#brumly boys

[foottoe101001]

Guys I think he’s a Brumly boy LORD HAVE MERCY

@gr3ase-g0t-h0ld @pookiepiss69 somebody convince the brumly gang to let me take him

[chippedshake]

If I were to start doing a daily/weekly/some other frequency bc I have a life surprisingly 1 question quiz about the outsiders for fun, would you a) be interested and if so b) want open-ended or multiple choice questions?

[crow2222]

Book darry facts!!

He doesn't like films- thinks his life is enough without inspecting other people's.

Looks just like his father but acts the opposite of him.

People had always mistaken him and his dad as brothers instead of father and son.

Darry likes being teased by sodapop.

He was a real popular guy in school. He was captain of the football team, and was voted Boy of the year.

Him and Sodapop wrestle and tickle ponyboy out of bed.

Dally told pony "You ought to see Darry. He's takin this mighty hard" when visiting ponyboy at the church

Darry was the unofficial leader of their gang, since he kept his head best.

Not even Darry wants to tangle with Dally, he was dangerous.

He didn't cry at his parents funeral. Just stuffed his fists into his pockets and wore a helpless, pleading look.

Darry told the reporters Pony is in no shape to be yelled at so much and they slowed down because he's kinda big.

Darry and Sodapop had their pictures taken by reporters too, because they were so good looking.

Darry convinced the nurse to tell him whats Johnny's and Dallys condition.

Darry likes his eggs in a bacon and tomato sandwich.

He drinks black coffee.

Darry was convinced by sodapop and pony to let them eat chocolate cake for breakfast. It didn't take a lot to convince him: he loves chocolate cake as much as his brothers.

They never lock their doors, and when Two-bits mom tried to warn them about burglars, Darry just flexed his muscles so they bulged like oversized baseballs, and drawled that he wasn't afraid of any burglars.

He works two jobs at once and makes good at both of them.

The gang sometimes calls Darry "muscles" or "Superman". (earlier in the book ponyboy mentions his Superman qualities)

Darry had taken Pony to a doctor after his bad nightmares, and even after he stopped dreaming them, Darry would still ask if he dreamed anymore.

Darry sometimes calls Sodapop- PepsiCola, which was his dad's nickname for him.

He called Ponyboy Little buddy after the rumble, which was his nickname for Sodapop.

Darrys stricter with Ponyboy than their parents had been.

"The only thing that keeps Darry from being a Soc is us"

The Curtis brothers all eat like horses- Especially Darry. He had cooked two chickens before the rumble because of this.

Darry started shaving at 13.

Darry never had long hair. His was short and clean all the time.

Darry fights for pride.

Darry had taught the gang acrobatics after he took a course of it at the Y. He spent a whole summer teaching then everything, thinking it'd come in handy in a fight.

"He wasnt to be any hood when he got old. He was going to get somewhere. That's why he's better than the rest of us."

Darrys in better shape than most greasers. "This is partly because they dont eat much and partly because they're slouchy. Darry looked like he could whip anyone there."

Darry and Paul used to buddy it around all the time- Paul was the best half-back on Darrys football team.

"You could see he hated Paul now. It wasn't only jealously- Darry had a right to be jealous; he was ashamed to be on our side, ashamed to be seen with the Brumly boys, Shepards gang, maybe even us."

Darry and Sodaoop had never been beaten in a fight before.

Darry had pulled his armchair into Ponyboys room so he can look over him when he was sick after the rumble.

Darry checks Pony's math homework and catches all his mistakes- then makes him do them again.

Darry, Sodapop and Ponyboy tied when running back to the house- they wanted to stay together.

[racetrackhigginsscigar]

for research purposes:

[dallasgallant]

Ok so it’s @your-unfriendlyghost w/ that goddamn Ao3 comment 🥲

For whatever reason, Ao3 keeps sayin that “We can’t upload your comment because the content is blank” when it like. CLEARLY ISN’T. I dunno what’s going on with that, so I’ll just paste it here 😭

(This is the comment I woulda commented on chapter 2 btw lol)

“Well, twenty-five just makes ya a delinquent… you ain’t a ‘juvenile’ then, man, it don’t got the same ring to it, ya know?” Steve muttered. < Damn, this is SUCH A GOOD LINE. It’s so real, yk? Like I know I personally get swept up in the fantasy of it all- of greasers and JDs and the adrenaline of teen rebellion- but someday (pretty soon now) I’ll grow up. And then it won’t be so fun anymore. For all the lousy stuff that comes with it, it’s fun bein a kid- But when I’m an adult I won’t be a cool rebel for pulling the shit I do now, I’ll just be sort of a loser. I dunno how to process that sometimes. But it’s nice seeing all that confusion put into words as succinctly as you did.

