hk0:the restoration

Once Gandalf was satisfied with having two bottles of wine within reach, we left him to them and went to prepare supper. Bilbo mentioned that he was worried that the ribbons would end up dirty while we cook. I untied his from his wrist and braided it into his curls instead. The green ribbon peeks out now among his golden hair. Bilbo untied my ribbon as well and coaxed me down so that he could do the same, using the courting braid. He pressed his forehead to mine for a few moments, his eyes closed. I feel so peaceful and warm.

The Restoration: In the Winglord's Tower

((Soon to get all shippy and NSFW and stuff.))

Megatron paces the highest room in the Winglord’s tower, waiting.

It is a secret place, hidden and forbidden. A place a stranger like him should never set foot inside. 

Which is, of course, exactly why he is here.

The Omega Lock’s iridescent filigree weaves an intricate tapestry of light into the walls. They border massive windows, narrow and tall. The amber light of the setting sun fills the room, setting the metal ablaze with light.

The decorations are, perhaps, too gaudy. Scintillating patterns flare before Megatron’s optics and disappear again, bright enough to burn.

And although he had been here for some time now, he still was not used to the sun. He comes from a place of perpetual twilight, and the brightness stings his narrowed optics.

But it is breathtaking nonetheless. And for all that Megatron knows of brutality and ugliness and rage, he has never been indifferent to beauty. 

Especially not to beauty like this, the crown jewel of a once-crumbling Cybertron restored to its full radiance.

Gaudy as it might be to Megatron, he has to admit it is fitting. Once, he had turned his back and let Vos burn.

Now the spires of the City caught and held that flame, rising out of it and claiming it for its own.

He stands at the open window a long moment, suddenly seized by the desire to leap and transform and fly for the simple exhilaration of soaring.

But he has something to do. Snickering softly, he forces himself to turn away.

Starscream had a throne in here of course, its arms, legs, and back gleaming, elaborate knots of the same filigree that curled around the edges of the windows.

It is too small for Megatron, built for the slender, small frame of the Winglord. In the shadow of Megatron’s massive bulk it looks like a fragile trinket, a toy throne for a princeling half-ascended.

Starscream would not see it that way, of course. Not now that he has flown triumphant home. 

And for once, the Prince of Vos has every right to his pride. From the assault on the Autobot base to the restoration of the Omega Lock to the securing of the synth-en formula, Starscream has proven absolutely instrumental to the Decepticons’ victory.

Megatron could not have denied that even if he wanted to. And while some part of him might have once, endlessly vigilant lest Starscream’s hubris prove the undoing of either or both of them, those days are long past now.

Starscream’s newfound loyalty might fade, and he will always be dangerous, whether to Megatron or anyone else.

But Megatron has given him his city as a gift and a reward. 

Capricious as he is, he will not forget it.

He smiles, settling in the corner near the throne, and waits.

The Restoration


The USS Franklin. Just the name had frustrated and perplexed Starfleet historians for dozens of years after it’s mysterious disappearance. For Mika, it was no different. She had taken a special interest in the Franklin while at the academy. She researched all she could about the ship, the crew, and the captain. Captain Balthazar M. Edison. He had been a decorated MACO and war hero. At least that’s how she had portrayed him in all her papers. A man with complete loyalty to the Federation, who wanted nothing more than to protect and serve as the captain of a starship. She found out the truth the day after he attempted to destroy Yorktown. 

To say she was disappointed was putting it mildly but she was more embarrassed than anything. The truth about Edison would come out soon and her papers were stored in the archives for all to read. That thought nagged at her as she left Admiral’s Paris’s office. Her temporary assignment on Yorktown had been extended in order for her to assist in the restoration of the Franklin. It would stay on the station for now until Starfleet Command decided what they wanted to do with it. 

