#(you could also view it in that lens of “it shattered when I slammed the door” as the abandoning creation)

[godzexperiment]

i was playing in my father's study a place in the house i wasn't supposed to go

he kept an boat in the bottle on the top of a shelf and it shattered on the ground when i slammed the door

~we don't remember a boat in a bottle it must have fallen off it's shelf alone we know you loved it, we're so sad it's broken but neither one of us was even home~

[sinrau]

(CNN) Ever since the coronavirus began its deadly march through the US, Donald Trump has been accused of lacking the empathy presidents typically draw on to lead and soothe a nation in crisis.

This week the question of presidential compassion was a consistent storyline.

You could pick your lyrics: Was the President like the Tin Man from the “Wizard of Oz,” plaintively singing, “If I only had a heart.” Or was he suffering from, as the 80s hit song put it, “a total eclipse of the heart”?

We saw a President who slammed the Supreme Court for blocking his effort to subject 650,000 Dreamers to deportation. He also bemoaned the court’s historic ruling Monday that LGBTQ people can’t be fired because of their sexuality. His former national security adviser John Bolton claimed in a book excerpt that Trump had encouraged China’s leader to set up concentration camps for the Uyghur minority. He plowed ahead with a non-socially distanced rally in Tulsa, Oklahoma, even as coronavirus cases mounted.

Yes, some rallygoers could get sick, Trump told the Wall Street Journal, but “it’s a very small percentage.”

In a private meeting with the families of Black victims, though, Trump was “very compassionate,” according to the mother of Ahmaud Arbery, who was shot to death while jogging in Georgia. But in his public remarks, the President made law-and-order his primary message.

“Trump went on the attack against his political rivals and doubled down on his hard-line, ‘law and order’ stance, a political calculation solidified by his use of the words ‘safety and security’ and his statement that Americans ‘demand law and order,'” wrote Issac Bailey. “His effort to address growing national suffering and protest over police brutality was, at best, a thinly veiled excuse to defend law enforcement and signal to white voters where he stands.”

A chilling view of the private Trump emerged from the Bolton book. It painted a credible “portrait of the most amoral, autocratic and unprepared man to ever serve as president of the United States,” wrote John Avlon. “This is not a partisan attack by activists from the opposition party. This is the first-person view of the President’s former national security adviser, bolstered by contemporaneous notes, a standard which is admissible in court. It is a damning portrait of a president untethered to anything resembling morals, who cannot separate his self-interest from the national interest and doesn’t even care to try.”

Jen Psaki viewed the book through the lens of the upcoming election: “All of the observations, accusations and specific anecdotes are about one person — Donald Trump — and whether he is fit to lead the country and the lasting damage he would inflict if given four more years.”

In fact, the revelations show Bolton as complicit, in Elie Honig‘s view: “John Bolton has offered the nation a staggering profile in cowardice…Bolton directly witnessed not one but multiple acts that could have been cited in the impeachment of President Donald Trump. But Bolton did nothing about it while he held a powerful post in the Trump administration. And he stayed quiet and took cover when Congress and the nation pleaded with him to speak out during the impeachment process.”

Writing about China policy, Bolton gave this devastating description: “The Trump presidency is not grounded in philosophy, grand strategy or policy. It is grounded in Trump.” As if to prove that such a verdict applies more broadly, on Friday night Attorney General William Barr ousted Geoffrey Berman, US Attorney for the Southern District of NY which has been investigating and prosecuting Trump’s associates. “The news of Berman’s ouster is one more piece of evidence that Trump is the anti-law-and-order President, despite his claims to the contrary. Trump touts law and order when it suits him, but attacks the courts and erodes our judicial system when it comes to his agenda and actions,” wrote Julian Zelizer.

One critic described Bolton’s book as a slog. “It toggles between two discordant registers: exceedingly tedious and slightly unhinged,” wrote Jennifer Szalai in the New York Times. “Still, it’s maybe a fitting combination for a lavishly bewhiskered figure whose wonkishness and warmongering can make him seem like an unlikely hybrid of Ned Flanders and Yosemite Sam.”

Another book Trump may be dreading is due out in July from the President’s niece, Mary L. Trump, who is a psychologist. Trump biographer Michael D’Antonio wrote that the book promises to shed light on the President’s fraught relationships with his father and elder brother, Fred Trump Jr., who was Mary Trump’s father. “Three and a half years into the Trump era, endless words have been spent illustrating the chaotic and cruel personality that can, to cite just one example, schedule a huge ego-gratifying rally in the middle of a deadly pandemic caused by a viciously contagious virus,” noted D’Antonio.

A rally fizzles

Given that cases of Covid-19 have been rising sharply in Tulsa County, wrote infectious disease expert and Oklahoma native Dr. Kent Sepkowitz in advance of Trump’s Saturday rally there, “from a strict public health perspective, the selection of Tulsa is a terrible decision.”

Trump’s first rally since the pandemic began was “supposed to trumpet his return to greatness — and the country’s return to normalcy,” wrote Frida Ghitis. But it “instead brought embarrassing scenes of empty bleachers, a dismantled stage and a familiar speech unsuccessfully trying to reignite public fears…The speech was typically self-centered, with a bizarre more than ten-minute long riff on his ultra-slow descent from the West Point ramp, and absolutely no words of compassion for the nearly 120,000 people in this country who have died during the pandemic.”

Days of freedom

Friday was Juneteenth, the holiday celebrating the end of slavery in the US. Another historic day of freedom came on October 1, 1962, when James Meredith became the first African American student to enroll at the University of Mississippi. He had to sue for his right to an education there, and it took the courts, hundreds of federal marshals and thousands of troops to overcome rioting and protect Meredith.

“The gates of higher education in the United States were opened for all Americans,” Meredith wrote. “This victory for me and for the US Constitution shattered the system of state-sponsored white supremacy in Mississippi…”

“When I see people across America — and around the world — peacefully marching for racial justice and honoring the memory of George Floyd and other martyrs like Medgar Evers…I am filled with both joy and hope. White supremacy may be the most evil beast that’s ever stalked the halls of history, and today it may finally be mortally wounded.”

Some companies and some states marked Juneteenth as a holiday, but it should be observed nationally, wrote Peniel Joseph. It “would spur not only conversation about the origins of our current racial and political conflicts, but would also prompt vitally necessary education about white supremacy and its manifestations in policies and political actions that are anti-Black, anti-democratic and anti-human,” wrote Joseph.

Rayshard Brooks’ own words

Months before he was shot to death by Atlanta police, Rayshard Brooks took part in an interview for a research project. A video of that February interview aired on CNN’s Anderson Cooper 360 show Wednesday, and in it, Brooks described the lasting burden of being on probation: “I just feel like some of the system could, you know, look at us as individuals. We do have lives, you know, just a mistake we made, and you know, not just do us as if we are animals.”

Van Jones noted that for people on probation “any contact with a police officer — for any reason — means an almost certain return to the horrors of a jail cell. It is safe to assume that Brooks did not want to go back to jail over sleeping in his car or failing a sobriety test, lose everything he had and be forced to start his life over again.”

“In other words, we do not know why the Atlanta police officer chose to shoot a man who was running away from him. But we can guess why that man chose to run, in the first place. Brooks didn’t want to lose his liberty. Instead, he wound up losing his life.”

