#though he's contemplating not putting a heart in Connie's bear

[riderkaitlyn5]

Wash: I could really hurt someone... I'm a monster

Connie: You fold your socks and have a build-a-bear frequent flier card, forgive my timbers for not being shaken

[anotheronechicagobog]

Tylenol and Tequila - Chapter 6 - Connie’s Diaries Part 1

written by @anotheronechicagobog

warnings: swearing, dawsey bashing (sorry guys I rewatched and episode and I was in a mood), mention of sex, I think that’s it

A/N: Wow, I actually finished something. Sorry for the long wait everyone, my life has been gettinmg crazier by the minute and it’s speeding up not slowing down so please bear with me.

He was currently hiding from Cruz in the turnout room, busying himself with cleaning equipment and doing inventory. It was mind-numbingly boring, but Blake was pretty appreciative of that at the moment. He and Gianna had been pretty flirty since day one, but now it was getting more serious. It wasn’t harmless banter anymore, it was actually going somewhere. Meaningful looks, sensual touches, and heavy words. At this point, all that they had to do was follow through, so to speak, something Cruz was hell-bent on stopping. And if he was being honest, Blake was leaning towards Cruz’s desired outcome than the one he and Gianna had been moving towards. Hermann always had stories, of himself, other firefighters, and of his family. It got Blake thinking about his future, about his possible future with Gianna... When he heard Kidd and Brett quietly comforting each other. 

“I just don’t understand what’s happening with Kelly. I thought we were good, I thought he was good. I thought that he wasn’t going to ghost and shut me out anymore.”

“I don’t deserve to be second best. I don’t deserve to be a placeholder for Dawson. What kind of answer is ‘I don’t know’? Who doesn’t know if they would immediately run back to their ex if given the chance? I miss him so much, but he’s... He doesn’t get to treat me that way. No one does.”

And he stopped for a moment, ignored the loud thrum of machinery, and perseverance, and conversation that beat throughout the firehouse, and remembered the stories Hermann had told him. The bad ones. They echoed through his head as he made his way to the turnout room to actually be able to think and process his thoughts.

Captain Casey was married to Gabby Dawson before she left and divorced him.

Joe Cruz and Sylvie Brett dated for a brief moment but broke up because Brett couldn’t handle his overprotective routine.

Stella Kidd and Kelly Severide dated once before but broke up because Kelly was being, to put it nicely, an asshole, and was repeating a lot of that behaviour now.

And there were more, so many more relationships that didn’t work out for one way or another, that he found out about while helping with some of the office paperwork, and while cleaning out the desk of a woman named Connie who had retired, he found a notebook filled with firehouse gossip and relationship charts going back decades. As Blake thought back to the flower decorated notebook currently lying on his nightstand at home (hey, don’t judge him, there’s some really juicy stuff in there) another thought occurred to him. The only successful 51 couples didn’t work together. Hermann and Cindy, Mouch and Trudy, Chief and Donna, Joe and Chloe, Darren and Eric. 

Every single firehouse couple has fallen apart. Issues include but are not limited to; one person being secretly in love with someone else, lying, poor communication, cheating accusations, overprotectiveness at work, jealousy, manipulation, political campaigns, vegas marriages, courthouse weddings because of reasons that don’t involve wanting to get married, fallen through adoptions, fertility issues, moving to another region at the drop of a hat. Seriously, firehouse 51 was a hotspot for drama. 

He hung up the last freshly cleaned turncoat, trying to avoid the conclusion he’d come to in his solitary. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape it, especially when he heard Gianna ask Ritter around the corner if he knew where he was. Damn.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He laid in his bed, his lamp illuminating Connie’s old notebook in front of him. He was reading the section from when Casey and Hallie were together, Connie went on a rant about Gabby’s behaviour towards Hallie just because she was jealous Casey didn’t love her. He probably shouldn’t have been reading what was essentially someone’s diary. He definitely shouldn’t have been. But he couldn’t stop reading, the gossip was really entertaining for one thing, but it was just too eye-opening to put down. Even though they are divorced Casey and Dawson were still regarded as the golden couple of 51, something that made his captain incredibly uncomfortable. Hermann and Mouch talk about their relationship all the time, through rose-coloured glasses apparently. They talk about how in love Dawson was before they got together. What they didn’t mention was that she actively flirted with him while he was engaged to someone else. She pushed him to run for alderman, basked in the light of being called his wife when she wasn’t, and then resented him for winning because he had to spend time away from her. They got married spontaneously at the courthouse after a call, but it was actually because Dawson wanted to keep Louie, the boy she decided to foster after telling Casey she didn’t see a serious future for them. For almost every heart-melting romantic tale that had been woven about them the thread used had been made of toxicity and blinding lust. Every loving, Disney moment apparently actually belonged to Shakespeare. Selfishness, manipulation, and hypocrisy all disguised as a fairy tale for the ages.

Based on her writing, Connie was a straight-forward, honest woman with no time or patience for anyone’s bullshit. And, in her words, ‘it was a miracle I survived a front row seat to that trainwreck’. Personally, Blake was dumbfounded that no one else saw what Connie did. And while ‘Dawsey’ definitely wasn’t the only toxic relationship 51 had to bear witness to it was the most revered which was it’s own kind of horrifying.