Mika was the only one on hand that had the experience with 22nd century starships. Her team had already been assembled for her: some ensigns with anthropology backgrounds, another historian who’s specialty was 20th century military aircraft, and some of the crew of the Enterprise. They were the ones that flew the Franklin here and would at least be familiar with the basics of it. She didn’t know who from the Enterprise the admiral has chosen but she was told they’d meet her in the lobby downstairs. As Mika waited, she stared out the window at the fallen starship wondering what exactly had gone so wrong with Edison to make him act out against the very institution he had once sworn to protect.

Jellyneau’s “The Restoration”

I had the pleasure of completing my reading of this fic last night and made a graphic for it today because I loved it so much and I wanted a visual to accompany my rec of it.

You guys, I love jellyneau-xo‘s writing, but I think The Restoration may be her most brilliant yet. I’m so glad I waited until it was finished to read it, because some of these cliffies were pure evil. I can’t say too much about it without giving away massive spoilers. It seems like a regular University AU. It is not all that it seems.

Have a good amount of time set aside if you begin reading this, because you will not be able to put it down. Every chapter opens many questions, they are full of intrigue, and Jelly leaves little crumbs of clues, but the reveal was still awesome to me. The prose is very visual, giving me clear pictures in my head of what was going on, like a movie in my brain. And she perfectly captured the voices of Rose and John, I could hear the actors perfectly. Jelly has bottled lightning with this fic.

Read this. You will not be disappointed. It is amazing.

I presented the acorn necklace to Bilbo and he grew quiet for a few moments, holding the acorn in its wire shell. His eyes grew watery and he thanked me in a soft voice. I also produced the jars of honey and his laugh was joyful and echoing.

Though he has skill with the written word, I know that speaking is not always Bilbo’s strongest point. I have heard him tell me that he loves me in clear terms only a handful of times, though I can hear it in other words that he says. It is still lovely to hear, especially when punctuated with a sweet kiss, his hands curling into my hair and pulling me down.

I could not help but laugh when he huffed and declared that he needed to go see to Gandalf before the wizard destroyed the floor with his stomping.

Last year, when I envisioned my life, this was hardly where I imagined myself. But I am delighted to be here nonetheless.

Headcanon: Haunted

Remade by the power of the Omega Lock, Iacon was different.

He knew that it would be, of course. His will guided the restoration of Cybertron, and he would never have left it exactly as he remembered.

Not even as it fell.

The domes he soared above were beautiful. For all the bitter rage within him, he would never have denied the city that. But the soothing, iridescent blues glowed angry red now, bubbles of frozen fire. The quicksilver avenues had dulled to gray and black, metal curling sharp around the fragile-looking domes, as though ready to pierce them at any moment.

Winging into the city with speed born of despair, he almost wished they would. That his will alone could shatter them as his armies did so many long millenia ago. That the searing fury whirling through his spark alone could set the city aflame, just as his followers burned it in retaliation for the destruction of Vos.

And in vengeance for one mech’s betrayal.

He transformed as he landed, his massive feet thudding hard against the metal ground.

The city was empty, of course. Very few Decepticons are left on the planet at all. Still fewer of them would ever bother to come to Iacon, even to visit the Hall of Records and seek out the last remnants of the histories lost so long ago.

And any of those would have left immediately once they saw their Lord’s silhouette in the skies above them.

Starscream had tried to stop him, of course.

He’d known something was wrong immediately, perhaps thanks to the strange bond the dark energon had forged between their sparks. Or perhaps he’d simply seen it in the fey gleam of his lord’s optics and the twisted rictus of his smile.

Either way, he’d known immediately where Megatron meant to go.

“Master,” he’d pleaded. “The war is over. Your reign has at last begun. There is no need for this. You’ll only – “

“Leave me be,” Megatron had growled, his frame rumbling in rising anger.

Starscream had squeaked in dismay, a high chirp of anxiety. “Of course! But –” he’d stopped, twitching his wings, searching for words “everything you want – everything you need – is here –”

Megatron had shoved him aside with enough force to send him across the room. He’d landed in a heap, too startled by the sudden blow to right himself.