Was that it? Their only two options? Lose your life or your identity? Die young, hard and fast — just like everyone’s waiting for. Or grow up and watch your denim collar turn blue. <Ugh again this is painfully real. You capture the feelings of being a sorta wild teenager so damn well. And the line about denim collars turning blue is so like…poetic too. It’s real and also real pretty, yk?

Steve had never been particularly fond of the idea of aging, but he didn’t want to be a bum like Two-bit or a con like the Brumly boys. He realized when morning came, none of them would mention tonight. Not how it really was. <This is such a sad but significant insight. Both bits are- Steve’s acknowledgement of the fact that the future is coming, and the point that no one would talk about tonight- or at least not the real, raw, tragedy of it. You just don’t DO that, especially not as a group of teenage guys in the 60s, but even nowadays you don’t, least in my groups. And how can you? How can you make sense of that, of seeing something so gruesome and being so helpless…holy hell, I guess what I’m getting at is that this was a real observant point.

Their tears would be buried alongside their friends, and they’d come to accept some twisted narrative that served to make them feel better, instead. That’s what he’d do; make it about justice rather than loss. Feed his anger into some kind of action. He’d always been better with his hands than his words. <man I sound like a broken record here, but this is so real. I don’t like how true this rings. But like I do, yk? And god, it feels like so much of a STEVE thing to think, and a Steve way of saying it. You’ve really nailed his voice.

Anyhow, sorry for takin’ a minute to comment- after ao3 deleted the vast majority of my last one I couldn’t bring myself to type up anything substantial for a bit- but I needed to get it out at some point, because this is such an amazing fic. This bit of commentary just scratches the surface, because there’s so much I love here. Once again, great job.

Ahhhhhhh thank you, I honestly love this so much. Taking the time to point out these little details and things you relate to. It’s djsjsnsms glad people notice this stuff you know?

Not to make you have a comment get deleted on ao3 again but would love to hear chapter 3 thoughts or anything else you want about the fic lol. Love your insight.

—

I get that. I tend to romanticize the rebellious, both teen and adult. Idk maybe it’s because I’ve had a comfortable life and all but there’s also so much to go through and experience.

I’m glad this line is getting attention as I was really excited about being all poetic too! Lol, it seemed like the most expressive way to put it without having to over explain, I can’t even begin to imagine having to grapple with putting up such a distinct identity… though I imagine you’d have to pry the vest from Steve’s cold dead hands but we’re talking metaphorical.

Steve and the brand of masculinity all the guys are seeped in is such a fucking interesting thing to explore. Because there’s simultaneously so much fun with all the “boys will be boys” of it all but also… oh… you don’t know how to feel hard emotions in a healthy way.

Also just Steve has grown on me so much and I think it’s really being in his head and it’s he’s more than the best buddy and he has his place in the friend group. His loyalty and sensitivity may compare him to others in the gang but what’s great about him and them is that there’s other aspects that make even those emotions distinct to them.

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Shepard Angst Fic

Y'all are getting this here before I edit it and post it on ao3 tomorrow because I am desperate for external validation and because I NEED folks to cry over my self imposed Shepard sibling angst.

**************

“Angel!”

Angela Shepard is no stranger to yelling. The name Shepard carries with it the guarantee of a temper hotter than the late Autumn sun and the vocal cords to make sure the whole street knows it. Ma is only ever happy when she’s hacked off, Curly has never once been quiet for longer than three seconds back to back, and she herself wears fury like socy girls wear their hair ribbons. 

So yes, she’s no stranger to yelling– but she ain’t never heard Curly yell like that. He doesn’t sound mad, he sounds scared– and that is infinitely worse. There isn’t a lot that scares Curly Shepard, or any Shepard really. They’ve all seen too much.