Melvin Carter, the first African American mayor of St. Paul, Minnesota, is the son of a police officer who served his city for 28 years. But even with that background, he doesn’t think the answer to public safety is solely a matter of spending billions on police and prisons. “Our country’s enforcement-heavy approach to safety isn’t designed to address the root causes of crime, but the symptoms,” he wrote. “Instead of equipping us all with tools to guard our own future security, it further alienates those on the outer edges of society and impedes funding for critical social infrastructure like schools and housing.”

A former mayor, Mitch Landrieu of New Orleans, wrote that the US Justice Department was investigating his city’s police department when he took office. A consent decree which is still ongoing has resulted in a dramatic improvement in how residents view the police, but there’s more work to be done, Landrieu wrote. “We must go further. We can no longer ask police to handle the failures of our social and educational systems.”

Anne Milgram, the former New Jersey Attorney General, worked on the reinvention of policing in what was once America’s most dangerous city, Camden. “We had a police department that had no idea of what it was doing or whether it could do better. It lurched wildly from 911 call to 911 call, sometimes taking hours to respond to calls of serious violence. It failed to solve serious crimes…that plagued the city, and yet hundreds of arrests were being made for low-level crimes, driven most often by drug and alcohol addiction, mental illness, poverty and homelessness.” New leadership, new systems and ultimately a new police department made a difference — the city is “the safest that it has been in more than 50 years” and the police department is a model for others, Milgram wrote.

Supreme surprises

When Donald Trump ran for President, he promised to appoint conservative justices to the federal courts — and he’s been true to his word, naming Brett Kavanaugh and Neil Gorsuch to the Supreme Court and scores of others for lower courts.

But it was Gorsuch who wrote the majority opinion this week upholding civil rights for LGBTQ Americans, rejecting the Trump administration’s position in declaring that the anti-discrimination provisions of the 1964 Civil Rights Act protect gay and transgender people. “It’s surprising that it’s taken this long,” wrote John D. Sutter. “Until this week in the United States of America, many LGBTQ workers lacked these simple legal protections.

“In over half the states in America, you could be fired for being gay. Until now.”

Then on Thursday, Chief Justice John Roberts, appointed by George W. Bush, sided with the court’s four liberals in blocking the Trump administration’s effort to kill the Obama-era DACA program, which shields young people who had been brought to the United States as children from deportation. DACA “was life-changing for hundreds of thousands of people — Americans in all but the paperwork — who were now free to work, go to school, seek promotions and continue their academic careers without fear of being detained and sent back to countries they barely knew,” wrote Raul A. Reyes. The decision was “a win for Dreamers, for the American ideal of welcoming immigrants — and for the independence of the high court.”

Happy Father’s Day

Mother’s Day this year came as most Americans were still locked down, and a lot of the holiday get-togethers were virtual. Today is Father’s Day and the advice from Kent Sepkowitz is consistent with what he recommended for the earlier holiday: get together with your father on Zoom, Facetime or whatever platform you prefer. America’s “approach to reopening — which has been unscientific and uncoordinated — has failed miserably. Rather than cautiously peeling back the various Covid-19 containment safeguards, most states have supported an ‘everybody-back-in-the-pool’ return, as if we were all teens partying during Spring Break.”

“Besides, let’s be honest — Father’s Day is no Mother’s Day, “wrote Sepkowitz, noting that total US spending on Mother’s Day gifts is more than 50% higher. “As a dad myself, this junior varsity status is fine by me. This year in particular, I want nothing to do with celebrating a holiday in the middle of a poorly managed pandemic.”

For more on Father’s Day:

Marcus Mabry: A Father’s Day message to all dads

Arick Wierson: George Floyd was my wake-up call

After Aunt Jemima

The debate over systemic racism touched off by the killing of George Floyd rippled into many parts of America. Consumer-facing companies reacted, with Quaker Oats announcing that it would end the 131-year-old Aunt Jemima brand, noted Elliot Williams.

As a Black child, it was upsetting for him to discover that the light-pink Crayola crayon was labeled “flesh” colored. “I put it back in the bin, pulled out ‘burnt sienna’ or ‘raw umber’ and continued whatever (probably “Star Wars” themed) self-portrait I was working on… By implying that the only color called ‘flesh’ looked like white skin, Crayola decided who was ‘normal.’ Everyone else had to work around that.” (The “flesh” color was phased out in 1962, replaced by “peach.”)

“In the midst of a national debate on life-and-death matters around racism and public safety, fussing about the logo on instant rice may seem trivial,” Williams wrote. “It’s not. The images our society chooses to elevate are reflective of who we are, and more importantly, whose voices — and yes, even lives — matter.”

Now that Aunt Jemima has been retired, wrote Crystal Echo Hawk, what should be next? She argued that the many uses of Native American images and symbolism in sports must end. “Professional sports have the power to influence and inspire people of all ages. In this unprecedented moment of solidarity, t hey have the opportunity to take a strong stand and show — not just say — that racism will not be tolerated.”

Covid-19 is still here

America’s top two elected officials did their best this week to argue that Covid-19 is going away, despite clear signs to the contrary. “Other countries whose governments addressed the crisis forthrightly have managed to wrestle down the curve, and now they are carefully, safely reopening,” wrote Frida Ghitis. “In the US, the curve is trending up, not down, even if Vice President Mike Pence deceptively declared in an op-ed this week, ‘We are winning the fight against the invisible enemy,’ unctuously declaring that the good news is ‘a testament to the leadership of President Trump.'”

As Ghitis noted, “On Monday, during a roundtable discussion on senior citizens, Trump said ‘If you don’t test, you don’t have any cases,’ a belief reminiscent of a baby thinking you disappear if he covers his eyes. To state the obvious, if we stopped testing, people would continue to become infected and die.”

Don’t miss:

Kamala Harris: The fight continues to protect Americans’ health care from Trump.

Theodore J. Boutrous Jr.: Trump’s tweet exploits and defames toddlers

Vicky Ward: Telling the truth makes a huge difference

David Gergen and Caroline Cohen: The next Greatest Generation

Merrill Brown: Federal government abdicates duty to inform public on coronavirus

Claire McMullen, Yael Schacher and Ariana Sawyer: Trump’s cold-blooded move to shut out desperate asylum seekers

Jeff Yang: It turns out your favorite movie is racist. What now?

Nayyera Haq: Why Stacey Abrams deserves applause

AND…

At last, summer

A summer like no other begins this weekend. In the first of a new series of weekly columns for CNN Opinion, biologist Erin Bromage wrote, “Our choices over the coming months will determine the trajectory of this pandemic. If we continue to pursue activities that pose a high risk for infection, such as large indoor gatherings, then we will hear the roar of that second wave sooner than later.”

“If we take a more measured approach, by improving hand hygiene, limiting daily interactions with other people, maintaining physical distance and increasing face mask use when we can’t maintain the distance, then businesses can operate safely, people can return to work and the activities our children are missing can resume.”

But even in the midst of the pandemic, Bromage wrote that he’s looking forward to some traditional summer activities: “my first meal at a restaurant (dining outdoors), visiting with more than one or two households at a time, and spending time at the beach. These interactions will be a little different than last summer.

“We will have to keep personal risks and risk mitigation measures in mind, but these adjustments are well worth the payoff of getting to enjoy some of my family’s usual summertime activities.”

Donald Trump’s heartless week #web #website #copied #to read# #highlight #link #news #read #blog #wordpress post# #posts #breaking news# #Sinrau #Nothiah #Sinrau29

[roseymoseyberry]

Knocked Out (7/?)

