A Chaotic Neutral

Title: Insufficient Funds
Series: The Prime’s Consorts
Characters: Blaster, Steeljaw
Rated: K+
Description: In the wake of Soundwave’s departure and subsequent absence, Blaster worries.

Blaster is running out of money.

Worse, Blaster is running out of money and his best friend has let himself be sold to the new Prime all for the sake of the Sanctuary. Blaster can’t even do him the courtesy of not running it to the ground in Soundwave’s absence. Soundwave has sacrificed everything, and still, Blaster is running out of money.

Everything costs creds these days. It’s not just the energon. It’s the parts, the lubricants, the supplies. It’s bribing guards to look the other way when they’re sneaking refugees over borders. It’s paying medics for much needed repairs. It’s paying for new identities, and refitting frames so that they are unrecognizable. It’s paying for fares to colonies too far from Cybertron for the wealthy to reach.

It’s a lot of things that Blaster simply doesn’t have the creds to cover. His kin suffer, and Blaster can only do triage. Save this one over that one because it’s cheaper or easier or… or…

His tank churns.

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Title: Settling In
Universe: TF, The Prime’s Consorts, Consortium AU
Characters: Sideswipe, Sunstreaker
Rated: K+
Description: Sideswipe gets his first look at the room suite he and Sunstreaker now share.

For SunnySidesofBlue, who prompted me

Sideswipe isn’t sure what has him more excited.

The recent merge with his twin, the way Sunstreaker had escorted him here with their hands intertwined, or the massive manor that his brother now calls home. They’re warm and comfortable here, safe behind the walls of the Prime residence, with guaranteed meals, guaranteed medical care, and a roof over their heads.

“This place is ridiculous,” Sideswipe says. He’s lost track of the many hallways, the priceless works of art, the servants going about their business with nary a whiff of stress. “How the frag do you find your way around here?”

Sunstreaker chuckles -- chuckles! -- and says, “You get used to it.” He pauses in front of a door and puts pulls Sideswipe’s hand to the scanner. “This is our room.”

“Our?” Sideswipe echoes, mouth agape.

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Title: Reunion
Universe: The Prime’s Consorts
Characters: Sideswipe, Optimus Prime, Ultra Magnus, Sunstreaker
Rating: T
Description: Sideswipe thought he’d never see his brother again.

Sideswipe doesn’t know what to think when a trio of Primal guards shows up on his doorstep and demands he come with them. He’s torn between refusing because of what Streamline might do to him, and sprinting along with them because of a stupid hope that their arrival means he gets to see Sunstreaker.

He immediately dashes that internal hope when he considers that seeing Sunstreaker is probably part of some ploy to force his brother into good behavior.

His excitement immediately cools.

Sideswipe goes with them because he doesn’t see where he has any other choice.

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Consortium
Chapter Nine

“What’s it feel like?”

Optimus furrows his orbital ridge, looking up from the scratch on Jazz’s thigh he’s attempting to buff out. He’s not as skilled as Sunstreaker, but Jazz had done the same for him, so Optimus is inclined to return the favor.

“You will have to be more specific.”

Jazz lounges on the berth, idly sipping a pouch of coolant, his leg propped on Optimus’ lap. “Having that many sparks bonded to yours.”

Optimus contemplates the question. “It is hard to put into words. My spark feels heavier. Fuller. Occasionally, I will catch a whisper, a thought or an emotion that is not mine, and separating them can be difficult.”

“Sounds terrible,” Jazz murmurs. “Invasive, too.”

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Consortium
Chapter Six

“You look pleased. Care to share why?” Ultra Magnus asks as he leans in toward Optimus, the soft comment hidden to the overall chatter at the dinner table.

Optimus lifts a glass of engex and sips it, feigning nonchalance. “I completed my spark bond with Prowl earlier today,” he says, behind the glass. “And judging by the looks Ratchet’s giving me, I’m likely to connect with him as well.”

Ultra Magnus’ orbital ridges lift. “So soon? I’m impressed by your diplomacy, Optimus.”

“I relied on their practicality. I don’t know if it’s really diplomacy,” Optimus says with a little laugh. “One might even call it manipulation.”

“Playing to your strengths and their interests is hardly manipulation,” Ultra Magnus says with a snort. “It’s called negotiation. There’s a difference. I’m sure both of them would agree. Neither seem the type easily manipulated.”

He has a point. Prowl is far too keen, and would read through double-speech in a sparkbeat. Ratchet wouldn’t stand for it either, because if there’s one thing Ratchet does not do, it’s hold his glossa. He speaks his mind without an ounce of tact.

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Consortium
Chapter Four
The mood is remarkably lighter around the table this time around. Much of the tension has lifted out of the air, and there is less a sizzling distaste for Optimus.

No one outright glares at him. Optimus considers that improvement. Especially when Jazz rises, climbing up into the center of the table no less, a small stringed instrument in hand.

“I hope you don’t mind a little entertainment with your energon,” he drawls as he holds the nyckelharpa in place and lays a flat rod against the glowing lines. “I’m going to start with something slow and melodic.”

“I, for one, am not going to protest,” Ultra Magnus says.

“I don’t think anyone else is either,” drawls Starscream, his optics glittering as he looks up at Jazz. “Provided you have any talent at that thing, I mean.”

Jazz’s lips pull in a slow, challenging smirk. “Just you wait and see, Screamer.” He drags the bar across the glowing lines, a long, mournful sound rising from the instrument. “I’m gonna knock you on your aft.”

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Consortium
Chapter Two

Optimus' research indicates Prowl is something of an early riser, at least, judging by his propensity to arrive at work earlier than anyone else. It edges on the side of creepy to have this sort of intimate knowledge of a mech he’s only spoken with on two occasions, but Optimus needs the advantage if he has any hope of emerging victorious.

He will not let the Senate have their way.

Optimus arrives at Prowl's assigned quarters with a morning allotment of fuel and pings the door. He could technically invite himself within, but it would be an egregious invasion of privacy.

Prowl opens the door, his face blank of expression, and the sensory panels for which Praxians are known arched high and rigid behind his shoulders. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Optimus offers the cube, and Prowl takes it automatically. "I thought you might like to join me in the study. I believe there was a conversation you wished to have?"

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