Their victory had brought them close; the unlikely bond between their sparks had cemented their connection.

But seeing Starscream right himself and crawl toward him, claws outstretched and beseeching, Megatron had turned on his heel and walked away.

“If you try to bar my way,” Megatron had growled, glaring over his shoulder at Starscream. “I swear to you on the sparks of Primus and Unicron both that I will rip your wings from your frame and toss them into a smelter.”

And Starscream hadn’t needed to consult the bond between them to know that, however loyal he had become and however gladly Megatron had greeted his return, he would make good on the threat.

He had hung his head in defeat, his claw hanging in the air between them, until finally, with agonizing slowness, he had lowered his outstretched arm and turned away.

Megatron thought of it now, standing at the gate to the Hall, staring at broad metal doors that towered over even his massive frame. For a moment he felt queasy, his spark seizing with remembered shame.

I am not welcome here.

But Cybertron was his, remade by his very will, and for him, all gates would open. He raised his hand to the lock on the door, pressing his claws to the panel, curling them inward and hearing the metal screech in protest as their tips pierced it.

He smiled. It felt good.

The gates opened.

His spark surged as he stepped inside, a wild mist of rage choking him, red flame flaring before his optics.

The room, of course, was empty of life. Datapads dotted the walls, bright with the knowledge they held. The Hall of Records was a library, after all.

And although Iacon was not Megatron’s home, he had always valued knowledge.

The secrets he craved and needed were hidden far away from here; only the highest of the old castes had access to the ancient records. One did not simply walk in the door and find such things.

A visitor to the Hall, a mech who had just walked in the door, would find little more than propaganda here on the lower levels. The Hall was a wealth of information, but information came only to those the higher castes had deemed worthy of it.

He clenched a fist and gritted his fangs, feeling the bite of his own claws digging into the plating of his palms.

I remade this place by the power of my will, he reminded himself. Nothing is forbidden to me any longer.

The things hidden at the top of the dome were his to claim now. The truth he’d so painstakingly sought to piece together was his for the taking now, if he cared to look for it. He had only to ascend to the higher levels, seek out the ancient histories that contained the truth, and read it for himself. He had no doubt it would confirm everything he had ever said or believed.

But that is not why I am here… old friend.

Holograms flared to life as he stepped into the silence, speaking with recorded voices.

Messages of welcome, spoken in a dialect that was not his. He roared to drown them out.

You are not real.

You are only shadows.

Only one mech would have been real to Megatron, even if he had opened these doors to find the Hall buzzing with life, guides ready to direct him to this or that empty, sanitized history or hollow tale, its moral always the same: the promise of the Golden Age and the importance of the social systems that held it together.

All of that would have been nothing to Megatron, as dead as the nonsentient machines that flickered on as he walked past, chattering their words of empty welcome.

Only one mech had been truly alive here.

And that mech had chosen his path long ago.

And Megatron, in his turn, had chosen to burn it to cinders under him.

He fell to his knees, the light of the holograms and datapads searing his optics as he roared again, a thunderous sound pulled from his core. His spark surged wildly in his chest, a burning ring of flame. And deep within it the dark energon stirred, its chill a counterpoint to the fire of his rage.

That was cold, cold and alone, and craving to devour all life it found.

But there was nothing here to consume.

He rose to his feet, the incandescent heat of his rage searing every part of him, pouring forth from his spark into every circuit in his frame. Behind it came the numbness of the dark energon, the chill of absence, the cold fire of his despair.

It surged through his weapons systems, crackling in the air around him as it gathered in the cannon atop his arm, a storm building inside him.

He unleashed it now, blind in his fury, his cannon firing bolts of crackling light into the holograms, which went on speaking, heedless of his presence, and the stacks of datapads, which tumbled down around him in flares of heat and light and flame.

A hologram flickered. A voice died in a burst of crackling static. Then another, and another, and another, until the only things left in the silence were the bursts of his cannon fire, the crash of the ruined datapads falling around him, and the wails torn from a throat he had forgotten must be his own.