“Goddamnit Angel,” Curly roars again, “get out here and bring the first aid kit!”

That spurs her to action and she snatches the small first aid kit out from under the bathroom sink and hightails it to the living room.

Curly is there, wide eyed, Tim propped up against him. For a second Angela doesn’t realize what the problem is. When she does, her brain refuses to let her believe it.

A dark stain is spreading rapidly across the side of Tim’s shirt, even as Curly half drags half carries him over to the couch and deposits him on it as gently as he can. Despite how careful Curly’s being, a pained grunt still forces its way out from between Tim’s clenched teeth.

“Call Manuel,” Curly orders, naming Tim’s second in command, “get him to bring the truck back now and be ready to drive. And get Sylvia down here too.”

Running to the kitchen, she dials Manuel’s home number and hurriedly explains the situation, cold terror making her harsher than usual. She doesn’t bother trying to get ahold of Sylvia- Sylvie knows everything that happens on the east side, she’s probably already on her way.

“What happened?” She demands as soon as she gets back to the living room. Curly’s hands are slippery with blood and he’s got a wad of rapidly reddening gauze pressed tightly against the wound in Tim’s stomach. Her older brother’s face is twisted in pain, his breathing even more laboured than it was a minute ago, tight gasps forcing themselves out from behind clenched teeth.

She’s seen knife wounds before, of course she has. Connor Tyrril from the Brumly gang had died from an infected knife wound last year, and Tim and even Curly had been sliced before, long gashes that eventually faded into rough scars– but never anything like this. The slashes they’d sustained in the past were meant to hurt, but this wound was very specifically meant to kill. 

She doesn’t know what to do. 

“Who did it?” She demands, hands fluttering uselessly. Curly seems to have a handle on what to do, his wide eyes at odds with his steady hands, counting under his breath as he applies pressure, but Angela doesn’t have a clue how to help and isn’t even sure that she can. “What happened?”

“A few of the boys from Tiber street apparently weren’t too fond of Tim’s latest shipment,” Curly explains, pressing a new piece of gauze over the others, already soaked through with blood. 

“Names Carlos.”

“Dustin Blackwell and Ian Forrester. Tried to fight ‘em off but they had about seven buddies backing ‘em.”

“They’re dead.” Angela vows, horrified to feel the way her eyes are stinging. She means it too. If anything happens to Tim those assholes are dead, juvie and jail and records be damned. The steely look buried under the panic in Curly’s eyes tells her he agrees.

Tim groans, despite how hard Angela can tell he’s trying to hold it back, and Curly stiffens, hands jerking slightly and tearing another horrible sound from Tim’s throat.

“Go see if there’s any more gauze somewhere,” he orders, pressing the last of the stuff over Tim’s wound, the fabric reddening as if by magic, “grab some of my t-shirts if you can’t find any.”

Angela runs to do as she’s bid, wishing she could do something, anything else. For all Curly is usually the last person who should be left in charge of anything, let alone any sort of crisis, right now he seems to be about the only person who knows what to do and Angela can’t help but cling to it like a lifeline. She can’t fix Tim, but she can sure as hell help Curly help him and if all she can do is grab t-shirts, you can best believe she’ll grab the whole stack in her drawer and Curly’s too.

She can’t have been gone more than thirty seconds but Tim is noticeably worse when she returns, sweat beading on his forehead, his skin looking closer to grey than its usual light brown. 

“Hold this for me,” Curly nods to the wad of gauze he’s pressing on with both hands, “don’t worry about hurtin’ him, just press as hard as you can. I’m gonna check his pulse.”

Tim lets out an almost inhuman scream the second she touches him, and it’s almost enough to have her jerk away and apologize if that wouldn’t render the whole thing useless. Curly waits until Angela’s hands are pressing hard beside his before he deigns to move one away, deftly pressing two fingers under Tim’s neck with one hand, counting under his breath. It seems like a long time before he stops counting even though the clock says it wasn’t more than a minute, and the tightness in his jaw belies his anxiety. 

Not good then- or getting worse.

“Well?” She snaps, too full of fear to know what to do with it, trying to hide behind a more familiar anger.

