#caveat that these snippets are from drafts and are very likely to change at some point because that's what drafts do

[shootingstarpilot]

Hi! 🌧️/☔/🌈 for the ask game?

the ask game in question

me, gobbling down these asks like a vacuum cleaner: YES EXCELLENT FEED ME <333

🌧️Share something angsty from your WIP.

"He will forget how to scream."

The words fall like rocks into the silent hall.

"He will forget how to scream," Master Kenobi repeats. The blue blade trembles for a moment before steadying, something brighter blazing in his eyes. "And there will be bits of him laid out neatly on metal trays, and other bits will be bagged up and taken for further experimentation, and even more will be pulled out and put back wrong, and, well, self has such a flexible definition, doesn't it? And there will be no getting better for him, afterwards. He will learn to manage it because he will have no choice, but he will not get better, and slowly he will come to realize it- the scale of the loss, the weight of it, and the grief- oh, the grief will threaten to drown him all over again-"

His voice cracks before hardening.

"And you ask me to give him back? Unknowing, unaware, and unafraid? Of you?"

☔Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Basically-

What if Anakin had muted his comm?

What if Kix had never seen the messages? What if he'd never thought to toss it?

What if there was never that pressure to confess? What if, faced with the beguilement of comfort without guilt, Anakin chose the comforting lie- that of course it wasn't his fault, of course you couldn't have known?

Because the Jedi wouldn't have had cause to put him under essentially house arrest, when he hadn't necessarily committed any crime. I think he'd still be removed from command, of course, because clearly his judgement is in question, but... maybe they wouldn't have had the same power to deny the Chancellor access to him. And maybe, after a few weeks, the Chancellor offers Anakin an opportunity to get off Coruscant- it must be smothering, after all, my boy, why don't you come with me? I know the feeling, sometimes, and I'm sure you could accompany me as a bodyguard- I simply wish to investigate a rumor of a Force anomaly, and I could use such a talented Jedi as yourself-

Anakin, my boy, have you ever heard of Iwanaga?

So. Off they go.

Palpatine doesn't tell Anakin the full truth, of course not, he knows he's not that far in yet- but he lets him get a taste of the raw power that's getting brutally yanked out of Force Anomaly KenobiTM, so much so that it's vibrating in the very atmosphere-

(And deep in the drowning dark, what's left of Obi-Wan stirs, the faintest bit of recognition twinging at the edge of consciousness-)

(Anakin?)

But Anakin's never been very good at listening to the quiet things.

So they return. Anakin is utterly unaware of how very close he'd been.

And things... progress as they do in series canon. There is a discovery. A rescue. A reunion.

And I think, maybe, Obi-Wan still doesn't want to see Anakin. He's tired. He's so tired. And Anakin, even at his best, requires a lot of emotional labor he's not prepared to deal with.

(And maybe- he's allowed to feel hurt, too. And angry. He's allowed to grieve what Anakin's stupid, stupid decision has cost him.)

This is passed onto Anakin. As in series canon, Anakin chooses to ignore this fact. As in series canon, he goes to meet them at the dock anyways-

And Obi-Wan goes very still.

"Anakin," he asks, quiet and frozen in the same way a sheet of thin ice over a November pond will crack at the slightest hint of pressure-

"Why were you on Iwanaga?"

🌈 Share something soft/fluffy from your WIP.

Needle clicks his tongue.

“I’m put together all wrong, you know. General Kenobi said I felt like a kaleidoscope. I didn’t even know what it was, and then I looked it up afterwards– all broken colors, right? Jagged edges. Sometimes sunrises taste like lemon, and silence tears lines in the sky, and the smell of bacta sounds like dropping a tray of scalpels. Pieces don’t fit together right. And they don’t know all of it, not really, but Stitch gets me glitter and Helix puts syrup in my caff and they don’t try to make me be anyone else. I get to be their Needle. Why are there blankets in the bathtub, Master Jinn?”

Qui-Gon stares.

