”

    “And yet, I would imagine you’re a bit clumsy outside the battlefield. My friend Grimlock is like that. He’s big, scary, and burly, but once he’s not in fight mode, he stumbles and trips and falls off things.”

    “... it’s adorable, really. That mech is the sweetest.”

    “And I am Orion Pax, of the New Kaon Archives. Perhaps you’ve seen me working the stacks. I am... usually the mechanical on shift. The Archives is wonderful, of course, but without a careful, guiding hand, it gets... very dusty.”

"Tiny!"

"I'm normal sized, thanks."

He actually gained another half-meter in the last year, so... he's officially typical.

[restitutiopax]

reclusiveformerwarlord​:

The way Orion just flops in his grip is worrying, tilting Megatron further into ‘let’s freak out’ territory.  His plating flares in protective aggression, and thankfully no one has the foolhardy idea to get in his way as he hurries.  “Of course I’m worried, Orion, I find you injured by an utter waste of metal who thought credits!  Credits!  Were justification for harming you!”  There’s a growl in his voice again, yeah, he’s regretting not just stabbing the idiot straight through the spark. 

That’d send a message alright, equal parts ‘do not touch my mate’ and ‘i am mentally and emotionally unstable enough to casually murder someone’.  Fantastic.

At least there’s clear signage directing him to the nearest clinic, and fortunately for his poor grounder mate, it’s far too close to justify taking flight.  Scaring the daylights out of Orion would not help.

“…Your health is more important.  I’ll risk them catching sight of me like this.”  If he hadn’t been in such a blasted hurry to get to his archivist, he might have remembered to grab the cloak that would have at least disguised his helm and pauldrons.  Too late for that now.  Hopefully this wouldn’t screw up their attempts to get a house.

The clinic is quiet, if busy.  The orange and white mech at the desk boggles at the sight greeting her, of course she recognizes the Decepticon leader.  But… she is a medic, and seeing the injured mech in his arms, she quickly decides she can deal with MEGATRON later.  “Um… there’s a bay open right back here.”  She almost squeaks in fright as he moves, flinching away from the intense stare leveled at her.  However, the moment the smaller mech is laid on the berth, her attention falls to her patient.  “What happened to you?”

   Oh boy. This is going to result in some fun rumors. 

New Kaon isn’t like Iacon. In Iacon, people minded their business and didn’t gossip, at least amongst the working folks. Nobles are nobles, annoying as can be, and aren’t included in this theoretical rumor mill. Here, however, people talk. They talk a lot. It results in a close-knit community that that doesn’t take flack from anyone. 

     But it also means that, within a few cycles, ever customer at the Archives will know. 

     Everyone will know.

That... that makes him oddly giddy. 

      “I got stabbed.” he giggles, laying flat on the table. He unclips his chestplates to allow Twilight out, so she doesn’t get in the way. “By one of Thunderhoof’s clan.”

      Oh, imagine it! He can actually go on dates with his partner. Dinner! Movies! Long walks around the Acid Pits! They can get their dogs and go through walks in the park, holding hands and--

     He snaps out of his fantasy as the medic, carefully, peels back the patch. He’s blurry, groggily twitching as he’s poked and prodded with svelte medic’s hands. He likes medic hands. Not as much as he likes claws, but they’re good. Not so good poking at his insides, but that’s something he’s used to at least. 

      “Mm, it’s a clean wound at least. There’s only one or two veins cut. Your self-repair has already started working, so I’ll apply a permanent patch on top and repair any cut energon lines. Shouldn’t take long to heal.” the medic states, wiping her hands on a cloth. 

     She waves for a trauma cart to be brought over. He’ll be a simple fix. 

     “Would you, ah,” she turns her head, slightly, to peer at Megatron. “Like to stay in here for the operation? It’s usually against protocol, but... perhaps it’d be better than putting you in the waiting room.”

      Orion, unhelpfully, paws around for Megatron’s hand. 

[guard]

[ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger

He hates how common this is.

He’s an easy target. He’s well-known in New Kaon for being against weaponry, and for having a cushy job in the Archives, so it’s not uncommon for him to have… sudden encounters.

They usually end without incident. He runs, or he spooks them enough to shoo, or someone interrupts them.

This is… not really one of these times.

He has a gouge in his side, leaking energon. One hand is on the wound, staring a peon of Thunderhoof down, when his spark lurches in a particular way.

Megatron. Close. Soon.

He takes a step back, pressing himself into the wall he’d been avoiding lest he be bashed into it and knocked out. Best to keep out of the splash zone.

[restitutiopax]

    “So you put me in your bed?”

Nope, he’s got the taser out. He knows he doesn’t stand a chance against this one, because he has no chance against any soldier, but damn if he’s not gonna show that he has some bite to him. 

    “I-- I remember nothing of this.” he remembers drinking a bit, maybe, and maybe he remembers this being the best Cosmo he’d ever had, but... is he the sort to get so black-out drunk that a stranger brings him home to safety?

    ... actually, in all honesty, if he were to go home with anyone, it’d be one of these (ie, a Megatron). That makes more sense. 

     “Where am I?” he asks next, still biting. 

[ bed ]  my  muse wakes up in  the  same bed as your muse with little  recollection  of  the  night  before

"'s warm."

He's a cuddler when he sleeps. And by cuddler, he means he's plastered against this one's chest, happily burying his face in whatever plating feels best.