“It’s slow,” Curly snaps right back, her twin in soul and temperament and right now a visceral type of fear, “and gettin’ worse. He’s fucking bleeding out, Angel what’d you expect!”

“Shut up! He ain’t gonna bleed out! Shut up!”

Curly glares a second longer before his mask slips just a bit and she sees herself in his blue eyes. For a second they’re three years old again and Tim is in the reformatory and they’re both so hungry and alone and scared it feels like nothing will ever be okay again. Then she blinks, and Curly’s jaw tightens, and they’re back to now, in a no less horrible present.

“Damnit,” Curly snarls, but his voice breaks, “where the fuck is Manuel?”

“Quit arguin’” Tim speaks for the first time since Curly dragged him in and Angela could sob. His voice is the same gruff bark it’s always been, just as steady as it always is despite his laboured breathing, even as his lean form has started to shake uncontrollably under her hands, making it hard to keep the gauze and now one of her own t-shirts pressed against his wound, “and listen’ to me.”

Curly watches him with wide eyes, forever in awe, the way he’s always been, always willing to follow Tim anywhere, even off a cliff. Of course, Angela can't exactly blame him when she’s the exact same way.

“L-listen,” Tim repeats, his black eyes shining with an emotion Angela can’t place, and she is listening because its Tim talking and he always knows what to do. He’s going to tell them what to do and he’s going to be okay. They’ll do what he says and everything will be fine. “Listen.”

He swallows, grimacing as he lets out another strained breath before his sharp eyes focus on them again. 

“You’re good kids,” he says, fierce, so fierce, and Angela blinks because that isn’t right, it isn’t a plan, it isn’t a way to fix this. And it isn’t even true. She and Curly are about as far from good kids as it’s possible to be.

“You’re good kids,” Tim repeats with conviction, like he can hear what she’s thinking, “don’t let nobody tell you otherwise, savvy? I’m damn proud of you. Both of you.”

“Tim-”

“Good kids,” His eyes have taken on an almost glassy quality, “My kids.”

His entire body goes limp. Angela screams.

Manuel chooses that exact moment to burst through the door, Sylvia on his heels, and there's no time, no time for anything anymore except for Curly to grab Tim’s shoulders and Manuel grab his feet, and Angela try to keep pressure on that fucking stab wound all the way to the truck and then to the hospital until a team of nurses rolls Tim away on a gurney. Even then, the only reason they manage it is because Sylvia and Curly both half drag her away.

“Let go, I’m goin’ with him!”

“You can’t.” Sylvia’s voice cuts like a blade. “They ain’t gonna let you in the operation’ room Angel, so quit havin’ a fit and come sit in the waitin’ room.”

“Shepards stick together.” Angela turns to Curly for support but Curly doesn’t seem to be all here right now, staring vacantly into space and trembling like a leaf. “Right Curls?”

“C’mon,'' Sylvia shakes her head when Curly doesn’t answer, “We aren’t doin’ much good for ol’ Timmy in this parking lot, and we won’t do much more in the waitin’ room but at least there’ll be a place to sit.”

Unable to argue, Angela follows Sylvia inside, Curly trailing dreamlike after them, and they sit in the waiting room and do just that: wait. Manuel had left as soon as the doctors got Tim inside so he isn’t there with them, but Angela can’t find it in herself to care. Tim runs a gang, not a family. Manuel knows that as well as any of them.

Angela squeezes her hands into fists to stop the tremble in her fingers. Wonders how Sylvia can still be so unfeeling when her best friend has just been stabbed. Decides she doesn’t care. Watches as Curly slowly returns to himself, pulling out a cigarette and offering her one. They both pretend it’ll stop their hands from shaking. They’re both wrong.

She wants to do something. To start a fight or cause a problem, maybe kick up a fuss in the food court or swear at a nurse, do something to assuage the fear and the anger burning it’s way through her chest, do anything that isn’t just sit here and wait.

You’re good kids, Tim’s words echo in her head every time she’s about to get up and do something, keeping her rooted to the stupid plastic chair, doomed seemingly forever to the horrific purgatory of the waiting room. She isn’t a good kid, but Tim thinks she is, so she can be, at least for now, at least until she knows he’s okay.

“Anyone here for Timothy Shepard?”