He hadn’t even thought about it, come to think of it. They had– been there, when he’d gone to shower. So he’d taken them out, and he’d folded them neatly, and he’d stacked the pillows on top, and he’d set the whole lot carefully in the cupboard.

And then, when he’d finished, he’d cleaned the tub, and had unfolded every blanket, and had set everything exactly back where it had been.

Because Obi–

“I thought Ben might need it,” he says hoarsely. “When he comes back.”

Needle’s eyes soften.

“Helix thinks there are sides, here,” he says. “But I’m not too sure about that.”

He unfolds himself, tucking the tower of Tupperware under his chin and clipping the datapad Qui-Gon had given him onto his belt. “Thanks for the soup, sir. I can see myself out.”

[guardianlioness]

Wip ask game: I gotta ask about Lucky Ones or Lucky Ones Final Mix. Is that a rewrite? I'm so intrigued.

Yep, you nailed it! It’s my re-edit/additional work for Lucky Ones.

The name for the file is a joke on the Kingdom Hearts series. They often release slightly remastered versions of the KH games with the subtitle “Final Mix.” They have tightened gameplay, bonus content, and sometimes entirely additional features—so it felt appropriate.

I have over 5 chapters already on paper for the story. I have a full scene breakdown. I know exactly where everything is going, up to and including the ending.

The problem is that my actual prose skill set has changed so drastically that I can’t bring myself to wrap it up. 😭 I literally stopped drafting right before the scene I was the most excited to write! (It was an Inko scene, for the record. Love her. 💖)

Going to tuck my snippet under a Read More, and it is a bit long, with a little bit of a blanket blood/scary situation TW.

(I’m not sure how to properly note the specifics—apologies. The situation is a little weird. Just know there’s nonviolent gore, loss of control, and one very freaked out child who isn’t actually in any danger from the adult that’s scaring him.)

“Mr. Toshinori, you’re scaring me.”

The man exhaled, the noise the only indication of where he stood in the dark. “I’m scared too, kid. But you’re going to be alright.”

“I don’t understand.”

The room was still thick with the raw, bitter smell, and Izuku’s stomach twisted in panic as the rail on the side of his bed rattled.

“No, you don’t. But we’re running out of time. I have a way out, but only if I pass it to you now.”

A way out? Muscles seizing, Izuku tried to struggle back upright. The deep ache spiked as he moved. He clenched his teeth against it, pushing back, and—

“Green. Kid. Stop.”

The knot in Izuku’s gut pulled tight. “Mr. Toshinori— ”

“Will you trust me?”

Izuku swallowed, settled back down and let the pain in his limbs ease. He steadied himself, fighting to master the shaky panic and rising pulse. A way out.

An escape.

All it raised was questions. If Mr. Toshinori had a secret weapon, why had it not come into play sooner? Was there something about the surveillance? A drawback or caveat? The uncertainty of it nagged, like an itch at the back of Izuku’s mind.

But Mr. Toshinori was kind, and trust— trust was a choice.

“Yes.”

A beat of silence passed, and then the darkness flickered. Motion, not light, faster than he could track. Something slick and warm clamped down over his face.

Izuku jerked, but as his jaws parted to shout, fingers dug in under his chin.

Metal. There was metal in his mouth, metal, and salt, and sour. The smell of it burned in his nose, pooled against his teeth, dripped down to the back of his throat. Breathe— he couldn’t breathe—

He twitched again, choking as the liquid tried to slip into his lungs.


“It’s going to be alright. I’m sorry, kid. I’m so sorry, but I promise you’re okay.”



Soft. The voice was soft, the way it’d be for a caged animal, a child after a nightmare.

He couldn’t breathe. Lungs pulled for air, but there was no air, only the raw scent on his tongue, the liquid catching at the back of his mouth.

“Easy. Easy, it’s okay.”

Sparks popped at the corners of Izuku’s vision, hazy and bright against the black.

And then he weight was gone. The pressure at his jaw, the hand covering his mouth, gone. He coughed, spluttered, spitting out the acrid tang of copper.