What stuck out to him the most though, was how they all acted at work. While hooking up in the turnout room did sound a little thrilling, Blake was a little grossed out with himself for thinking that now knowing just how often that happened and that it’s where Annabelle Hermann was conceived apparently. The worst though was how they acted on calls. Overprotective, jealous, directly interfering with work. He wanted to say he understood their feelings, but why get involved with someone when you both work dangerous jobs and don’t want to see them in danger? It’s going to happen, and trying to sheild their significant other from danger instead of preparing for that one awful day does nothing but cause relationship problems and limit their career.

Blake shook his head and sighed. It was late, he needed to sleep. He was on shift tomorrow, and he’d have to avoid Gianna as much as possible during those 24 hours.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He woke up to knocking on his door. According to his alarm clock, he’d only gotten a couple hours of sleep. He was a little perplexed as to why someone would be at his door this late and anxiety settled into his gut. He didn’t have a good feeling about any of this. He tried to shake off the feeling on his walk from his bedroom to his front door, but was unsuccessful. He felt justified when he saw Gianna on the other side of the peep hole. He purposefully sidestepped the usual invitation to Molly’s, he just went home and immersed himself in food and Connie’s diary, ignoring the way his phone vibrated more than once. He contemplated what to do, he knew they needed to talk but he was just trying to delay the awkward conversation. 

“Hey.”

“Hey, you weren’t at Molly’s and you didn’t answer your phone.”

“Been a little busy.” He gestured to the time and prayed that she would take the hint.

“Oh, no, I’m not gonna stay. I kinda just wanted to make sure you weren’t moping around. You know, feeling sorry for yourself.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Yeah, I’m like that.” He smiled, because it’s true. She is like that, and he hopes that she finds everything she’s looking for and more, just not with him. ��Seriously, I feel so badly about pushing you into telling that story.”

“Don’t. Everything that happened with Casey’s on me. Hey, uh, do you want to come in for a sec?”

“Oh, no. I don’t want to take anymore of your hanging-out-looking-hot-in-sweats time.”

“I get the feeling that you do... Which is why you should come in, I guess. We... We need to talk.” That amused, flirty look she got when joking around with him vanished and now she looked... Concerned? Embarrassed? Regardless, she nodded silently and came in.

“I found a few diaries of someone who used to work at 51, but I’ve mostly been sticking to the most recent one because it involves some people who are still at 51. It’s huge and they has years of entries. Most are from before Casey and Severide got stationed there. The stuff that I’ve been reading, particularly about firehouse romances, it threw me for a loop. No 51 firehouse romance has ever actually been successful. Sure some get married but they don’t stay married. Some break up and stay on good enough terms, some tear each other apart, some are just flings that end as quickly as they started and are never mentioned again. In all of them though there’s just... There’s so much tension and conflict. It’s always so impulsive. Someone was too reckless, someone was too overprotective, they bring work home with them, or they bring home to work, the list goes on. I really like you, but I think that you deserve better than that. We both do. So I don’t want to start anything between us, because I think that we’ll be better off as friends and co-workers.”

“Blake, I really like you too, why don’t you want to try? Is this about Joe? Don’t you think that we’ll be different? We know what to avoid, what not to do. We could make a relationship work.”

“It’s not about Cruz, I promise you that. You’re your own person more than capable of making your own decisions. And as for us being different, know what to not to do... That’s what they all say. Literally. Connie made snarky comments every time a new couple got together. She guessed when they were going to break up and usually got it pretty close. We won’t be special, we won’t be different. I know how horrible this sounds, Gianna, but I think that getting together romantically is a bad idea waiting to burn to the ground and I really value our friendship too much for that.”

“Okay. Whatever.”

“Giann-”

“Call me Mackey.”

“Gian-”

“If you’re just my friend, you can call me Mackey like all my other friends. Like you said, we’re not ‘special’.” And then she slammed his door so hard that he knew he would be hearing from his landlord because the lady at the end of the hall complained about everything. “Great. Just great.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Blake got to work and immediately doubted himself. How could he say that to Gianna? How could he have been so callous? Basing his decision about whether or not he wanted a relationship with her from diaries written by a retired secretary he hadn’t even met? What was he thinking? Why wouldn’t they be special? They had chemistry and affection, love would come later. Could anything be salvaged?

... But then he saw Grainger in the common room flirting with Brett while Casey looked he was about to murder the other lieutenant and his resolve solidified. He made the right decision. She gave him the cold shoulder blatantly. Everyone noticed, sent him looks, he just shook his head. Telling them not to get involved, he wasn’t going to drag her through this. Gianna deserved better.