Look, I know this took over twice as long to post as before, but it’s nearly twice as long a chapter as some of the shorter ones, so maybe that makes us even?

The truth is a) I’ve had a crazy couple of weeks, b) I have some commissions I’m also working on so i’m bouncing around from project to project, and c) I’m all caught up with it now, so there’s no buffer anymore. So from this point on, chapters will be posted when they’re finished. We only have a couple chapters or so left though, so that shouldn’t be too much trouble.

Thank you all so much for your support!! It definitely kept me going during the turbulent weeks I’ve had. And I hope you enjoy this new chapter and the conclusion of that cliffhanger I left y’all with.

Title: Knocked Out

Series: Transformers: Prime with the constructicons shoved right in there, and just a sprinkle of ideas pulled from tfidw

Pairing/Characters: Breakdown/Knockout, joined by Bulkhead and the Constructicons

Warnings: Robot injuries (nothing super gory), sexual jokes, language barriers, and fluff. Oh the fluff. Also slow burn I guess depending on your definition of slow haha.

Fic Summary:

And so there Breakdown found himself, with an injured barbarian in his arms who turned those dazzling crimson optics towards him, and for a split second Breakdown felt as if it was his knees that were injured because boy did they feel weak.

Barbarian AU where the citymech unwittingly does the kidnapping.

Chapter Summary:

“Though I’m afraid you won’t like what I want, citymech,” she continued, her stare icy. “You didn’t really think you could wipe out my mecha and set the newest additions to my tribe loose without consequence, did you?”

|Chapter 1|Chapter 2|Chapter 3|Chapter 4|Chapter 5|Chapter 6|Chapter 7|

Breakdown’s HUD burst with alarms and warnings as his back hit the ground, bouncing and scraping along it as the insecticon held tight to him, his massive frame forcing Breakdown down harder and crushing him with each bump. When they finally skidded to a stop Breakdown tried to move, arching up off the ground in a desperate bid to throw the beast off as his frame twisted, but the hold on his arms held, pinning them to his sides and him down against the ground.

The insecticon hissed as Breakdown shouted in its face and only struggled harder.

“Get off, you slagging pit-spawn!”

One clawed servo finally released, but only long enough to smash down on his face, muffling Breakdown’s pained yelp. His processor spun as bright lights seemed to flash before his optics, though one brighter than the other before going completely dark. The screeching alert that the lens had shattered was unnecessary when the burst of pain told Breakdown all he needed to know.

“You heard him!” Bulkhead roared from above followed by a ringing clang of his mace and the insecticon’s yowling. “Get off!”

The claws left Breakdown’s face and he forced his good optic to online to watch the insecticon backhand Bulkhead and send him skidding to the side. However, several of the constructicons were already behind the beast, cursing it as they grabbed it by whatever armor plates they could get a hold on and pulling.

The insecticon roared and its fangs snapped, and once there was enough room between its frame and Breakdown’s as it was yanked back, he pressed his free servo against its chest and shoved, desperate to get the monster off before it could get loose and try to sink those dentae into him. His pedes scrambled against the ground, trying to find leverage, but the insecticon’s weight was still too heavy against his lower half to even begin to push it off.

And then a grey and red pede slammed into the insecticon’s face, the red visor splintering. The beast’s hissing was overpowered by Knockout’s snarling as the barbarian grinded his braced pede back and forth across its face, his good leg no doubt powering the continued assault.

Finally, when Bulkhead got his footing, he swung his mace to pound down against the beast’s arm where it was still digging into Breakdown’s. Between that, Knockout’s pede, and the constructicons pulling with all their might at once, it was finally enough for the insecticon. It roared and gave a full body shake as it transformed, loosing itself from their holds as its wings beat quickly and lifted up and away from the assault.

Breakdown sucked in a deep ventilation as the immediate threat left and his crew descended on him with concern.

“You gonna live?” Bulkhead asked as he fell to his knees and braced Breakdown’s shoulders, his optics wide as he searched his frame. Most of the constructicons were still standing, their backs to the Breakdown as they surrounded him, engines rumbling protectively. Hook though was at Breakdown’s other side in a flash, his far keener visor scanning him.

“‘M fine, fine,” Breakdown slurred before rebooting his voicebox. Hook grabbed him by the chin and twisted him to look into his broken optic. “Everyone else–?”

“We’re all ok,” Scrapper said from just beyond Breakdown’s now limited vision, his voice too calm, the way it got in the middle of trouble.

“Breakdown?” Knockout asked fervently, his claws ripping Breakdown’s chin from Hook’s grip to tilt his helm back and look at him. The barbarian was kneeling as well as he could behind Breakdown, also zeroing in on his optic.

The barbarian’s own optics burned with outrage.

“He’ll survive,” Hook insisted as he pushed to his pedes. “We have other problems on our servos.”

Breakdown managed to look away from Knockout out past the crowd of legs around him and saw what he meant.

Out in the direction the insecticon had flown it now stood, looking scuffed and disgruntled but otherwise in fighting shape and standing next to yet another one. Both chittered as they were further surrounded by a good couple dozen of the tall gun-totting barbarians that had held Knockout captive. They were spread out, trapping the crew against the cliffside with their weapons aimed.

“Scrapper?” Bonecrusher growled, his engine the loudest of the constructicons, raring for a fight.

“Not yet.” Scrapper moved past Breakdown and took his place in the center of the line of constructicons separating Breakdown and the squad of barbarians. “If they haven’t fired yet, that means they want something, so we should wait and see what it is.”

“Good to know at least one of you has a functioning processor.”

The pair of insecticons parted to reveal a small and slim mech who was no doubt the source of the mocking voice. Several unusual looking appendages curved around her from her back, thin and jointed as they framed her as she walked. Normally she wouldn’t have even registered as a threat to Breakdown, not with how small and frail she looked, but the way the insecticons stared at her with complete obedience as she casually stroked the injured one on the helm sent a shudder down his spine.

“Though I’m afraid you won’t like what I want, citymech,” she continued, her stare icy. “You didn’t really think you could wipe out my mecha and set the newest additions to my tribe loose without consequence, did you?”

Knockout’s gaze was fixed on the mech, his armor flaring as he muttered, so quietly it was nearly just an ex-vent, “Airachnid.” It didn’t sound much like Knockout’s language, and considering they were the same kind of barbarians as before, perhaps Knockout knew this mech by name.

However, Breakdown didn’t get to ask before Scrapper opened his servo and as subtly as he could signaled for them to stay quiet while the constructicons at his sides sidled closer, further obstructing Breakdown’s view of this Airachnid.

Or, more likely, obstructing her view of Knockout if she hadn’t noticed him yet.

“Guns and you speak common? Awfully advanced for barbarians, aren’t you?” Scrapper said, ignoring for the moment the obvious threat.

Her laugh was chilling.

“Citymecha are all the same, so sure that you have everything figured out and that you can talk your way out of anything.” Airachnid’s pedes clacked on the ground as she took a handful of steps closer, and through the gap between Bonecrusher’s knees, Breakdown could see the cruel smirk on her face. “Your weapons are worth learning common to barter for, but that’s about it. Your lives are worthless to me, and you’ve caused me and my tribe nothing but pain and inconvenience.” She made a clicking sound all too similar to the insecticons’ chittering, and they rustled behind her with excitement. “And really, do you have any idea how hard it is to catch a Velocitron?”

Knockout’s optics flared, still enraged, but his frame pressed flush against Breakdown’s side, his armor clamped in tight.