He breathed.

The steel-edged taste was still there, bitter and overwhelming, and some of it still settled in his throat, but he breathed.

A hand brushed over his hair as he twitched and spasmed, starburst haze glowing in his periphery.

“You’re so brave, kid. Be brave for just a little longer. Be brave—and live.”

[hopeintheashes]

For the ask game:

Numbers 22,30,33, and 37

Thanks for the ask!

22. Do take fic requests? If so, for what characters and why?

I do! So far it's only been within some kind of list, like BTHB or the touch prompts (see my pinned post). I guess people could send me random ideas if they wanted to! The caveat with fic requests, though, is that they are always and only suggestions, never mandates. If it doesn't spark for me,* I'm not going to fill the prompt. I also don't fill prompts in the same order I get them, or on any particular timeline at all. I would like to assume people already know all that, but for my own sanity, I like to make it super clear up front! *Reasons something may not spark include but are not limited to: I've already written something similar and don't have any new ideas; I think that's a great idea but I don't have the expertise and/or life experience to to it well; I don't think the characters would plausibly do the thing(s)/be in the situation that the prompter requested; it's a squick for me; I just don't have enough time; no particular reason, it just didn't.

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

finding a section without spoilers is hard! some redacting was required.

"I'm okay," he says automatically. His voice is a fucking wreck. "You are a very committed liar," she says, glancing over her phone as she moves to somewhere more private. "Why are you on the floor?" "Got dizzy," he whispers, which he realizes isn't very reassuring. Taylor's shaking her head. [...] "I'll be fine," he says, because he's the one who touched off the hurricane, and Eddie gets to take as much time as he needs to start to figure things out. "You can't just stay on the floor," she says, and he can hear someone saying her name, and then she sighs and lets a makeup person touch up her face, just their hand and a makeup brush in frame. "Call Eddie," she says. "God, I'm sorry, I have to go—" This rush of movement on the screen, like maybe a PA is pulling the phone out of her hands and pushing her to her mark, and then the beep of the disconnection and he's alone again. He's exhausted. Just so fucking tired. Taylor doesn't know what she's talking about when she says he can't stay on the floor. The floor is a perfectly fine place to be. Cold, sure. Hard, yes. But unmoving, and more importantly, right there. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up and pillows his arm under his head and closes his eyes. Just for a little while.

33. What do you like writing better: one shots or multi-chapter stuff?

I like both! I like the immediacy of posting a one-shot and then it is out there in the world fully formed, and I like going more in depth with a long fic. I also like writing works like Hazards where each chapter could be a one-shot, but when you put them together you get a really nice through-line as the characters' relationships change.

37. Give an update on your current WIP - if you don’t have one, give a sneak peek to a title or idea that you have and would like to write.

My big bang draft is JUST shy of 20k. (Current word count: 19,382). I'm in the so-close-but-so-far phase: If I follow my current plan, I only have four more scenes to write.... but any of those scenes could end up being longer than expected. Things seem to be a little bit in limbo with the big bang timeline, so I'm just trying to finish my draft before my summer ends and then if things I have no control over come together and it ends up with art, that would be amazing, and if not, then I will be posting a 20k+ fic that would not have existed without the original challenge, so it's all good either way.

(come ask me things!)

[aprillikesthings]

What I meant to do: Work on this little fic of Vi and Caitlyn 

What I actually did: Read their bios and canon stories on League’s offical lore pages, bugged Luca with questions again (because Daci is asleep), figured out exactly which wig I’d buy if I ever get around to cosplaying Caitlyn, looked at her huge-ass rifle again in despair, fucked around with makeup...and wrote several little snippets of things that are extremely unlikely to end up in this fic 

I guess I’m just feeling out how I want to characterize them? 

Actually they kinda feel like warm-up exercises, now that I’m thinking about it. It’s been so long since I’ve written much!! I’m horribly out of practice at the part where I go from “bullet point version of story” to “actual first draft” and I guess my brain wants to do some stretches first. 