He screamed out his despair, the blade tucked within his wrist extending as the blackened datapads tumbled down around him. He tore at them, growling like a beast, his blade tearing through them with the force of a gladiator’s strikes.

He is dead, Megatron thought suddenly, the voice inside his head emotionless and dark and cold.

He is not here. He set himself against you, and you destroyed him.

Megatron’s optics flickered once, then dimmed. He heard the roar of his own fans, fighting to cool his systems after the exertion.

The room was dark and empty, half the lights shot out by his own cannon fire, the others flickering down at him.

They were red-hued, like human blood or dying embers.

His own will had made them so.

He snarled into the silence, his arms sagging. His blade retracted into its place over his wrist.

Inside he felt hollow, empty, as though the life-consuming cold of the dark energon had devoured his own spark and left him there, moving and thinking despite his life-force guttering out within him.

He stared out over the devastation, charred and blackened things all around him, just as if the war had come here, chasing him to the heart of his home world.

And suddenly the emptiness inside him felt good, the hollow ache pure and clean, his rage vented and spent.

There were things in this Hall he needed. The lies could crack and burn, but the rest must endure.

His people, at last, had their second chance.

And their chance to know themselves, without the ghosts of their lord’s past haunting them all.

“It is over,” he rasped, his voice a rough, staticky whisper.

A smile curled his scarred lips, and somewhere inside himself he felt a flare of warmth as his spark flickered to life again. It crackled deep within, fierce and strong, its whirling calm at last.

Nothing would replace what he had lost here. Nothing would restore what war had taken from him.

But the ghosts he’d come here chasing would never trouble him again, and never again would be come here to rip open his own old wounds.

He turned back toward the door. Perhaps he would have this level repaired. Perhaps all those who came here would walk through the devastation to find the things that had been hidden so long ago.

He would decide which, someday. But not now. Not today.

The doors opened for him. He stepped through them, walking out into the city, the fragile red shapes of the domes rising around him.

He snickered once. Then he ran, speeding down the road that before leaping high into the air and transforming, his thrusters firing as he rose into the air over the city.

He sped away, leaving it glittering and empty behind him.

Gandalf has appeared, as he tends to do, and he says that he will be taking back our devices tonight. We have had them for over a year now and there is so much that has happened. It is incredible, the length at which you, our readers, have stayed with us, supporting us with your words through our journey. When the device was first given to me, I had no expectations of routinely telling my day to day life to people I was unable to see, but I have come to find it enjoyable and soothing.

I know that my story is not done. Bilbo and I still have many years left that we intend to spend together and more adventures to be had, adventures preferably without Dragons.

When we set out for the quest to reclaim Erebor, I held a fear that I was leading myself and my company to their deaths. There are still times when the scar in my side aches. But if I was given the opportunity, I would do (most of it) again. The hardships have led us here, with beads braided in our hair and greens ribbons on our wrists.

For staying with us through our journey, with your offerings of kind words and well wishes, I thank each of you.

The Restoration: Vos

[The Kaon post/party post is still up. If you want to reply to that one, feel free. This one is for Seekers/for weallscreamforstarscream/for anyone who feels like visiting Vos (and can manage to get up high enough in the sky to attend!)

While it’s set after the Kaon celebration, it’s not intended to cut short that party. Feel free to reply to either or both if you like.]

Megatron stands at the gates of Kaon, his home city sprawled at his back, its towers curled claws piercing the sky behind him. The sun rises red before him, its light shimmering like fire over the quicksilver surface of the Omega Lock-built land.

Celebrating the Decepticons’ return in the city he’d adopted as his home, the place that had become the seat of his power, and the cradle of his revolution.

But the restoration of Cybertron fulfilled another promise. A promise Megatron has waited long millennia to keep.