“We took out your mecha with just three of ours,” Scrapper said, “so I would strongly suggest you back off before we cause you any more inconvenience.”

“Can you run for it with him?” Bulkhead asked quietly.

“I’ll manage.” Knockout glanced at the two of them, but wisely stayed quiet as Breakdown wrapped an arm around him. White hot pain shot up the limb with the movement, his armor pierced where the claws had been and Breakdown could feel some energon dripping into his struts and components. But it could move, and a frame diagnosis told him his frame was battered but functional. Breakdown could hold his own if he had to stay in the fight, so he certainly could try to carry Knockout off and away.

“Is that a threat? How cute,” the tribe leader taunted. Her pedes clacked again, coming even closer. Knockout shivered, tilting his helm up so his mouth was right beside Breakdown’s audial.

“Drive fast?” he asked so, so quietly, and Breakdown nodded.

“When I say.”

“I’ll give you credit for your confidence though. You don’t look at all frightened.” And closer still Airachnid came.

“Because we’re not,” Scrapper insisted, unmoving as the barbarian strolled closer. “I know my mecha, and I know what we’re capable of. And attacking one of us?” The constructicons’s engines all growled in unison. “That’s only gonna make it worse for you and yours.”

“Fascinating, considering I can say the same for my tribe.” And finally she came to a stop. “But I will also say that you surprise me, citymech. Perhaps we can come to a compromise and leave this whole mess behind us. You continue on your way to your precious city while I leave with what I want.”

“And what’s that?”

Airachnid was close enough now that Breakdown could clearly make out the exact curl of her lips. It was only the ever so slight tilt of her helm that tipped him off that her gaze had shifted from Scrapper.

And when she spoke, it was no longer in common. While slightly halting, there was no mistaking it for anything but the same language as Knockout’s.

He tried to press closer to Breakdown to no avail as the barbarian was already plastered to his side, but otherwise Knockout’s face shifted into something too casual, confident in the face of the fear that Breakdown knew he was feeling.

Scrapper interrupted almost immediately, saying, “You can stop right there, because there’s no way–”

The tribe leader lifted a servo to silence him as she said over him, “Now, now, I’m being polite. It only seems fair your little captive know what’s happening, don’t you think?”

Scrapper’s engine howled in his chassis.

“He’s not a captive,” Breakdown found himself growling, ignoring the way that Scrapper shot him a look that screamed stop. “We’re not savages like you slaggers!”

She grinned with far too many dentae.

“Oh? Then you should have no problem letting me at least explain so that he might have a choice in the matter.”

Breakdown’s mouth was a tight line as his spark clenched in his chest.

But that was when Knockout spoke up, sounding confident as he did. When Breakdown tried to interrupt, he waved him off, saying, “It’s fine” before returning to his language.

Even as his other servo tightened around Breakdown’s just beyond her view.

Were it not for the circumstances, Breakdown might have thought they were just having a polite conversation. Neither sounded upset as the tribe leader questioned him, and Knockout easily explained, his free servo gesturing at Breakdown first, and then eventually around at the rest. There may have been a slyness to Knockout’s tone though when Airachnid repeated one of his words questioningly – “Barithi?” – looking surprised, and Knockout smirked he repeated it himself and patted Breakdown on the chest.

The tribe leader looked put off as her optics now focused on Breakdown, appraising him, and he couldn’t help glancing at Knockout, desperately wishing he knew what they were talking about.

The next words out of Airachnid’s mouth stole the amusement from Knockout’s face. His frame went still as his ventilations caught. His grip on Breakdown’s servo was painfully tight.

“Hey, what did you say to him?” Bulkhead snapped from beside Breakdown, shifting on his knees to close in on Knockout’s other side, protective. If they weren’t in a high tension situation, Breakdown was sure that Scrapper would chew him and Bulkhead out for not keeping their mouths shut.

“As I said before, just explaining the situation,” the tribe leader insisted pleasantly. “That if he agrees to come with me, I can promise he’ll be unharmed and well fed, and you will all go on your way.” Airachnid’s smirk split her face in two. “If he should choose to resist, then he will still end up a part of my tribe after watching his precious citymech and friends offlined before his very optics.”

Breakdown’s spark erupted with outrage as he pushed up to his pedes, ignoring his frame’s and Knockout’s protests. “He’s not going anywhere!” he shouted, his servo holding Knockout’s tight while the other shifted to his trusted hammer. At Knockout’s other side Bulkhead had done more of less the same, though he stepped up between Knockout and the opposing barbarians.

Airachnid frowned, her armor flaring as she shifted her gaze to Scrapper. “If he’s not your captive then should you not give him the choice?”

Then, of all things, the constructicons started to snicker amongst themselves.

“If you had given him an honest choice, maybe,” Scrapper started, and he took a step forward this time, moving into the tribe leader’s space. The insecticons were hissing now and the barbarians shuffled, the sound of guns being cocked and readied audible. Airachnid didn’t step back, but her plating had snapped down defensively.

Knockout tugged at Breakdown’s servo, whispering, “Don’t. Airachnid hurt you.”

“Don’t worry, Knockout,” Breakdown reassured with a squeeze. “Trust me.”

“Knockout here doesn’t know what we’re capable of,” Scrapper continued, unperturbed, servos on his hips, “so he might actually believe you can defeat us, which just isn’t true.”

Airachnid sneered as she spat back, “Do you really think your band of oversized oafs stands a chance?”

“You’re the one putting off the fight, aren’t you?”

That had the constructicons chuckling again, though now it was almost completely synched up – instead of their usual cacophony, it sounded like a chilling reverberation of a single mech’s dismissive laugh.

With an enraged hiss, Airachnid flipped backwards, her frame shifting until she was held aloft by the spindly legs formed by the appendages at her back. As she scuttled backward, she spoke to her tribe in rapid clicks and whistles, and they all readied themselves. However, they did not dare attack before their leader was clear of the space between.

Which provided the constructicons with plenty of time.

Without another word, Mixmaster stepped up next to Scrapper and they both shifted at once, plating and components twisting and turning in perfect mirrored synchronization. Before they had even finished, Long Haul stepped up next and leapt forward, his frame transforming midair and pulling the other transformed constructions towards him until they clicked and folded into place. Bonecrusher and Scavenger had meanwhile moved to either side of Hook, bracing his pedes on their servos before lifting and tossing him up. A somersault became a writhing ball of plating and struts as his frame connected with Long Haul’s. Below that, two legs were nearly fully formed, and the two above were quickly forming a torso. Scavenger and Bonecrusher ran at the form, up onto the backs of the legs and then pushing off before they too transformed, attracted like magnets to the sides of the now fully formed torso.

It only took a few more seconds for the gestalt to settle and his helm to rise up from his torso.

The barbarians as a whole stumbled back as they were faced with the titan, towering over them even still on his knees and slamming his fist to the ground between them, completely obstructing Breakdown’s view of the enemy and vice versa.

“Nothing defeats the Devastator!” the gestalt roared triumphantly, a deep rumbling voice that didn’t belong to any of the individual constructicons. Gunfire sounded soon after and shrill screeching of insecticons followed, but with a single swipe of his massive servo, Devastator sent one of the insecticons spinning away and the second one quickly flew away from his grasp. The second swipe was low, knocking barbarians over like they were mere sparklings. “Nothing!”