(Also: reading their bios/stories and hearing some of their dialogue makes me cranky at Riot; it’s obvious they’re going for a winking “ooh, are they ~together~?” They are! Just make it canon, you cowards!) 

Anyway, have some very short bits of Vi and Caitlyn. One or more of them might end up in a fic at some point, with the caveat that they could be heavily edited and/or my headcanons might change. Heads-up that one of’em has explicit content. 

“Hey, Cait. Hey. Caity. Lyn. Lynnie. Lynnie-lyn-lyn.” No reaction. “Hey, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn finally looks up from her paperwork, head tilted and eyebrows raised. “Yes, darling?”

***

“I get what Vi sees in you, you’re pretty and smart and your fa--your parents are good people.” Your family is rich, is what he obviously meant to say.  “But what the hell do you see in her?”

Caitlyn closes her eyes and remembers a moment from the night before--Vi’s face between Caitlyn’s thighs, moaning, always so eager to please--her bright pink shock of hair tangled in Caitlyn’s grip--

“I like her hair. And she makes me laugh.” She opens her eyes and tries to look as disdainful as possible. “And Vi’s smarter than you think she is. Don’t mistake upper-class manners for intelligence, or the lack thereof for stupidity.”

***

[who wants sappy shit? you do!]

Vi feels safe with Caitlyn; being with Caitlyn is the first place she’s ever really felt entirely safe. Half of it is that Caitlyn loves her and would never intentionally hurt her; half of it is that Caitlyn could easily defend both of them if needed. It took Vi a while to let down her guard, and now Caitlyn gets to see a side of her nobody else does, and Caitlyn knows this and will never take it for granted. 

When their relationship started, Vi was just plain touch-starved as much as anything else. Vi was sometimes content to hold Caitlyn--or be held--while Caitlyn told Vi stories from her childhood, of going off alone to hunt small game and climb trees. More than once, Vi fell asleep with her head in Caitlyn’s lap, Caitlyn playing with her hair. Vi looks so soft and innocent in her sleep, outside of the occasional nightmare. It makes Caitlyn wish she could draw or paint.

***

[okay this one is just silly]

Rich men of Piltover: oooh Caitlyn’s pretty and her family is rich, too bad she insist on working and has that huge gun, that’s not very feminine of her, is it

Caitlyn: MOTHERFUCKERS, I’M GAY

Caitlyn’s parents: YEAH, SHE IS we’re so proud of how much she does for the city, we just hope she falls in love at some point so she’ll be happy

***

Also while talking to Luca I was like WAITAMINUTE 

The city of Piltover is literally on top of Zaun 

Piltover = “built-over”

Because it was built over Zaun

[english-ext-2]

Hi Sophie! Based on your experiences, how hard do you think it is to get a perfect 50/50 both internally and externally for a short story in Extension 2? What kinds of stories and approaches to writing do you think/know get full marks? Additionally, if you were a marker, what features of your piece and others' pieces do you think made/would make them worthy of a 50? Thanks for all your wisdom!

Thanks for such interesting questions! My answers grew rather long, so I’ve thrown them under the cut.  

50/50 internal and external

The 50/50 external mark is certainly harder than a 50/50 internal. It may as well be in the hands of the gods for all the influence you have. Unlike your teachers, the markers haven’t seen the blood, sweat and tears you poured into your major. They don’t even know your name. Conversely, you don’t know who they are either, or what their preferences are. Your major arrives at the marking centre as a product that has to stand on its own merits against the entire state EE2 cohort - about which you know nothing - not the forms they’ve chosen, not their concepts, absolutely zip. You’re blind to the competition. This is of course without even mentioning the small but no less insignificant 10% weighting of the Reflection Statement, which needs to be outstanding too. (Scaling also plays a part, but I’m not sufficiently well-versed in that to offer anything beyond this advice: if you want that perfect external, make sure you’re ranked first internally.)    