And something far greater than his own impatience crackles through the bond: a deep aching hunger, so ravenous he sees staticky echoes of the spark-heat ghost across his vision.

He does not turn to look at the Seeker standing just beside him – or at the armada arrayed behind them both.

“Let us go, then,” he says, the words rumbling out with a roar of his engines as he breaks into a run and leaps, transforming as he rises into the air and rocketing upward.

He hears the sounds of thrusters behind him and feels the heat of the Seekers’ rising. It feels like countless thousands, and for a moment Megatron’s spark thrills as though he were rising to battle.

The battle he should have fought eons ago, for a city that should never have fallen.

But instead there are only a few small battalions, soaring up into the sky. A ground bridge portal erupts in the air above them.

Without another moment for reflection, Megatron leads them through.

They could, of course, simply have appeared in the highest Circle of the City, rematerializing around the small platform from which the Winglord’s Tower rose.

But they chose to soar, rising ever higher into the air, their engines hot with the exhilaration of flying for its own sake – an exhilaration none have felt in countless, endless years.

Megatron lets them.

They are not supposed to rise above him, of course, and so they don’t – despite that Megatron’s heavy, reshaped frame flies far slower and far less gracefully than that of a Seeker, designed from the moment of his construction for the skies. 

When Starscream pulls ahead he pretends he does not notice. He can always exact punishment for the slight later if he wants.

For now, he feels only the wild whirling of his partner’s spark, a bright wheel of fire carried deep within his core.

He transforms as he lands – a strange feeling after so endless an ascension. All around him, shimmering forms twist themselves into slender, burnished shapes with flared, proud, flickering wings.

“Seekers of Vos,” he says at last, his gesture taking in the towers rising below them, the gilded sky, the bright flame of light on slender spires. His own clawed hand is dark in comparison, despite that he has polished his plating for the occasion. 

“At long last… welcome home.”

If the Restoration did anything, it shattered the age-old myth that God had stopped talking to His children.
Nothing could be further from the truth. A prophet has stood at the head of God’s Church in all dispensations, from Adam to the present day.
—  Russell M Nelson

Just finished my first playthrough of Bastion. I know these pics have probably been done to death, but I couldn’t help it! They’re so beautiful! I managed to get nice ones for Zulf and the Restoration, gotta work on getting enough to reconstruct the others without credits…

Question: Are turtlenecks like, a thing here? Like, all young women must wear gigantic turtlenecks? Or is that just Ura, and Zulf managed to convince his fiance that the layered look is in…?


jellyneau-xo replied to your post:Jellyneau’s “The Restoration”

Wow… I can’t thank you enough for the incredible rec and the brilliant graphic. You’re lovely. *tight hugs *

You’re the lovely one! ^_^ I’m happy you like the graphic, it just seemed to fit, I was really struck by the image of John running toward the end of the fic, and of course, I had to put him in the jeans (even though there are plenty of pics of DT running in his suits) because “why did he wear jeans??” Haha! And Billlie’s ‘book’ photoshoot was too serendipitous not to use.

Again, marvelous fic. It is so much more than it appears to be. Thank you for taking the time to write it and share it with all of us.


Story of the Restoration


The Restoration: 2016 - 202

The Restoration marks the return from the Citadel. It is characterized by the rebuilding of Cabins, the new disabilities and injuries nursed by most campers, and the return to normal class rosters. 

During this time is the Reconstruction of the Retreat. Other events that take place during this time: Zee and Jewel’s wedding, the new treaty between the Circus and the Retreat, the Circus’s financial support of the rebuilding starting, and Seybelle, Ary, and Audrey’s births. 

Key Campers introduced in this era are: Red KAT, Dani, and Epit. The children of the Retreat include: Seybelle, Aryn, and Audrey.

Watch on

“The Daily Gospel” - Timothy Brindle

I had to put up these lyrics, I did it myself so apologies if there are typos. This is one of the best articulations of the Gospel I’ve ever heard! Mad props go to Timothy Brindle. If you haven’t picked up his newest album The Restoration, repent of your sin and then go buy it, ha! It’s truly a great album. All Glory to God!