Knockout clung to Breakdown for dear life, his optics impossibly wide and his engine whining pitifully. Breakdown hushed him, entangling their digits as he said, “It’s ok, Knockout, it’s ok! Devastator’s on our side.”

“And having all the fun,” Bulkhead added, though he was still braced, and Breakdown kept his hammer ready as well. If the barbarians were persistent, some of them could slip past Devastator and cause havoc.

Above the roaring of Devastator’s ginormous engine, Airachnid could be heard shouting orders. While they were scattered and erratic, gunshots still sounded off, and Devastator was still a mech even with his large size – the bullets would comparatively do less damage, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t start to build up.

Though doing more damage to the titan only made him angrier.

Devastator growled, the sound nearly shaking the ground, as he said, “Leave Devastator’s mecha alone!” He raised a fist before hunching his shoulders as he slammed it down, and while Breakdown couldn’t see it from his view, he could hear the resounding crunch and squeal of metal frames under Devastator’s unyielding smash. The previously silent barbarians were shouting now, terrified and pleading, perhaps with their leader.

Knockout trembled against Breakdown’s side no matter how tightly he held him.

The barbarians were scattering though, escaping Devastator’s reach, and while some buckled down to continue firing, others were scrambling across the wilderness to safety. Breakdown could feel his frame start to ease as he watched them retreat, sure that the rest would soon follow. The insecticons still buzzed around Devastator’s helm as well, though they gave him a wide berth when he finally got to his pedes and stood at his full height.

And alright, Breakdown couldn’t blame Knockout for trying to slip behind him, optics wide and frightened. Devastator had scared Breakdown scrapless the first time the constructicons had formed him around Breakdown, and that had been after knowing the constructicons for a couple of years. To watch mecha that he had only started to trust form a towering titan that was likely taller than anything Knockout had ever seen?

That was terrifying.

But Breakdown kept Knockout’s servo in his and he insisted, “Knockout, it’s alright. Devastator is our friend. He’s safe.”

“Safe?” Knockout hissed incredulously as he watched Devastator finally get one of the insecticons in his servos and—

Oh.

Breakdown winced as the gestalt crushed the insecticon into a ball of scrap with his powerful servos, seemingly unperturbed as the creature’s howling shriek was cut short, and let it drop to the ground.

The ball didn’t so much as twitch.

“He’s safe for us at least.”

Knockout opened his mouth to protest, optics trained on the empty shell of an insecticon that was offlined like it was nothing.

But the shrill shriek of a drill heralded the burst of motion from the ground behind Devastator, the drill shape gracefully shifting into Airachnid, her frame compact while her spindly legs kept her aloft. Her face was twisted with rage and her legs were quick as she came upon them.

“Bulk–!”

“On it!” Bulkhead replied as he started into a sprint at the barbarian, his mace raised, making sure his bulky frame stayed between Airachnid and her target. “Get outta here!”

“But–!”

“Go!”

Breakdown grit his dentae as his processor warred with itself. Bulkhead could handle himself, and there was nothing to really worry about with Devastator right there. Knockout was injured and a target for whatever twisted reason. He had to get his barbarian out of there.

But it felt wrong to leave his crew.

“Breakdown?” Knockout asked, pulling at his servo, pulling him away from the fight. Bulkhead had met Airachnid now, swinging at her once, twice, and three times as she nimbly dodged each one. She tried to move around him, her optics bright even across the distance as she spotted the two of them, and it was only Bulkhead’s servo grabbing one of her legs and yanking it out from under her that kept her from sprinting for them.

“Go already!”

With a grunted curse, Breakdown turned go pick Knockout up and toss him just high enough that he had room to transform. The process was painful as his injuries were pulled and twisted with the transformation, but nevertheless he settled on his four wheels and Knockout was sprawled across his roof. His tires spun as Breakdown ordered, “Hold on!” and started to drive. He had to follow along the cliffside to escape the fight, so with Knockout’s claws hooked around his ledge, he headed away from Bulkhead and followed the sheer metal.

Until one of his back tires suddenly stopped spinning, covered with some sticky substance that was gunking up his mechanisms. Breakdown’s frame swerved towards the wall, and it was only with a screech of his breaks that he kept from slamming into the metal.

“Breakdown?!”

“Hold on, hold on, something’s wrong–!”

Panicked, his visual sensors tried to search out just what had happened.

A little ways off Bulkhead was on the ground, though his frame was covered with some sort of white-ish ropes that he struggled against. Maybe the same stuff that Breakdown could feel caking his wheel?

The thought came and went as he spotted Airachnid sprinting towards him, mere seconds separating them. It was out of desperation and a quick prayer that Breakdown transformed back to his root mode. The mess was still caught up around his tire, but it was focused enough that while unable to spin so much as an inch, it didn’t impede with transforming or leg movements.

Knockout landed on the ground behind him with a clatter and a yelp, and that’s all that Breakdown noticed before his focus was solely on Airachnid’s hissing frame as she lifted her servo towards him. It was subtly transforming and for a moment Breakdown feared it might be a warframe upgrade—

Instead of any bullet or blast, however, Breakdown just found the hammer he had raised pushed back against his chest from the force of a thick, ropey substance hitting it and wrapping around his torso. It only took one try to move his arm to find it was stuck in place before another blast hit the other side of his chest, enough of the webbing going around the side of his other arm that it was stuck in place too.

“Out of my way!” Airachnid growled as Breakdown pulled at the sticky restraints, trying to keep his frame positioned between her and Knockout. “I came for that Velocitron and I will leave with him!”

“Get melted!” When Airachnid didn’t so much as react and no amount of pulling at the constraints helped, Breakdown grit his dentae before opening his mouth, ready to shout for Devastator’s help—

Only to end up with a mouthful of webbing followed shortly by a sharp claw pressed between neck plates and against an energon line.

Airachnid stilled though as Knockout shouted. It was in his own language, but it was clear he was all but pleading that she stop her servo, and once she did he managed to scramble to his pedes. An attempt at cool confidence was back, but Knockout’s voice wavered and the servo that Knockout laid on Breakdown’s back trembled as he stayed just behind Breakdown.

Where before Airachnid had kept a strut-chilling calm to her tone, now she bared her dentae at Knockout as she spat out a command. There was no room for debate.

Breakdown gave another yank with his arms and ignored the sharp prick of Airachnid’s claw. He had to get out, he had to get free, he had to keep his promise–!

“Stay here.”

Breakdown couldn’t see Knockout since he was on the same side as Breakdown’s broken optic, but he could feel Knockout stepping forward so he was next to him now. Airachnid was focused on him as Knockout returned to his language, asking a question.

With a hiss and a warning, the tribal leader retracted her claw, though she also shoved Breakdown back with one of her legs. He stumbled, nearly tripping as he was completely unbalanced with his arms glued to his frame, but managed to stay upright. Not that it mattered for long as one last blast of webbing hit Breakdown, covering his torso and spreading past it to stick to the wall, trapping him in place against it.

Breakdown’s spark raced as he took in the sight of Knockout standing in front of Airachnid all on his own, weight balanced on his good leg while bits of his injury had come loose and dangled, further emphasizing Knockout’s handicap. Breakdown felt as if he was burning up with rage and fear as he jerked and strained in his bondage. His shouting was muffled by the webbing wedged in his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from flinging curses and protests. If Knockout gave himself up here and now, there would be no way to find him and free him from whatever fate awaited him with Airachnid’s tribe. Breakdown didn’t know the first thing about the wildlands beyond what he needed to travel from city to city. Tracking barbarians would be an impossible task.