Angela’s on her feet immediately, Curly at her side. Sylvia rises more languidly to face the woman at the nurses station, cool as ever.

“I don’t have any news yet,” the nurse says apologetically, seeing Angela and Curly’s tense faces, “I’m sorry. I just need someone to fill out the intake forms. Is he a minor?”

For a second Angela hates the warm faced woman more than she’s ever hated anyone.

“He’s eighteen,” Sylvia strolls forward, reaching a manicured hand towards the woman’s clipboard, “I’ll fill it out.”

The nurse starts to hand the clipboard to her, then freezes. “Um, I’m only supposed to give it to an emergency contact…”

“I’m his wife,” Sylvia lies smoothly, “you ain’t gonna keep me from seein’ my husband. I doubt he’s even got anyone listed considerin’ we only recently got hitched.”

The nurse checks the chart again. 

“What’d you say your name was?”

“Sylvia Shepard. Maiden name Devares.”

“Well it’s true he ain’t got anyone listed…” Angela can see the nurse crumbling, “I don’t suppose you got your marriage licence with you?”

“‘Course I do,” Sylvia reaches into her cleavage and pulls out the forged marriage certificate Curly had made a few months back when Sylvia needed Tim’s help opening a bank account, “there, see?”

The nurse glances at it and finally passes over the clipboard. 

“My apologies Mrs. Shepard.”

Angela winces. Sylvia is many things, but she ain’t a Shepard, and she sure as shit ain’t Tim’s wife. Still, the charade has worked wonders in the past, and it’s working wonders again now.

“Thanks.” Sylvia offers her a perfunctory smile and turns on her heel, strutting back to her seat, Angela and Curly trailing behind.

“What’s takin’ so long?” Curly mutters to her, while Sylvia purses her lips, flipping through the forms, “we’ve been here an hour. How’s he still in surgery?”

Angela doesn’t know, so she doesn’t answer.

They wait.

Sylvia finishes filling the pages with her chicken scratch handwriting and returns them to the nurses desk. An ambulance arrives with some broad sporting a gunshot wound. Nurses bustle, doctors hustle, people come in and out of the waiting room, and still, they are not called.

Curly’s knee bounces more with each passing minute. Sylvia looks so bored Angela could slap her. Something somewhere is beeping and Angela is going to lose her mind.

“Family of Timothy Shepard?”

He hates being called Timothy, is all she can think this time, when a doctor gives them a practiced sympathetic look and tells them Tim's finally out of surgery and they can see him. He says a bunch of other stuff too, but Angela doesn’t understand half of it, and she isn’t really listening anyway because they can see Tim now and everything's gonna be okay.

Then they walk into the hospital room and Angela’s world shatters.

She is used to Tim being many things- tough and smart, the type of responsible someone only becomes when you walk the fine line between being a father and a brother. She is used to his rage, the one thing he inherited from both parents, is used to the cold fury he tries to mask it with, with the almost inhuman level of self control he wields like a knife. She is used to Tim fighting, lying, cheating. To Angela, Tim has always been untouchable, larger than life. Not a hero, no, but not a villain either, instead something amorphous and not entirely human, more powerful than anyone else she knows. Now though, for the first time in years, he looks entirely, brokenly human. 

And small. That isn’t right, Tim isn’t small, has always towered over her and Curly, even now they're going on thirteen and have finally started to properly grow. 

He’s lying on a pillow, his brown skin still has that same bloodless grey tinge as earlier, even though at least two of the tubes plugged into his arm seem to be giving him more, which is good since half the blood in his body is still on the couch in their living room. Even still, what use is the hospital blood if it isn’t making him better? There’s a bag on clear fluid- what do they call that again? An IV?- in a needle beside the blood going into Tim’s arm, and a tube taped under his nose. At first Angela thought there was a sheet pulled up to his chest but when she stumbles forward she realizes with a jolt of horror that those are bandages wrapped so thoroughly and tightly around Tim’s entire chest she can hardly tell where they end and the actual sheets begin.

Somewhere, somehow, the doctor is still talking, Sylvia taking in each word with sharp eyes and looking anywhere but Tim, but Angela can’t hear anything over the roaring in her ears. Curly trembles almost imperceptibly beside her and she knows he feels it too, the horrible wrongness that hangs in the air, making this room one of nightmares.