The perfect internal mark is comparatively easier (which I suppose doesn’t say much considering how high I set the bar for the perfect external lol). But keep in mind that a 50/50 internal doesn’t make a 50/50 external any more likely. Some of my peers who did very well internally, with high E4s, were disappointed with their low E4s and sometimes high E3 external marks. Hard as it may be to swallow, it can end up being sheer luck that gets you over the line.

Doing well in the internal assessments comes down to a number of factors, including but not limited to your teachers’ marking preferences, your school cohort, and the effort you put in.

I was quite fortunate that one of the teachers who marked my draft in progress (the third assessment) historically liked my writing style. If possible, get to know the things your English teachers prioritise in their marking beyond what’s listed on the rubrics, and it may (or may not) make a difference in your final mark. As for your EE2 cohort, the better the competition, the harder you have to work. The quality of my cohort was extremely high, and the margins between students were tiny. To give you an idea: I got 9.5/10 on my Viva, full marks on the next two assessments, and squeaked into first in EE2 by 1 to 1.5 marks. It was a struggle the entire way to do my best for the second and third assessments, and I had to get the time management just right. Because yes, a lot boils down to the effort you’re willing to invest into a perfect mark. There’s no need to make a hard process even harder for yourself by not keeping on top of your writing and research.    

Stories and approaches that score well

People have all sorts of (sometimes cynical) opinions and hot takes on what stories appeal to markers, e.g. feminist, postmodern, counter-cultural, what have you. I don’t want to speculate on subjects that do or don’t do well, since that’s way out of my league. What I will say is that if you’re sincere and earnest in your approach, whatever the subject, you should be rewarded for it. (Not that you will, but writing in good faith speaks far better for you than cynically selecting a type of story in the belief it’ll maximise your marks.)

For actual evidence of things that markers like, you can’t go wrong with the HSC marking feedback (formerly known as the notes from the marking centre). Two examples from the 2017 cohort: 

“Students should avoid the overuse of adjectives and clunky visual descriptions”

Better responses “had a strong and authentic character voice that built and developed throughout the narrative”.  

As for approaches:

Originality

Around my time, I think convention had it that outrageously experimental postmodern stories were in vogue and tended to do well with external markers. That belief came in part from the short stories that made it into Showcase, which is a good time to reiterate that Showcase majors aren’t selected on quality alone; they’re a cross-sectional representation of what can be done in EE2. If anything, the postmodernity was not an end in itself but a good way of encapsulating the innovation, originality and “thinking outside the box” that markers like. It probably goes without saying, but clichés in the mould of teenage romances don’t play well. Markers are looking for fresh, interesting perspectives that ideally challenge, interrogate or otherwise question received wisdom. (Caveat: there’s nothing wrong with telling an old story well, though it would have to be technically mind-blowing to get you full marks.)  

Complexity

Your concept (and writing) should be complex, nuanced; something you could spend days unpacking. I’ve explained this before as developing a concept that’s deep enough to explore in detail, but not so broad as to be unmanageable. To use my major as an example - the umbrella concept was translation, but under it I explored a) the idea of translating reality into fiction, b) the translator/author relationship, and c) the value of translation in contemporary literature.  

As for nuance: black/white approaches to your subject matter aren’t going to get you full marks. To say “war is bad” through your major is fine, but if you’re going to hit your audience over the head with ham-fisted, heavy-handed metaphors and one-dimensional characters who suffer for suffering’s sake to make the point, then you’re not exactly endearing yourself to the markers. Didacticism in fiction can and will come off as condescending, and that’s the last thing you want. Nobody likes being talked down to, or having their intelligence insulted. It’s entirely possible to tell a nuanced story about the various horrors of war, from the immediate impact on civilians to the inter-generational trauma, without throwing characters into a stereotypical war zone and expecting the setting to speak for itself. You want depth and detail, because war is terrible in so many different ways. Don’t use your story as a megaphone to yell the same line over and over at people. Yell a series of images, characters and events that will move them to tears. (Anyway, this is treading onto the grounds of fiction-as-activism, which is another thing altogether.)