And she got better. She stransferred out of 51 a few weeks later and Blake was terrified that he was the reason, he never wanted to make her feel unwelcome or pushed out. He’d cornered her in the firehouse once he heard her plans. She just giggled and rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s not about you. Like you said, I’m my own person, more than capable of maing my own decisions. I’m taking this transfer because it feels like the best fit for me and the future that I want for myself. You’re not special, Blake.” She had that teasing glimmer in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she showed up at his apartment, and it was the first time she’d said his first name since. “Well, that’s a lie. You’re a little special. You have this way of bringing out the best in people, but I don’t think you see it... I’m going to miss seeing you at work, but I’ll hang around Molly’s every once in a while. I’m too invested in brettsey now to just quit cold turkey.” She smiled brightly, but he couldn’t force himself to, cursed with the knowledge of Connie’s diaries. “Hey, I know those diaries revealed a lot, and I think you were right about us, but hold out hope for them. And for stellaride. They all bring out too much good and happiness from each other to have you prophesizing their future pain. They’ll end up alright. You’ll see.” 

Blake’s eyes met hers from across the table at Severide and Kidd’s wedding, smiled at her boyfriend, wrapped his arm around his girlfriend, and said the words he knew she was waiting to hear. “You were right, Gianna.”

“Of course I was.”

[fbdo1986]

Everything I've Ever Let Go of Has Claw Marks on It - A Succession Fic

a/n: Admittedly, this isn’t the usual thing I write about! But Succession has thoroughly corrupted my brain and now I care hopelessly about these siblings, so I just have to express my feelings about them. I have to give credit where credit is due, though! I was inspired by @successionsideblog’s post talking about headcanons about Kendall and Connor’s relationship growing up, specifically about Kendall as a little kid and how he would react to Connor leaving for school after they established a really strong bond, so I decided to write something exploring that! (Also, the title is a quote from David Foster Wallace). 

Warnings: Implications of parental neglect and nightmares

Word Count: 2,178

The morning after Connor’s going away dinner—he laughs to himself, somewhere, because he and celebration aren’t usually linked—he wakes with a strange culmination of feelings twisting inside himself. It’s early. Of course, there’d be no savoring his last morning at home, no gradual waking with comfort underneath the softness of blankets. Instead: lengthy, conflicting feelings left to settle in a still room. The house is completely silent, and he’s left to sit quietly. It’s a bit uncomfortable, so he turns to open a window and is met with the calming whispers of a morning still yet to unfold. Of one indicative of the rest of his life, or rather, a dive headfirst into uncertainty; a moment waiting to determine how he could turn out, without the stern, watchful eyes of his father. He wants it to be good. He doesn’t want to admit that this freedom is unlike any type he’s ever felt; he doesn’t want to recognize that he’s afraid, afraid that when he returns, he might not suit the only image he’s ever had for himself, in the second shadowy place beside a man who stands like a mountain range. 

Not far away is the bed of his younger brother, Kendall, who he hasn’t stirred from his sleep. Of all the conflicted feelings, the ones involving his brother burn fiercest in his mind. There’s the push and pull—the escape, finally, the taste of freedom wrestling with the knowledge that Kendall will inevitably be inflicted with the things he faced while he was an only child, and no one deserves to feel that alone. Sure, there’s Shiv, their sister, but she’s just a baby. Kendall will become the eldest son, the darling boy, bearing the strain. 

He tiptoes out of their bedroom, wanting to make a silent goodbye before things burst with life when everyone wakes, when the place will bustle and he’ll get caught in the whirlwind of preparation. The floor is cold underneath him everywhere. In his own room, in the hallway where Shiv’s room sits a few doors down, in hers too. Maybe he’ll remember the cold, even when he’s gone. Something tells him that he will. It’s oddly characteristic of home. 

His little sister’s room is in much the same formation as his own, a wide space with large windows, but with splashes of color—yellow and pink—that are absent on his white walls. He meanders towards her crib. She’s also still sleeping, but he wants to bid her goodbye all the same. He doesn’t see it yet, the physical resemblance to any of the members of the family. Except maybe the blue eyes, the ones Logan gave him too. And he’s not sure if he’s thankful for that—she being so starkly different from all of them. But in time, he’ll find little pieces that tie them together. The same shoulders that stiffen when she’s annoyed are the ones found on Roman, the unintentional copycat. Her downcast gaze when she’s hurt and finds it difficult to speak is just like Ken’s. 

“See you, Pinky.” He smiles as his heart softens. It aches momentarily, since he knows how much he will miss her as she grows, but he’s reminded that she will have Kendall, and if Connor’s taught him anything, it’s the value of protection.

The morning is mundane, all things considered. Mainly because the culmination of sending him off to college peaked the night prior, with all preparations made wordlessly, never by his own family. There are things to be finished, but that’s mainly stowing away what he has packed and getting a car. It’s the normal amount of silence, but knowing that this is how he has to leave it—with everything, including himself, glazed over with a mere fleeting look, shrouded in sealed silence as it’s checked over one last time—sits uncomfortably within him. So he retreats back to his younger brother, and he ensures that he won’t make it an early goodbye. They can pretend, for a little while, that there’s no time ticking until he goes away.

Ken is back in their room, fiddling languidly with a stuffed animal in his arms. It’s a teddy bear that usually sits on top of his bed. He must have grabbed it for comfort. Just another thing to not let dig into him. It’s already hard enough. So when he realizes that his side of the room is so much more sparse than Kendall’s, he pretends not to notice it. For both of their sakes.

“Hey buddy. You look so bored here. Do you wanna do something with me? We could go outside, throw a baseball around. Or I could try to teach you how to play chess again.” He flashes a smile with fondness at his little brother.