But he couldn’t let Knockout go. Not like this!

Airachnid reached out a servo to Knockout and Breakdown’s spark stopped cold.

Knockout’s servo flexed at his side, as if considering it, and finally glanced over his shoulder at Breakdown. His optics were pale and blown wide as they searched Breakdown’s frame, no doubt noting the broken optic, the pierced armor on his arms, the scrapes and dents, all taken because of him–

It was also clear as day that Knockout didn’t want to go.

Breakdown jerked hard, his pedes bracing against the wall to try to push away from it, to break through the webbing, anything to keep fighting.

‘Stay here’ was muffled by the sticky gag of sorts, and Breakdown could only hope that every inch of his frame conveyed it for him as webbing creaked and started to tear from his strain against it.

‘Stay here!’

Knockout’s optics flared and the tight line of his mouth nearly twitched up. His servo curled into a fist and, without further warning, he threw his helm back and shouted.

“Constructicons! Help!”

Airachnid’s face twisted with puzzlement, but her patience had reached its end as she reached out to grab Knockout. He yanked his arm away, stumbling backwards awkwardly on his injured leg as he growled at her, which was only met with a louder one as Airachnid lifted her servo, palm out towards him.

Until Bulkhead’s full frame barreled into her from behind. His arms were still bound to his sides and his mouth covered like Breakdown’s, but there was no muffling his victorious crow as the barbarian crumpled under him, hissing and clawing as she was trapped under his bulk.

Airachnid went completely still through when Devastator roared and the ground shook as he took a step towards them. The second insecticon was still online and dived at his face, and the few barbarians from her tribe that remained were shouting and firing off their weapons, but the titan ignored them all as his focus was on the tribal leader.

“Leave him alone!” Devastator snarled, slapping the insecticon away to crash against the metal wall and tumble down towards the ground. The gestalt reached his servo down to pick Knockout up, ignoring how the barbarian started to panic in his grip, servos scrambling against digits as large as his arm to find purchase and dig his claws in. “Knockout is our mech! Knockout belongs with us!”

While Knockout looked terrified, Breakdown felt a rush of relief at the sight. No force on Cybertron was going to reach him while in Devastator’s hold.

And Airachnid must have figured out as such. “You’ll regret the day you crossed me, citymecha,” she spat before her frame transformed under Bulkhead. It was hard to see, but Breakdown knew the sound of that drill now as Airachnid disappeared into the ground, leaving Bulkhead to roll onto his back with a heavy ex-vent.

With their leader went the rest of the tribe, blending into the darkness and away to whatever pit they came from. The remaining insecticons roared its displeasure, its flight crooked from injuries, but it followed nonetheless.

All that could be heard were Devastator’s massive engines and Knockout’s complaints – “Down! I want down!” – and with a glance Breakdown watched as Bulkhead struggled to his pedes, looking up at him and winking, no doubt with a huge smile hidden by the webbing.

And finally, Breakdown could feel his frame relax while his spark ebbed with gratitude and affection for his mecha.

It took a while to get free since Devastator refused to let go of Knockout, insisting on keeping him cradled in one arm despite the barbarian’s protests.

“Bad barbarian in the ground,” he reasoned to the best of his abilities, shifting Knockout so he was settled on the crook of his arm instead of tightly in his grip. Knockout’s servos hooked into the edges of his chest plating tightly as he did. “Knockout safe here.”

Even from the distance, Breakdown could swear he heard the barbarian grumble at that, but he accepted the logic.

However, that left Devastator with only one servo to pull the sticky webbing off of Bulkhead. It was almost amusing to watch Bulkhead struggling against the large servo, pulling away from the grasp on the webbing to slowly rip the bondage apart strand by strand. Once enough of it gave way, Bulkhead managed to burst out, ex-venting with relief as he rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms.

Breakdown definitely laughed into the webbing as he watched Bulkhead pull at the gunk stuck on his face, shouting “Frag!” when it finally ripped away, possibly with a layer of paint lost with it.

Amusement quickly evaporated though when it was his turn to be ripped off the wall.

While Breakdown had weakened some of the bonds with his earlier struggles, the fact remained that he was caked with multiple layers of the slag. Most of it was ripped off by Devastator, since at least in his position it was easier for the gestalt to do one-servoed, but once he was off the wall, he was simply too exhausted to yank himself away the way Bulkhead had to get himself released. Thankfully, Bulkhead took over at that point, shooing Devastator’s servo away and just ripping the webbing strand by strand himself.

That didn’t stop the titan from getting antsy though.

“We need to leave,” Devastator insisted. No further explanation was forthcoming, but neither Bulkhead nor Breakdown expected one. The constructicons had long explained that as Devastator, he was limited in terms of logic and speech – everything had to be thought by all of them to become part of Devastator’s cognition, and for all that the constructicons were attached at the hip, the fact remained that they were separate mecha the vast majority of their lives. Mixmaster liked to theorize that if they stayed together long enough, stayed melded together for days and weeks and years instead of hours, that Devastator could become a fully-functioning mech. But there was simply no place for him in the cities, so his components stayed separate and his existence was a rare and simple-minded occurrence.

The reasons they needed to leave were too numerous for six minds to agree on, so all Devastator knew was they had to leave.

And he wasn’t wrong.

The longer they stayed, the more time that Airachnid and her tribe had to regroup, mend themselves, and potentially continue tracking them for another sneak attack now that they knew more about the enemies they faced.

There was no way they would be able to recharge that night.

“I know, I know,” Bulkhead said reassuringly as he ripped another strand. “We’ll start moving soon. But Breakdown can’t transform and drive like this, so you’ll have to wait.”

Devastator’s engine grumbled but he relented.

Knockout, however, from his perch on the titan patted the thick armor and asked, “Breakdown up with Knockout?”

Breakdown chewed on the webbing between his dentae because he could not wait to be heard again, because that was absolutely unnecessary. He was exhausted, certainly, but he could carry his own weight—

“Yes!” Devastator replied, sounding nearly gleeful about it, and before Breakdown could try to move out of the way, a large servo was wrapped around his middle. Breakdown’s protest was muffled, though loud enough for Bulkhead to hear and snicker at as Breakdown was lifted away from the ground. “Good idea.”

Once lifted to Knockout’s level, Breakdown shot him a look, expecting the barbarian to be pleased with himself.

Which, to be fair, he did look that way.

But the moment that Breakdown was settled into the crook of Devastator’s elbow, Knockout carefully climbed towards him, servos latched onto Devastator’s chest plating and kibble and moving his frame until he could flop onto Breakdown’s front. Breakdown grunted but otherwise just watched as Knockout’s self-assured expression slipped away while his clawed servos immediately got to work cutting him free.

“Bulkhead need up?” Devastator asked, his chest vibrating where Breakdown was against it. They had to look ridiculous up here, cradled like newly forged sparklings, but there was something soothing about it nonetheless.

That may have also been the exhaustion and energon loss talking though.

“I’m good, big guy. I’ll keep an optic on the ground while you lead the way.”

With a rumble of agreement Devastator turned and, keeping his arms and servos under Knockout and Breakdown to keep them stable, headed down the road they would have hit the next morning. It wasn’t what Breakdown would have called a smooth ride but it was certainly faster than their usual slow crawl in vehicle mode – most likely the gestalt could calm down in a couple hours and they would make camp again, far enough away that they could rest easier.