Ambitious

As the saying probably doesn’t go, if you aim for the moon you’ll hit a tree, but if you aim just for the tree you’ll never get off the ground. A short story that gets full marks will have vision and ambition. It doesn’t end where the story ends, but opens up a new world of possibility or way of thinking that the reader might never have considered before they read your story. The short of it is: say something!

It’s tempting to believe that ambitious short stories = stories that tackle “heavy” subjects like war, climate change, poverty, inequality, or any one of the social ills afflicting our world today. For what it’s worth, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with writing on those things. Choosing to do so would demonstrate your maturity and willingness to confront difficult issues. But it’s not a golden ticket. Writing about systemic racism alone is not going to get you full marks. It is entirely possible to pick something profound and butcher the execution. When choosing a concept, I would always prioritise things you feel most passionate about rather than their perceived legitimacy on some arbitrary scale of importance.

I wrote about translation, and literary translation at that. It’s not a hot button topic. But it was something very close to my heart; I knew that translation was not just about languages but also reality into fiction, and it was something I wanted to tell the world (or failing that, just the EE2 markers). So I did. A good short story can really be as simple as having something to say.   

If I were a marker

Authentic voice

If I were a marker, this would be the most important thing for me. I know voice can be a slippery concept for some, but what I mean here is the distinctness of a student’s style. It goes beyond the words they choose and the order they put them in; it’s the way the student expresses their ideas in their own words, and speaks through their major works. This is why I’m big on students choosing concepts they feel passionately or strongly about, because if you’re writing on something you love with all your heart, the more likely it is that feeling will come through in your particular voice. If you wanted another way to put it, it’s your “brand”, the set of qualities that makes your writing yours. Have you ever read an author enough times to recognise their way of writing? Like, you see a snippet of writing and think, “hm, that sounds a lot like Neil Gaiman.” That’s what you want with your major. Your subject matter might not resonate at all with me, but if through the boldness, clarity and passion of your written voice you can convince me how much you care about it, then I’d be putting you in a higher band.

Originality

To add to what I wrote above on originality, there are several ways to demonstrate original thinking: putting a new spin on or subverting old tropes, choosing to explore a more obscure field, telling historically marginalised and/or overlooked narratives (e.g. I once read part of a major that focused on Dorothy Wordsworth, William Wordsworth’s sister), even stories that resonate with the current social, political and cultural climate.

I think originality was what helped my major stand out. For one, I wrote about literary translation and translators, which wasn’t something that enjoyed much exposure in fiction. Second, most people think poetry when they think translation (the old adage of “lost in translation” most often gets applied to the vagaries of metaphors you commonly find in poetry), so for me to choose the short story form was an interesting subversion. Though tbh, I think people worry disproportionately about how original their stories are at the expense of telling a good story. There’s no need to push yourself into the realm of edginess for the sake of originality. At the end of the day, what you want is essentially a thumping good story. Sometimes it’s easier, and infinitely more fun to rework what you already have in front of you. I like to think of this approach in an Oulipian way - setting yourself restrictions within which you have to work. Surprising, I know, but boundaries can force you to be flexible.    

Authorial control

Something that I know markers look out for is authorial control - on the simplest level, they want to see that you’re able to keep your tenses and characterisation consistent; on a higher level, it’s about sustaining your metaphors and ensuring textual integrity. Put another way, your story needs to be coherent and consistent. A character you’ve associated with a crow isn’t suddenly associated with an eagle for no reason.

Another way I’ve heard authorial control described is keeping your story tight, contained. You’re not wasting words, the story progresses logically and smoothly; there’s a sense you know where you’re going and how you’re going to get there. If you spend the first ten pages describing the weather and the main character’s appearance without any discernible introduction of a larger theme or concept, that’s a failure of authorial control. (Hot tip: your first draft doesn’t have to be controlled at all, and it’s better to allow yourself to be a hot mess than to get hung up over producing a perfectly poised short story from the get go.)  