“It’s gonna take too long.” Kendall says, his gaze still fixated on the toy in his hands.

They’ve still got a few hours before the afternoon sets in. They’ll make time.

“We’ve got time. Don’t worry about it.”

Kendall’s eyes trace the table in the middle of the room, which holds a chessboard and all the strewn pieces as remnants of their last attempt.

“I almost fell asleep last time.” He hides a smile as he remembers it.

“No, you definitely did.” Connor chuckles, recalling the piece that got tucked under Kendall’s cheek as he slumped forward in his dozing. The knight left an imprint in his skin that he tried to wipe away, but by morning—spent in his bed, not half on a chessboard—it was nearly gone. “But it was nighttime then. Promise you won’t? I’ll promise it’ll be fun, okay?”

“Okay.”

So they start fresh, putting the pieces back where they belong. They line up their respective kingdoms. Once he’s finished with the rules, Connor continues to explain as they attempt to play a game. Yet that takes much more effort than expected, since Connor will occasionally prod Kendall with silly questions, just to take his mind off of things.

“Do you think Shiv is gonna like chess?” Connor asks suddenly.

“I don’t know.” Kendall shrugs it off, he’s mid-move.

“Because I think she’ll hate it. Either that, or she’ll beat the both of us with her eyes closed.”

It makes Kendall laugh to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Already, a grin spreads on the eldest son’s face.

Kendall looks back up at him. “Shiv’s just a baby. I can only think of her now. I’m just thinking of a baby playing chess.”

“You think you could beat a baby?” Connor leans forward, challenging him.

“It’s not my fault you’re not a good teacher.” Kendall jokes. 

- 

When Connor emerges from the house to leave, finally, the sky is a very distinct blue. Airy clouds hang in the sky along with effortless sunshine that reminds him of summers before this. Ones with boats out on a lake, with white curtains swept up in a passing breeze, with the haze of heat in the air and light so blinding that it made him squint, the tennis courts that burned when you hit them if you fell after a missed swing. 

As he looks back up at this house, around the entirety of this place that sprawls before them he can’t decide if he’ll miss it.

He’s broken in his contemplation by the sound that fills the silence. The same sound that acts as an alarm, that jumpstarts his instincts the way nothing else can. He turns sharply and looks down to find his younger brother approaching him.

“Please, please. Don’t go.” Kendall’s brown eyes peer into his heart. At once, as Connor moves his shoulders—maybe, maybe to turn away—he feels the sudden pressure of small but desperate hands grabbing at his leg, grasping for fabric, shoelaces, anything.

Connor’s heart sinks heavily into his stomach as Kendall latches onto him, and he forces himself to look away. Instantly he’s seeing the child he used to be, and the truly small boy that Kendall is. His face is red and blotchy, and his eyes pool with tears that don’t hesitate to run down his cheeks. It hurts. He’s terrified, stricken with grief. Connor’s whole body wrenches with guilt.

“Get up, Ken.” Logan barks. “You’re a grown boy.” But Logan doesn’t pull Kendall up to his feet, so Connor breathes a fleeting sigh of relief.

“Connie…” He pleads. “You can’t go! You can’t!” He feels how Kendall’s hands ache to hold on. It should baffle him, since Kendall’s rarely the type to fight anything kicking and screaming, but he understands.

So Connor stays put. He takes a seat on the steps where they stand and places his hands on his brother’s shoulders gently. “You have to be brave, okay Kenny?”

“I don’t want to be.” He huffs, shaking his head.

“You’ve got to, alright? I believe in you.” He steadies his gaze, looking him in the eyes. “I believe in you. You can. Can you do that for me?”

Kendall nods, shuddering in a breath.

“Good. Cause you’re the big brother now. You have to look after little Shiv, just like I looked after you.” His blue eyes spark with fondness and pride. “Come here.” He pulls Kendall into a hug, wrapping his arms around him tight.

“I’m gonna miss you.” Kendall’s voice is small, so he just pulls him closer. As Kendall tucks himself into Connor’s shoulder, he’s reminded of the nights when Ken would wake up, thrashing and sobbing, and how he offered the same shoulder to cry into, to gain stability from.

“I know, I know. I’m gonna miss you, too. But I’ll come home on holidays, I promise. And you can call and write to me. I’m always gonna be around, in some way. Okay? I’ve always got you. Always.” With one final squeeze he holds Kendall in his arms, then getting up apprehensively to face his father.

“I’ll see you, son.” His father’s eyes shine coldly. Not with pride for his own son, he doesn’t think, but with complacency. The gesture’s sincere, but even as his hands clasp Connor’s face—which is infinitely small in this moment—it’s nearly absent of fondness. It’s barely warm. All the same, he softens, because something is better than nothing. He nods solidly, acknowledging the weight of these hands that ache to be filled, and wonders if he can even come close to fitting that space. 

He turns to Kendall again, giving him a smile. “Remember what we talked about, okay bud? I love you. And remember to tell Shivy you love her too, alright? I’ll miss you.” He sees the whole picture now, his father standing stoically with Kendall at his side. Nobody brought Shiv out to say goodbye—despite his morning ritual he wishes someone did. His family, so achingly small, so disjointed, without his mother. Even as his family will expand upon later returns, they will continue on the path of inheriting the strain, the burden that being a Roy child requires. Even Shiv, when grown, will battle the same leaden shoulders, the same shaky, tormented breath so signature of pretending, and a toughness that only seems to soften in his embrace.