You know we gotta have a feel good joint on here ya’ll, and it’s only fitting because the Gospel is the ground and the reason for our joy, not our performance or our circumstances, but the unchanging person and work of Jesus Christ. Let’s get in.

-Verse 1-

Yo it’s been a minute since I was spittin’ cuz I was in a pit of sins

I asked Him ‘What was your deliverance’

I say Christ died and rose 2,000 years ago

He gave the sin, death and Satan the fiercest blow

So when the walk is tough and awfully rough and fallin’ in lust

I’m here to say 'The Gospel’s enough’

But Tim, I thought the Gospel’s for missions

Ya, but Romans 1:15 Paul wants to preach the Gospel to Christians

So I say Hosanna, I came to stand up

And wave this banner

The Gospel be my daily manna

It’s not that I get saved daily

but it’s strong encouragement, God will today embrace me

So I can from selfish pleasures turn

To Christ, who’s my righteousness I could never earn

It’s more important than my poor performance

The only sure assurance that the Lord is for us

Cuz Jesus is interceding for me now

So when God sees me He’s guaranteeing that he smiles

Christ is the guarantee God’s favor’s upon me

By faith, and not and if yesterday I was godly

So, no matter the circumstance

The cross is proof God’s fabulous purpose stands

So the Father’s covenant love, nothing can budge

It’s as sure as the life of His Son who’s above


It’s the daily Gospel, cuz I need the Gospel daily

I often waver, myself is awful shaky

But I see God’s love at the cross so plainly

The Gospel is the power of God to change me

It’s the daily Gospel, cuz we need the Gospel daily

We often waver, we know we’re awful shaky

But in the Gospel I know He’ll not forsake me

It’s what fuels our love for you God to praise Thee

-Verse 2-

As I apply the scripts, yo I’m convinced

The Gospel’s the rescue for my defying sins

Where in the Bible am I finding this?

This is Paul’s tying bridge to Romans 5 and 6

He says the power of sins dominion lies in it’s guilt

So if guilt reigns over me than I’m tied to my filth

But this is why Jesus was bearing my sick sin

To suffer it’s guilt and then bury it with Him

Now with God my relationship is amended

All because Jesus now lives and ascended

I’m seen as righteous as Him, it is splendid

So now the reign of guilt and sin’s dominion is ended

So now my life’s in true, and right is His

Cuz by faith, God’s imputed Christ who lives

Union with Christ, a truly priceless gift

So now grace reigns through His righteousness

Since my sin’s debt’s completely paid at the tree

No matter how I feel, in the Savior I’m free

So sin can no longer reign over me

Cuz I’m united to Christ who’s raised up indeed

New life, God’s attached us to Jesus’

Alive to God to practice obedience

Every day lets fall on Christ, and fall on right

Call it the Gospel for all of life


-Verse 3-

So you’re broken, and you know you have sins too

Where do you go when He shows you your issues?

Run to Christ cuz His Gospel’s His riches

See the Gospel in all of the scriptures

In the Gospel God pardons sins

But He also promises to wash your heart and cleanse

So I must make this statement

We’re sanctified more and more as we feed on the justification

Cuz the first root of my sin is unbelief

In God’s goodness and His abundant love for me

Another root of sin is self-righteousness

But the Gospel says my only help’s Christ who lives

And my pride and idolatry

Will die as I constantly

Look to Christ and in the Gospel see

An astronomically, awesome God indeed

Way greater than any the world could possibly offer me

And when I see my beautiful Savior who suffered

For all of the numerous ways I have blundered

I’m then moved to be truly gracious to others

And exhibit the sprit’s fruit of patience to brothers

But most of all the Gospel brings me close to my Father

So in the warmth of His love I can soak like a sauna

So now I wanna obey Him and show Him my honor

Not to earn His love, but as a chosen responder