Evidence of research

EE2 is about research and independent investigation, so naturally I’d want to see evidence of that in a short story that scores full marks. It’s one of those things that’s painfully obvious by its absence, but absolutely scintillating for its presence. For the former: if for example you’ve set your story in modern day Japan and have as your protagonist a typical Tokyo schoolgirl, but provide few, no or incorrect supporting details (e.g. landmarks, street names, the flow of a school day, cultural practices, etc.), then your story wouldn’t hold together and I wouldn’t be inclined to score you well.

Evidence of research usually entails great, sometimes painstaking attention to detail, and a comprehension of the subject matter that’s been fluently integrated into the story. To use my major as an example again, I did a lot of research into how translators related to their translations and to the original author, and incorporated my findings into my main character and how she felt about her translation.

Other posts you may find helpful:

An ask a while back about what I thought made my MW appealing.  

Another ask along the same lines as the one above. 

What I think the difference is between a 48 and 50. 

[pipermca]

Royalty AU

I felt a little sad that I just didn’t have the spoons to participate in the AUgust fun this month, but today is Royalty day. I’ve been working on a sequel to The Renegade and the Hound, and decided to grab a little snippet from that story to post as my contribution for today. Rough draft, so usual caveats apply!

(This has some spoilers for one of the reveals in Renegade, if that’s a thing that you care about. If you haven’t read Renegade and have no intention to, I put a little explainer bit at the end for the naming issue.)

In Nyon, it was tradition to donate leftover fuel from a celebration to the less fortunate, and Hound wanted to make it part of their bonding celebrations. When Bluestreak told Smokescreen about it, his brother was delighted, even going so far as to arrange for palace staff to help carry all of the fuel.

“I’ve set everything up,” Smokescreen said, walking Bluestreak and Hound down to the courtyard in the morning. He gestured at the small parade of mechs and guards that would accompany them to the hall. “The largest fuel hall is expecting you this morning. You remember the place... It’s the one near the western city gate?”

Of course Bluestreak remembered it. That was the fuel hall where he’d first started volunteering after witnessing the huge differences in living conditions between the richest and the poorest mechs. It was the fuel hall where he’d met Tempest. Prowl had told him that their sire had closed the hall after Bluestreak had run from Praxus, but Smokescreen had seen that it was reopened not too long after he started assuming some of the King’s duties. It was a vital lifeline for the poorest mechs who lived inside the city, as well as those scratching out a living just outside its walls.

Bluestreak had been on board with doing this ever since Hound had mentioned it, especially since it meant so much to Hound. “It’s like a way to share our good fortune with others,” Hound had said when trying to explain why the donation was important to him. And now, as they drove to the fuel hall, he could feel the contentment radiating from Hound.

However, Bluestreak felt slightly anxious, and he did what he could to block the feeling from his bond partner. Smokescreen had mentioned the designation of the mech who was running the hall, and it was the same mech who was running it when Bluestreak had met Tempest. But Tempest was now dead, and Bluestreak was wearing his colours. Although the official story had been that Tempest was executed for blasphemy, anyone who had known the two mechs could have guessed the real reason for Tempest’s execution. Before Smokescreen had expelled the Temple from the Court and changed the law, the penalty for an impure mech interfacing with a pure Praxian was death.

Bluestreak had no idea what kind of reception he was going to receive.

As they rolled up to the gate of the hall and transformed, three mechs came out to greet them. The first mech approached them, giving Bluestreak a deep bow. “Prince Bluestreak, Lord Hound,” she said. “We are deeply humbled by your donation. And it is good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you again, too, Melody,” Bluestreak said, relief colouring his voice as he reached out to grip the femme’s forearm. He started to turn to introduce Hound when the mech standing behind Melody caught his optic. “Redline!” Bluestreak said with surprise.

The large hulking mech met Bluestreak’s optics for a moment, then fell to one knee with a clang, bowing his helm low. “Your Highness,” he rasped, his voice rough with static.