He’s reminded of how young he and Kendall are. Even with ten years between them, and for drastically different reasons. But regardless, they’re still kids thrust into the world with no gentle caress to soothe them. He shouldn’t have to do the job his father can’t. Kendall shouldn’t have to be tormented even in dreams, and shouldn’t have to face the world’s truths at eight years old. But Connor shoves it back, because right now he can’t be plagued with this knowing that he has no choice but to let these cards play out. There’s nothing he can do to stop it: time from moving on, Kendall being subjected to his place, all of it. Instead he has to step away, even as his eyes become glossy with tears. It’s not home, not really, but a sudden force inside of him that stirs once he turns away—into the vastness beyond this place, the world with open arms—tells him that the echoing house, with walls so blinding white, that it’s all he’s ever known. He wishes he had a slice of bravery. Because he wants to be a little kid, he wants to be protected from the unknown, even if it might mean a sense of freedom. If nothing else, he wants to stop it. Just to wrap his arms around all the things that deserve to never find out what the world has in store—claws and all, the things that make you grow up too fast—even though he can’t. Even though the moment’s passed. He can’t even help it. But he’ll swear, swear with every tear that runs down his face—that’s now concealed as he has his back to them—that he’ll try to stretch his arms wide enough to make someone, anyone, proud. Or that he’ll make himself fierce enough that nothing can sink its teeth into what he’s spent his whole life trying to guard. He’s gonna make it good, or lose it all trying. 

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1960

Under the cut.

Marty Robbins – “El Paso” -- January 2, 1960

Why have I heard this song a lot? It's not my parents' kind of thing, or my grandparents'. Anyway, this time the narrator is the murderer. He killed another man out of jealousy that a woman, who might not even be his woman, had a drink with the other man. It's a pretty okay old-fashioned country song, but it'd be better in Fallout: New Vegas.

Johnny Preston – “Running Bear” -- January 18, 1960

This. Thing. Is. An. Abomination. Fake tribal chants. Through the entire thing. They form the beat. And then there's a swing trumpet. And it's about a Romeo and Juliet situation, but the singer sounds like he thinks he's singing a goofy novelty song. I didn't know this song existed, and now I have to re-evaluate what I think the worst #1 is. I think this one takes the spot from "Having My Baby."

Mark Dinning – “Teen Angel” -- February 8, 1960

No, not Earth Angel, sadly. This guy's girlfriend ran to the railroad tracks to get his high school ring and got squished. He doesn't sound all that broken up about it. He doesn't sound capable of feeling any emotions, really. Very bad song.

Percy Faith – “Theme From A Summer Place“ -- February 22, 1960

It's a pretty instrumental, but a bit too gloopy for me. I looked up "A Summer Place," assuming based on the music it would be a light and frothy movie about young people in love. Uh... not really. But it ends happily. Also it has a message about not condemning young people for having sex, so that's good.

Elvis Presley – “Stuck On You” -- April 25, 1960

Though his voice sounds cartoonish to me, Elvis still feels like a breath of fresh air compared to most of what he's surrounded by. In 1960, he had more oomph than nearly anyone else on the charts. Anyway, you've heard this one. It's fine.

The Everly Brothers – “Cathy’s Clown” -- May 23, 1960

This one still got radio play on the oldies stations when I was a kid. It's got a beat, the music and beat change up, and the narrator sounds appropriately bitter after a bad break-up. I wouldn't seek it out, but I wouldn't change the station either.

Connie Francis – “Everybody’s Somebody’s Fool” -- June 27, 1960

Here we go, someone besides Elvis with a real spark. The narrator can't seem to leave this person who keeps cheating on her, and she sings that someday, her cheating lover will find someone they truly care for who will be untrue, and then they'll understand what she's going through. She sounds pretty happy about it. It's not Connie Francis' best song (that's "Who's Sorry Now"), but it's not at all bad.

The Hollywood Argyles – “Alley Oop” -- July 11, 1960

Oh right, I forgot for a moment, I hate 1960. This song is dumb. It knows it's dumb and revels in it, and I hate it.

Brenda Lee – “I’m Sorry” -- July 18, 1960

The narrator didn't realize it was cruel to play with other people's feelings until her own heart was broken. Possibly she was the girlfriend of the narrator of "Everybody's Somebody's Fool"? The song isn't as good though, mostly because of the spoken word section, which is cringe-inducing.

Brian Hyland’s “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” -- August 8, 1960

I can't believe I'm only up to August of this stupid, stupid year. When does Motown get here already? Ugh. Stupid, leering, creepy novelty song.

Elvis Presley’s “It’s Now Or Never” -- August 15, 1960

Good, it's Elvis again. Except this is a huge slice of fromage. Elvis was better than this. His belting is impressive, but it should be in a better song. I'm bored. Elvis was never one of my faves, but he should also never be boring. I hate this year.