He sighs, taking little steps towards waking up, and looks up.

That is not the face he's used to.

Which is a polite way to say he just leapt from the berth like an infuriated cat, plating fluffed up and optics thrown as wide as they'll go.

"-- you're not my Megatron!" he snaps, reaching for his taser. "I don't know you!!!"

[restitutiopax]

reclusiveformerwarlord​:

And the moment Megatron notices the staggering, he’s kneeling, moving to support Orion with his own frame, letting his precious mate take shelter in his own strength.  “That’s not fair.”  It’s snapped, terse, but he’s too focused on keeping his servos steady as he lines up the soft patch, making sure it’s fully covered before pressing it into place.  It’s temporary, something to keep energon from leaking while the injured party is transported to a medic. 

He’s not sure of how serious the wound is, his processor alternating between ‘this is surely life threatening to a civilian frame, let’s freak out’ and ‘i have seen far worse on mechs that were still fighting, everything is fine’.  Battlefield triage is NOT his specialty.  And now that the anger is beginning to cool, fright is filtering through Megatron’s field.

There’s more denta than smile to the fierce grimace the warlord makes when Pax giggles, and he decides right there, to just scoop up the smaller mech, adjusting him into a comfortable hold as he heads for the nearest clinic.  “…I’m glad she’s unharmed.”  There, his voice is finally softening, along with his field.

The patch feels strange. He’s had smaller ones, just for cuts his nanite gel couldn’t patch, but a big one on his side feels strange. Not like metal, not like fabric. Just... something sticky, and something that feels wet on him. Like a wet rag, maybe. 

     “You’re worrrrriied.” he says, sing-song. He’s not used to any sort of energon loss, beyond the occasional donation and Spark study that he has to catch up on now that he’s back to Cybertron, and it makes him loopy. He sinks into Megatron’s grip, loose and floppy. The only stable part of him is his chest, curled protectively around little Twilight. 

     “Sorry.” he mumbles, tucking his head under that immense chin. ”I’m bothering you again, aren’t I. I don’t know what medics are safe here. You could get caught and-- and that’d be worse than having to limp around with a cut on my side.”

     “You don’t deserve to get caught.” another mumble, but this one’s stronger. He’s not gonna pass out, thankfully, but he’s pretty weak. He’s... not a fighter at all. 

     Well, that’s a worry for another time.

[guard]

[ guard ] for your muse to step between my muse and danger

He hates how common this is.

He’s an easy target. He’s well-known in New Kaon for being against weaponry, and for having a cushy job in the Archives, so it’s not uncommon for him to have… sudden encounters.

They usually end without incident. He runs, or he spooks them enough to shoo, or someone interrupts them.

This is… not really one of these times.

He has a gouge in his side, leaking energon. One hand is on the wound, staring a peon of Thunderhoof down, when his spark lurches in a particular way.

Megatron. Close. Soon.

He takes a step back, pressing himself into the wall he’d been avoiding lest he be bashed into it and knocked out. Best to keep out of the splash zone.

[restitutiopax]

a-life-revised​:

Ah- Megatron’s face does something complicated before settling on fond. How could he say no to that?

Gently, he takes the datapad from Orion, because frankly, it looked like it was going to fall apart, the old thing, and carefully signs his glyphs into it before handing it back.

“I haven’t looked at that speech in a while, you know. Have you considered transferring it to a new datapad? That one is worn out.”, he murmurs with a nod to said device. Like it would crumble into dust at any moment, goodness.

“And I don’t know, you might’ve grown- just an inch or two.”, he teases, lifting his servo to just above Orion’s finials. “If you eat all your minerals, you’ll grown up big and strong-”

    “Maybe I will. But I will always keep this case, for it embodies the moment in which someone realized the world as someone else made it was not good enough. That, really, is the point of my collection.”

     It’s hard to let someone else have the datapad, so important as it is to him, but he allows this one time. He tries not to snatch it back, carefully taking it to return it to its protective sleeve. Nice and save, as deserved. 

     “I... think I am good as I am. Small, soft, and not war-ready. I’m proud of that, for it means that something good came from the War. Soft little mechanicals like myself can exist, all because you stopped something that would consider me inferior.“

     He tucks the pad into his subspace, carefully cradling it in a mass of blankets. Safe. Safety for the precious. 

      “Besides, minerals are what make me soft. All these extra metals are making me squishy.” To prove a point, he pokes himself in the hip: his finger sinks a good inch in before harder metal stops it.

[ look ]

The little mech may not know it, but he's being watched back.

Megatron is observing him out of the corner of his optic out of something like amusement. It's been a while since he's seen Orion, but he doesn't hold it against the little thing- Megatron can be elusive, and surely, they were both busy.

Even still, he can't help the twitch of his mouth, the way it curls up in a grin.

"Are you going to stand over there, or will you come say hello?"

[restitutiopax]

[ bed ]  my  muse wakes up in  the  same bed as your muse with little  recollection  of  the  night  before

"'s warm."

He's a cuddler when he sleeps. And by cuddler, he means he's plastered against this one's chest, happily burying his face in whatever plating feels best.

He sighs, taking little steps towards waking up, and looks up.

That is not the face he's used to.

Which is a polite way to say he just leapt from the berth like an infuriated cat, plating fluffed up and optics thrown as wide as they'll go.

"-- you're not my Megatron!" he snaps, reaching for his taser. "I don't know you!!!"