A couple more swipes of Knockout’s pointed digits finally freed Breakdown’s arms from being stuck to his torso. The webbing still covered him, but it had dried so it wasn’t re-sticking, and Breakdown hoped that solvent or water would eventually wash the substance off. Considering the bits of it that were in his mouth had been slowly melting where it met his oral lubricant it seemed like a fair guess. There was a small river by Praxis that they could stop by before entering the city proper—

Breakdown’s thoughts stopped dead when Knockout reached for his face, his servo trembling as he traced around Breakdown’s shattered optic.

There was no haughtiness, no outrage. Instead the light of his optics wavered while the ridges above were tightly knitted, and the corners of his tightly pressed lips twitched. Breakdown couldn’t pinpoint if it was concern, guilt, relief, gratitude – and wondered if Knockout even knew what he was feeling.

Whatever it was though, it was strong, and it made Breakdown’s spark ache to see.

Breakdown reached towards the webbing on his face and gritted his dentae as he grabbed and ripped it off. Pain receptors fired off in shrieking protest and yes, oh yes, there was definitely a layer of paint that went with it. Breakdown managed to bite back his curse though, if just because Knockout’s optics went wide.

“It’s alright,” Breakdown managed, his servos grasping at Knockout’s wrists, not pulling them away from Breakdown’s face, but rather attempting to comfort him. “I’m alright. See? Totally alright.”

Knockout’s face crumpled though, the servo by Breakdown’s optic cupping the side of his face, thumb brushing the angle of his cheek.

“Not alright.”

“Yes alright,” Breakdown insisted, his lips curling into a warm smile. “I’m online, aren’t I? Between you and Hook, I’ll be good as new before you know it.”

Knockout still frowned as he grumbled, “Menace.”

Breakdown’s frame ached strut-deep, and his HUD read-outs were making it crystal clear that he’d need a whole new optic to replace the shattered one, and Primus was he exhausted.

But his spark warmed anyway.

“I’m gonna guess that the word you’re actually looking for is ‘idiot.’ Would be true too. I’ve never been the brightest mech.”

Knockout’s servo against his chest fisted as his expression twisted, and with no little confusion he asked, “Why?”

“Just how I was forged I guess–”

“Why?” Knockout interrupted, almost irritated sounding, and his optics were wavering again as he stared down at Breakdown. “Airachnid want me, hurt you, hurt tribe, but—but you—why?”

Breakdown’s servo was large enough to cover Knockout’s where it laid on his face, squeezing gently as he replied, “I told you from the start, didn’t I? Nothing bad is gonna happen to you. I’m gonna keep you safe.”

The fist against Breakdown’s chest relaxed, slowly and surely, before lying flat above where his spark pulsed softly.

“And tribe?”

“You mean the crew? Not quite the same deal, but yeah. You’re practically part of the crew at this point, so as long as you want to be, you’re one of us. Like uh—well, sure, kind of like being part of a tribe, I guess. We protect our own, and that includes you.”

“Devastator protect Knockout,” Devastator agreed suddenly, frame rumbling. “Knockout our mech now.”

“I’ll second that!” Bulkhead shouted from below, his engine revving loudly as he drove ahead of Devastator just enough to be seen.

While the gestalt had startled Knockout, it came and went, and his frame relaxed nearly fully for the first time since the whole mess had begun.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it,” Breakdown replied warmly. “But if you really want to make it up to me, I could probably use some fixing right now.”

And, finally, Knockout looked like himself as he straightened, confident determination written across every line of his face.

“You protect, I fix.”

“Sounds good to me,” Breakdown said, letting Knockout turn his helm to the side and up to feel for the energon line in his neck. The ride in Devastator’s arms wouldn’t be stable enough to get anything done beyond first aid, but that was all he really needed at the moment. The optic would need to just be patched up and ignored until they hit Praxis and Hook scrounged up a replacement, and the rest could be easily mended and buffed out to let his repair systems finish the job.

Devastator’s engine purred as softly as a titan’s could as he commented, “You two cute.”

Knockout’s audial had been pressed to Breakdown’s chest, and he smirked as Breakdown’s face twisted with embarrassment, optic ridges quirked when Breakdown’s spark skipped.

He wasn’t sure if it was lucky or not that Knockout wouldn’t be able to hear the aching desire that each pulse of his spark echoed in Breakdown’s processor.

Stay here.

[melchixr]

You’re the One That I Want (PT. 1 (maybe))

Anon Said:  Yooooo can you write a grease au for hernst with ernst as sandy and hanschen as danny i will love you forever

So i didn’t QUITE do a grease au but it was highly inspired by grease and I love it! I really wanna write more and more which will hopefully be posted sooner or later. 

Words: 2081

“Oh no it’s completely different,” Ernst explained as he walked down the halls of the main building. He looked over at the shorter boy who had given him the tour around yesterday and decided to meet him at the entrance of the school today. “But I mean….yesterday wasn’t all that bad so I think it’ll be fine.”

Moritz nodded, snapping the large pink bubble he had blown. “I get it, Ernie. Must be rough moving to a new school.”

“Well, at least everyone else is starting off a new school year too!” Ernst cooed before taking a quick right turn and  opening up his bright blue locker. “I actually really like my classes. Mrs. Johnson is really funn-”

The sharp sound of a locker a few feet away slamming closed collected both boys attention. They looked over their shoulders to see, from across the hall, two boys grappling at each other and laughing loudly. A boy with a shock of bright blond hair had another boy in a headlock, tugging and ruffling the boy’s well groomed, put together brunette hair. They both yelled and hooted as many students looked on.

“Oh my gosh!” Ernst cried out, eyes glued to the two teenagers. “Is anyone gonna stop them.”

“Oh don’t bother!” The short haired girl standing next to  them sighed. Ernst looked over his shoulder to see the slim, pale girl with a head of pretty red curls.  “They’re like this every day. No need to get too worked up.”

The blond boy tossed the brunette aside, his hair sticking out at all angles now. He laughed and laughed, fixing his own immaculate hair and the collar to his leather jacket. The other boy stumbled to his feet and tried to fix himself as the hall started to move around them again and things went back to normal. Ernst didn’t take his eyes off of them, specifically the tiny smirk on the blond boys face as he took of running down the hall with the other chasing after him. They disappeared around the corner, almost knocking over some kids hanging up a Chess Club poster as they moved.

“I’m Ilse,” The girl’s voice and outreached hand shook Ernst from his thoughts on the boy and tugged him back to the real world.

“Oh...yeah….I’m uh…Ernst…”

“You’re new right?” Ilse asked, shaking Ernst’s hand with a raised, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. When Ernst replied with a timid nod, she went on. “The best of luck to yeah. This place is a  living hell. Don’t let any of it get to you.”

Ernst simply nodded again, eyes moving to where he last saw the two boys booking down the hall. “So uh...who was that?”

“I just told you that. But you were too busy drooling over ‘em,” Ilse chuckled before nodding. “But I’ll repeat myself, they’re Melchior Gabor and Hanschen Rilow.”

“Which one’s which?”

“Melchi is the hot on and Hanschen is the blond.” Ernst nodded to himself as Ilse continued on and the three began to walk down the hall once more. “They’re trash, Ernst. They slum around town with their loud friends in their hot cars and act like they can get any girl they want.”

Moritz scoffed, “And they very well could.”

Ilse laughed to herself, tossing her thin jacket over her shoulder. Only a moment later, the bell rang and most of the people in the halls began to skitter in and out and around to get to their classes. “Oh, I gotta go to Physics. See you both around!”