Chubby Checker’s “The Twist -- September 19, 1960

THANK YOU GODS AND LITTLE FISHES. You know this song. You've danced to this song. This song is truly great. Possibly the rest of 1960 up to now had to suck so much for this song to come out.

Connie Francis – “My Heart Has A Mind Of Its Own” -- September 26, 1960

Did Connie Francis ever sing about anything but heartbreak? She can't get over someone who loves her. She doesn't seem too broken up about it this time. There are lots of mariachi horns. I can't associate mariachi horns with heartbreak. It could have been a good song, but Connie Francis' total nonchalance and the mariachi horns make it pretty bad.

Larry Verne – “Mr. Custer” -- October 10, 1960

This is supposed to be funny. It's a racist novelty song that seems to hate everyone and everything. I return the sentiment. Put this one in the bin with "Little Bear." Cripes 1960 sucked.

The Drifters – “Save The Last Dance For Me” -- October 17, 1960

Okay, all of 1960 didn't suck. There were a handful of very good songs among the dreck, and this is one of them. The narrator is happy that his wife (likely) is dancing with other guys, he just wants to remind her who she's going home with. It's got a nice Latin beat, good violins, and a singer who shows actual emotion. And the emotion isn't a simplistic one; he sounds totally happy that his wife is having fun flirting and dancing with other guys. But he knows that sometimes people get swept up in the moment and make mistakes. He's cheerful, not nagging or possessive. I like it.

Brenda Lee – “I Want To Be Wanted” -- October 24, 1960

A teenage song about wanting a boyfriend who adores her. It's... okay. I would probably have identified with it hugely when I was 15. Though I would have scoffed at how dated it sounds. I'm more tolerant of how it sounds musically now. But, though I understand the sentiment, it's still pretty overwrought. I guess now that I'm middle-aged and I've got what she wants my main feeling is that she needs to calm down and live her life rather than obsessing over finding the perfect person to spend a million years with when she's still a kid.

Ray Charles – “Georgia On My Mind” -- November 14, 1960

Aah that's the stuff. What is there to say about Ray Charles' version of this song? How do you describe perfection? Moonlight through the pines. This must have been a revelation at the time. It still is.

Maurice Williams And The Zodiacs – “Stay” -- November 21, 1960

"Oh won't you staaaay." I can't listen to this song without trying to sing along, and making my throat hurt in the process, as I'm an alto and I can't reach those falsetto notes. It's a fun song and a classic. Maybe Ray Charles fumigated 1960 and now it will be good?

Elvis Presley – “Are You Lonesome Tonight?” -- November 28, 1960

Yes! Elvis was a dramatic singer, and this is a dramatic song. Like everyone with an instinct for dramatic performance, he knew that true drama is often found in quiet and contemplation. He's soft throughout, and only half-belts at the end. There's a spoken word interval, but it's the kind of song in which you've already been seduced, so it's enjoyable. Plus Elvis knows how to speak it -- no embarrassment at all. Excellent. This is the kind of song that makes me understand Elvis mania.

BEST OF 1960: "Georgia On My Mind"  WORST OF 1960: There is an embarrassment of putrescence here. At the end, it's a tie between "Running Bear" and "Mr. Custer."

[annieleonhardt]

Aruani Week day 2- High School

AO3

I've been saying forever that Juno would make for a perfect aruani au, so I figured I could totally get away with doing a very loose Juno au for Day 2. Might do one or more with this. I probably should, since this ends hanging lmao. Anyway, hope you enjoy! <3

Even short stories have to start somewhere.

If Annie had to pick a place for their story to begin, she could easily go back to kindergarten; The day she met Armin Arlert on the playground. Him in his little suspenders and tucked in white shirt, trying to catch a woolly bear caterpillar that inched across a tree branch.

As he noticed her and motioned for her to join him, Annie turned around and instead played on the swings. A fateful meeting that was as mundane as they come. Yet, through the years things changed. Year by year she would listen to him, and instead come over and join in his weird bug collecting hobbies and little one-person book clubs.

Unlike Armin, Annie never could be described as a social kid. The presence of others could be both overwhelming and troublesome. She preferred her own company, thank you very much. Surely, giving in and getting to know someone during recess didn’t mean a thing. Even as she somehow melted into his little 3-person friend group. Eren and Mikasa were tolerable, she supposed. Especially as both were more than willing to share their lunches with her, including large double stuffed oreos that her father would never buy her.

Elementary school turned to middle school, and childlike curiosity turned into adolescent hormones. Month by month, year by year, their classmates changed and grew. She very clearly remembered the day Eren and Jean both came in, showing off their singular chest hairs. The jarring crack of their voices dashed any bravado the two tried to bring. Reiner grew fast, becoming increasingly broad shouldered as his closest friend, Bertholdt, seemed to grow taller without stopping. By the end of 8th grade the two were almost comically enormous. Connie, conversely, seemed to go through every change puberty entailed except for the part about growing tall.