Shocked into momentary silence, Bluestreak stared at the large mech. Upon returning to Praxus, Bluestreak had been expecting to see his carrier, and knew he would need to face his sire. He had also anticipated seeing any number of mechs from his previous life, and knew that the reunions would range from joyous to hostile. But the mech kneeling before him was one who he had not expected to see at all.

Hound sent him a questioning pulse over their bond, breaking him free of his surprise. Bluestreak turned to Hound and murmured, “Can you handle the donation? I need just a klik.” Hound nodded understandingly, and led Melody to where the palace staff was unloading the fuel.

Bluestreak turned his attention back to the mech kneeling before him. “Redline,” he said. “I...” His vocalizer faltered as he realized he didn’t know what he needed to say.

“Your Highness,” Redline said again, staring at the ground and reaching out to place a hand on Bluestreak’s pede. “We held your confidence. We told them nothing. We did not break, even under interrogation. We-“

Reflexively, Bluestreak reached out and put his hand on the mech’s shoulder. He was so large that Bluestreak didn’t even have to bend down. When the young Prince had selected his Royal Guards, he’d picked Redline as his Head Guard even though the mech had no credentials and little training – something that Prowl pointed out to him as a problem. But young Silverstreak had dug in, sure that the mech’s huge size and intimidating profile would be a benefit. In the end, Redline had proven to be an excellent Guard: quick witted, dedicated, willing and incredibly loyal.

He had been loyal to the very end.

“I never doubted you, Redline,” Bluestreak said, lowering his voice. “But out of all the regrets I have in my life, leaving you and the others behind when I left Praxus... Leaving you to take the brunt of the King’s anger... That is one of my biggest regrets.” He squeezed Redline’s shoulder. “Please forgive me.”

In his grief and rage, Bluestreak had given little thought to his Guards as he fled Praxus. It was only later that he wondered what had happened to them, and hoped that they still functioned. Of course they knew about him and Tempest; his Guards managed to keep their romance a secret until the King barged into Prince Silverstreak’s rooms and found his creation deep in a spark merge with an impure mech from the fuel halls. Bluestreak remained in the dark about what had happened to his Guards until many vorn later, when Prowl told him how Smokescreen had intervened to make sure his Guards were spared... Even if they had been banished from the palace.

Redline slowly lifted his helm, his optics meeting Bluestreak’s again. “My Prince,” he said, his voice still rough. “Seeing you again...” He shook his helm slightly. “We’d hoped you’d escaped safely. But when they lit the memorial fire for you at the Temple, we thought the worst.” The barest flicked of a smile lit on his lips. “Then, when we heard you still functioned, and were returning to Praxus, we were overjoyed.”

“We...” Bluestreak honed in on that one word. “Where are the others?” he asked. Beside Melody, there was only one other volunteer helping unload the fuel, and Bluestreak did not recognize him.

“They are all outside the city,” Redline said. “Working on farms and as labourers.”

“Can you get in contact with them?” Bluestreak asked. “I want to meet with all of you. I want to apologize in person, and do what I can to make this right.”

Redline’s helm dipped again. “Of course, Your Highness,” he said. “I will let them know.”

“And Redline...” Bluestreak pulled again on the large mech’s shoulder. “Please, stand up.” When Redline looked up at him again, Bluestreak smiled. “I am now a Prince in title only, and only at Prince Smokescreen’s insistence. I have been removed from the Scroll of Succession, and I am now a Ranger of Iacon.” He lifted his door wings to display the emblems on them. “We should be on equal footing now. If anything, I am in your debt.”

Redline slowly clambered to his pedes. “You will always be my Prince, Your Highness,” he said with the same intensity that Bluestreak remembered from vorn ago. “No matter your title, your designation, or your colours.”

Bluestreak tilted him helm to look up at the huge mech and smiled. “You’re a good mech, Redline,” he said. “Come on, let me introduce you to my bond partner.”

If you haven’t read Renegade: Bluestreak was named Prince Silverstreak before he left Praxus. After he left, he took on the name Bluesteak, and also had himself repainted into the same colours as his executed lover, Tempest, to disguise himself from the collection squads who would be coming after him.