As Ilse slinked away, confidence exuding from her as she moved. After Moritz reminded Ernst in which direction the art classroom was, he also ushered away down to English.

Ernst’s only problem at his old school was he was chronically late almost every morning. He desperately wanted to change it by charging down the hall as fast as possible without looking like a freak.

That was when he rounded the corner and found himself falling straight on his face after tripping over something in the way.

As he hit the ground he felt the thin metal holding together his glasses break and felt his morning become ruined. His arm hurt like a bitch, caught underneath him as well as his chest which was now pressed to the hard, cold floor.

After letting out a soft groan of pain, he heard a voice standing above him mutter. “Oh shit…” Ernst rolled over onto his back in the now almost empty hallway to see a blur of black, white, and golden yellow. The voice was a boy’s, deep and slow and concentrated. “Oh your glasses broke.”

“Yeah, what’s the big idea!” Ernst gasped as he sat up, dusting off his light yellow sweater. “Geez….You’re gonna make me late to class now.”

Suddenly, an extended hand entered Ernst’s focused view. “Oh, God, man. I’m so sorry! I didn’t think you would fall.”

Ernst took the strange hand and felt himself be pulled but with ease by the other boy. “Well what did you think would happen?”

Now that the boy was closer, (and a few inches shorter than him) Ernst could now see it was Hanschen, the boy Ilse told him about. He wondered why he had stopped chasing his friend to wait around the corner for someone to trip.  And he was successful, that was obvious as Hanschen picked up a piece of snapped wire with a shattered glass lens.

“Oh….whoa….it’s really broken…” Hanschen muttered under his breath before looking up a Ernst, who glared back at him. “I’m so sorry.”

Ernst took the cracked glass and stuffed it into the pocket of his pants. “Thanks a lot,” He sighed as he rushed away, the last bell going off as he went.

---

Upbeat, swaying, rock music played as Hanschen entered, properly flanked on either side by Melchi, Otto, and Georg. All of which laughed and joked to one another. Instead of joining their jokes, he looked around the cramped diner with the sort of light blue aura. The sun had already gone down so the room was lit by neon and fluorescent light. People, mostly teenagers, grouped around tables and booths.

“Whaddya looking at, Hansi?” Otto snickered, trying to track Hanschen’s icy gaze. It lead him to a corner booth with a group of teens sitting around and enjoying shakes. They wore pastel sweaters and skirts, smiling to one another, probably talking over their week and sharing a basket of fries. “Who are they?”

Hanschen shrugged, his eyes locked on the brunette boy with taped together glasses and sipping his strawberry shake. “No one.”

“Oh look, Max is already here!” Melchior cut in before Otto could ask more. He pointed to the ginger boy sitting at a table with a handful of girls already around him. He took the lead on going to the table, shouting a greeting out to Max who smirked back.  They left Hanschen standing in the entrance, cold blue eyes trailing around the room and always landing on the corner booth.

There was a sort of shine in the boy’s green eyes. Something that read joy and carefree and made Hanschen’s heart feel like it was beating ten times faster. He laughed at something Ilse Neumann, who sat across from him, and the light, happy noise floated through the air.

Before he knew it, Hanschen was walking over to the booth, causing the conversation there to die out as all of them looked up at the blond boy. Ernst, who sat on the end of the vinyl seat took a final long sip of his shake and looked up from over the top of his glasses. “Oh,” He broke the silence with a sigh. “Can we help you?”

Hanschen looked over the small group of people he sorta knew. None of them seemed to be in the same social circle as Hanschen. Moritz Stiefel he recognized from lighting his hair on fire in freshman biology. Ilse he recognized from seeing her and her girl gang roam the drive-in. The other two, Martha and Wendla, were both part of her little pack. And they all seemed to half know Hanschen in the same way. So they didn’t speak.

But Ernst did.

“Nah, no one can, pal,” Hanschen replied with a sneer. Everyone at the table seemed unphased, except Ernst. He stared up at Hanschen in shock. This boy smirking down at him was nothing like the boy who was fumbling with his glasses a few days ago. “You free for a minute?”

Ernst looked over his shoulder to Moritz, who looked like he was about to open his mouth and tell Hanschen to fuck himself. Before he could, Ernst stood. “I guess.”

The shorter boy nodded, leading the other across the diner and out into the parking lot as Ernst cast a sad look over to his friends and Hanschen’s friends called to him asking why he’s leaving.

The parking lot was empty besides a few kids sitting in their car smoking a joint and two girls gossiping about them about four cars away. The night was warm, September breeze flowing through Ernst’s gentle waves. Hanschen decided to stop a few feet from the door and pull a cigarette from the inside pocket of his well fitting black leather jacket.

His silent companion looked on as Hanschen searched his pockets desperately for a lighter he seemed to misplace. For a moment, he looked over to Ernst with the stick of nicotine still between his teeth. “Hey, you got a light?” There was a second pause before he answered the question for himself. “Oh, no, of course you don’t.”

Ernst scoffed. “Who says I don’t?”

“Do you?” Hanschen said with a raised eyebrow before Ernst shook his head in a defeated way. “That’s what I thought….” The blond rolled his eyes and searched his pockets a bit longer before giving up and keeping the unlit cigarette in his, mouth. “Anyway, I don’t think I ever caught your name.”

“Ernst Robel, I’m new,” He spoke, still surprised at the drastic difference from the flustered and stressed boy he sort of met  in the hallway.

“Again, that’s what I thought,” As he spoke, he held out a hand to Ernst. “I’m Hanschen by the way-”

Ernst chuckled, sticking his hand out to push Hanschen’s aside. He noticed the light purple bruises on his knuckles. “I know who you are. You were running around the halls on Tuesday and knocked over the lower field parking lot with your car this morning. Besides every other girl has a crush on you or your friends.”

“Or boy,” Hanschen added with a chuckle. When Ernst looked at him to tell if he was joking, he just shrugged. It was as if Hanschen expected Ernst to be shocked or offended. But instead, Ernst shoved his hand into his front pocket, eyes case to the ground, and pulled out a slim silver zippo lighter.

“My big brother smokes. Here.”

Hanschen took the lighter, snapping the fire to life for a few moments before taking a long drag of the cigarette. “Thanks, Ernie.”

Ernst’s eyes sprung back to life, skirting from the cigarette between his fingers to his big, cold eyes. His bright pink lips were twisted up into an almost permanent grin. “What did you just uh….” He nervously pushed his glasses higher onto his nose. “What did you just call me?”

“Ernie,” He replied happily and began to saunter to his Cadillac. “Care to go for a joyride?”

Ernst stopped in front of the parking space as Hanschen wandered to the driver’s side. “Won’t your uh...friends be confused.”

“They all saw us leave together and they all know I think you’re pretty good lookin’ so….”

Ernst was almost taken aback. He stared at Hanschen in opened mouth shock as the blond wandered to the passenger side and opened the door for Ernst. “It’s okay,” He purred slowly and gestured to into the seat that looked very promising to Ernst. “I promise I don’t kiss on a first date,” Ernst took a sigh and stepped closer to the car before Hanschen continued under his breath. “Unless you ask…”

“Are you gonna break my glasses ever more?” Ernst asked and looked at Hanschen’s pale pink blush through a half-tape obscured gaze.

“Jesus, you’re never gonna let that go!” The shorter boy smiled, almost looking like the flustered boy Ernst met in the hallway.