Armin wasn’t so fast. It wasn’t until 8th grade that the shy, introverted bookworm began to grow and change. Their classmates noticed, too. As their friends joined JV sports, he remained on the sidelines. Somehow, Annie prefered it. Though athletic outside school, climbing the ranks in girls MMA, team sports didn’t come easily to her and never had. What did, however, was talking to him. So there they’d sit after school, watching Mikasa and Eren practice their respective sports. Armin had a way of making the wait pass fast for Annie. She liked his conversations about books, and comics, and fantasy, and science. She liked how into his favorite stories he got, and how passionate he seemed to be of things no one else cared about. And she liked how weirdly cynical he could be through his bright smiles. It matched her own increasingly dry wit.

What she didn’t like was how he never seemed to shoot back at unkind words. Being so small, and undoubtedly nerdy, Armin had his fair share of bullies. Other kids who would tease him behind his back in class, as if getting an answer right was somehow something to mock. There were times when books were flung right out of his hands, and he certainly didn’t have the strength to do it right back. The classic locker shove was far from foreign to him, and Annie could recall at least one occasion when when his nose would have been broken if he didn’t dodge a kid in time.

Yet, he never fought back. Even after Eren and Mikasa prodded him to.

“They’d be winning if I did. They’re only doing this because they know I’m right.” He explained, as Annie helped him pick his books up off the ground. “Besides, there’s gonna be a time in their life when they’ll look back on this and see how terrible and immature they’re being. I’ll never have a moment like that!”

He looked up at her beaming, and Annie felt her heart jump.

There was something to be said about his inner strength, and the will it took for him to smile so bright at her after being pushed around. Impressive, perhaps. She liked that about him.

She liked a lot of things about him. Annie didn’t mind admitting that at all.

She also didn’t mind giving his tormentors some retribution behind his back. Armin could hardly hold it against her, if ever he did find out.

Finally came high school, and Annie had been through a freshman and sophomore year of revelations.

1.) When Armin finally came into his own, he was far more handsome than even she could have guessed. 2.) Cross Country was a good sport for him. Perhaps she’d have to thank Eren later for twisting his arm. 3.) She liked him a lot more than she originally thought.

It was Reiner who first brought the topic up. On one of those days she stayed after school, waiting for Armin to get done with his cross country practice. Reiner and Bertholdt, by then a couple (to the surprise of no one), sat beside her on the grass. When the words rolled out of his mouth, she could barely process it.

“When are you going to tell him you love him, Ann?”

It all seemed so matter of fact. Even Bertholdt barely looked moved by his words. As if, she realized, there were only two people in school that didn’t seem to realize the unspoken thing going on between her and Armin since middle school. It was no mystery who those two people were. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t Eren and Mikasa.

“Wait, you didn’t know?!” Eren exclaimed, practically falling off the bench. “Mikasa and I have been betting on who would confess fi- OW!”

Had Mikasa not pinched his arm, Annie would have gladly done it herself.

“What he means is,” Mikasa began, pushing black hair off of her sweat-trenched forehead. “Most people could guess you like him, Annie.”

“What, have been walking around with heart eyes for years and not noticed?”

“Yes.”

“A little bit.”

“Fantastic.”

It was hard to act normal around Armin after that. Not for lack of trying, of course. Something was different, and she knew exactly what; she did love him. And she felt like an absolute idiot for not having realized it herself earlier.

“I don’t get it myself, Annie. He’s a little too scrawny for me.” Hitch snickered on the phone one day. “You should tell him, though. Catch that fish while you’re the only one on the lake. And, no offence, your bluntness and scary face may not be to your advantage.”

Ridiculous ways of putting it aside, Hitch had a point. And Annie could only try her best to work up the nerve. When she finally did, it all seemed so simple.

They sat like it was any other weekend. Junior year had begun, and their AP homework was already piling up. However, she certainly wasn’t there to do homework. More important matters were at hand.

As it stood, hers was only inches away from his. Armin sat beside her on the floor of his bedroom. Whatever the movie was, she wasn’t paying attention. It was impossible; Armin was so close, and somehow the gap was closing. The early autumn air was still heavy, and in the air conditioned chill of his room, she could feel sweat pooling on her brow. Annie hadn't realized how hard she was staring until he was staring back, blue eyes wide.

“Annie…?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey.” The air only seemed to thicken. As her cheeks flared red, she swallowed back whatever was beginning to climb back up her throat. Stray blonde bangs fell into her eyes, but she didn’t get a chance to push them away. Armin was already on it. His fingers brushed gently against the apples of her cheeks, causing goosebumps to form on her arm.

Perhaps the heat clouded her head, because she could only remember the smallest of details. The gap was closed, and his lips were so soft against hers. He was sweet, slow, and gentle. Never making a move unless he knew, somehow, that she approved. After everything, there was a lot she was ready to approve of.

It all seemed to happen so fast. Hands locked tight, and Annie found herself slipping onto his lap. Tongues tangled as either could only beg to go further. No one was home.

Not that it would have mattered. A stray shirt here, a hoodie there. There was no telling how long it took before there was nothing between them. At some point, the floor turned into his cushioned desk chair, and she didn’t care. She didn’t care that they weren’t surrounded by rose petals and champagne. She didn’t care that they were sweating, inexperienced, and letting years of tension explode in his bedroom, surrounded by Star Wars posters and half-finished k’nex models. She didn’t care that they threw caution to the wind in a moment of passion and desperation. On his goddamn desk chair.

All she cared about was that it was him, it was real. It was so very, very real.

And it could only get more real from there. As she thought about it, that’s where all of this really began.

Annie and Armin, and a goddamn desk chair.

“Does Armin even know?”

“Uh. I’m planning on telling him later. Probably.”

Hitch went completely slack jawed. She sat on Annie’s bed, somehow even less composed than Annie herself. Yet, she couldn’t help but hold back a laugh. Something about the situation came across to her as almost awkwardly hilarious. Armin Arlert, of all people. Annie Leonhardt, of all people.

“Holy shiiiiit…” She brought her hand up to her mouth. Annie simply glowered at the floor. “How are you not, like, flipping out right now? I know you’re supposed to be all stoic and all, but this is-”

“Don’t let my face fool you. I’m actually freaking the fuck out.” Annie collapsed on her bed, covering her face with her hands. “Oh my god I’m about to puke.”

“Is it because of-”

“Yes.” She sprung up to a sitting position, and tugged at the collar of her hoodie. It seemed to get tighter and tighter as the moment passed. “I don’t know what to do. I already tried that option, and I just...I couldn’t. It wasn’t for me. No shame to it, I just...I don’t know.” Annie contemplated pulling her hood over her head, pulling the drawstrings, and staying there forever. It seemed like the best course of action.

“You need to tell your dad.”

“You’re insane.”

“No no, hear me out.” Hitch stood up, and the two could just barely hear the sound of Annie’s father downstairs. Home from work, whistling a tune, wondering where his only daughter was off to. “Get that out of the way first. Your dad’s not that bad, Annie. Sure, he’s tactless, a little abrasive, but it’s not like he’ll be mad at you.” She grabbed her friend's hand, and slowly dragged her off the bed. “Come clean, free your mind. Clear your conscience. Tell papa Leonhardt the truth, and then go over to Armin’s. If your dad hulks out, comfort will be right around the corner. Literally. He lives like a block away.”

“Ohh my god.” Despite herself, Annie had to agree. The desperate nature of the situation made anything seem sane, of course.

By the time they were downstairs, her father rested on the couch. The paper in front of him just barely obfuscated his face from view, giving Annie a moment to breathe. Her fingers fumbled with the sleeves of her hoodie. Behind her, Hitch sat on a nearby table.

“Just go for it! That’s for the best” She prodded, getting Annie’s father's attention immediately.

“Ann!” He shouted, the smile spreading across his face. “I was wondering where you disappeared to- oh hey, Annie’s friend.”

“Hitch, sir! You’ve known me for years.”

“If you say so. What’s up, Ann? Why are your eyes so red?” He put his paper down, leaning forward in a way that somehow made Annie feel worse. Their relationship could be rocky, but the fear of his disappointment in her rest at the pit of her stomach. “You wanna spar the pain away? That always helps.”

“Uhh…” Her voice failed her. It was as if the room began to close in around her. Annie sucked in a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment before finally, and boy did it feel final, going for it.

“Uh. I’m pregnant.”

One burden lifted up, only for another to rest on her shoulder. Her father looked past the point of stunned. His face fell flat, with the exception of his dropped jaw. Slowly, eyebrows moved inwards. As the silence dragged on, Annie began to panic.

“I really didn’t mean for- listen, I’m probably just gonna give it up for adoption, it’ll have a nice home I’m sure, and in a few months we can pretend this never happened and I didn’t totally fuck up what could be my entire life, yeah?” Barely a breath in between.

“You’re...you’re pregnant?” It almost stung more that his voice wasn’t in any way elevated. The kind of tone that said he wasn’t mad, just very disappointed. Oh, it stung good.

“...I’m sorry.” She pushed blonde bangs out of her eyes, more out of nerves than a real need. “I’m feeling the pain, if it’s any consolation. Crazy heartburn, migraine…”

“You...you’re sexually active?”

“Oh my god.”

It was almost a relief to see her father become a bit more animated.

“Annie Francesca Leonhardt, I...who is the kid?”

“The baby? I mean I don’t know, it kind of looks like a lizard though.” His real questioned dawned on her, and she wanted to smack herself more and more.

“No, fuck, Annie I mean, who’s the father?”

Another deep breath.

“Armin Arlert.”

“...Armin Arlert?” His snicker was beyond unexpected.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“HA, I know, right?” Hitch barely blocked Annie’s hand coming her way.

Though it was at the expense of the boy she loved, she did appreciate the lightening atmosphere. It didn’t last too long, though. Her father’s gaze rested hard on her.

“Ann, what the hell are you going to do?” There it was. The clear look of disappointment she was dreading. Annie bit her lips, eyes drifting down to the carpet as her cheeks went red. In the long run, she had no idea. In the short term, she wanted desperately for that conversation to end. More importantly, she wanted desperately to talk to him. Armin’s voice was a phone call away, but she prefered something more intimate.

The conversation with her father could only go so far. The moment he let her go, Annie found herself running out of the house and onto her bike. How Armin would react: She had absolutely no idea.

At least, she knew, he would be comforting. If a little shocked. More than a little shocked.

Ah, hell. Annie would be shocked if he didn’t pass out right there. She was feeling about ready to, as well.