Angela isn’t stupid. She knows she’s seen and lived through a lot of terrible things, faced horrors that most kids never dream of. Still, this has to be the worst thing that has ever happened to her.

Finally, the doctor leaves and the room is pitched into silence.

Sylvia pulls out a pack of cigarettes and lights one carefully, admiring the slight glow of the tip for a second before taking a long, slow drag. Only once she exhales, blowing a cloud of smoke that almost seems to fill the tiny room, does she look at Tim.

Something grim and dark settles in Sylvia’s hazel eyes, hardening more and more with each breath she watches the tube force through Tim’s lungs. The look sends a chill through Angela, a horrible itch starting at the back of her mind. Next to Tim, Angela probably knows more about Sylvia than anyone in the world, but right now she hasn’t got the slightest clue what she might be thinking. 

“Curly,” Sylvia says, in the same husky drawl as usual, disarmingly nonchalant, “you got your switch on ya?”

Curly blinks. “‘Course.”

“Give it here.”

Her tone leaves no room for argument and Curly doesn’t try to, pulling the blade from his pocket and placing it in Sylvia’s waiting palm. Manicured nails wrap around it with practiced ease and that horrible itch in the back Angela’s mind suddenly becomes painful.

“What-” the words die on her lips. She can’t bring herself to ask what Sylvia is going to do. She knows what she’s going to do. The dark haired girl has never been one to get angry, but she always, always gets even. An eye for an eye. A humiliation for a humiliation. A stab wound for a stab wound.

A life for a life.

Without another word Sylvia turns on her heel and stalks away, letting the door slam behind her.

Then it’s just Angela and Curly and the boy in the bed that is supposed to be their brother but isn’t. 

There's a horribly ugly fake leather armchair in the corner of the room Angela drags it closer to Tim’s bed and perches on the armrest, Curly half collapsing into the chair itself. 

She’d thought the waiting room was bad but this is worse, sitting beside Tim but being unable to reach him, watching him fighting a fight that for once neither she nor Curly can fight with him, no matter how much she wishes she could.

He’s going to die. 

The thought rises, unbidden, from the part of her mind that is forever young and terrified and hopeless and immediately she knows it to be true. The earth is round, the sky is blue, and her big brother is going to die.

Panic flares in her chest but the more she tries to tamp it down, to banish the thought back to the depths of wherever it came from, the more it demands to be heard.

He’s going to die. Tim is going to die and there is nothing she or Curly or this entire fucking hospital can do about it. Tim is going to die. She and Curly will lose the only real family they’ve ever had and her whole shitty life will get so much worse without anyone to take care of her. Curly will go off the rails, will end up in jail or dead too and then she will truly be entirely, unequivocally, alone.

“Angel?” Curly’s voice is plaintive, small, and she knows he feels it too, “what are we gonna do?”

She knows what he really means, what he’s really asking. She doesn’t have any answers.

Instead she reaches out a trembling hand and Curly grabs hers like a lifeline, squeezing her fingers so tight her bones creak. Angela hangs on just as tightly.

They haven’t done this in years, not since they were seven or so, have barely touched at all in the intervening years, both too used to physical contact meaning pain to ever really be comfortable touching anyone. Now though, the pressure of Curly’s hand in hers feels like the only thing tethering her to the earth. 

They stay like that, hands clasped together in a silent vigil, until Tim wakes up.

It’s neither a slow, nor a pretty process. First a machine starts beeping like crazy and then half a dozen nurses and doctors rush in and kick her and Curly out again into the hallway, but when all is said and done and they’re allowed back in the room, Tim’s black eyes are open and the breathing tube is gone from under his nose. 

Angela Shepard doesn’t believe in miracles, but in that moment it feels like she’s been granted one. Then again, she thinks, as Curly starts mouthing off in an attempt to hide the unshed tears in his eyes, Tim has been the cause of nearly every miracle she’s ever witnessed, and this one is no different.

As Tim starts to yell and Curly’s unmistakable donkey laugh fills the room  Angela can’t help but chide herself for being so stupid. Tim Shepard never lost a fight. Just because this one looked a little different didn’t make it any different.

[fortheunsungheros]

Out of curiosity- How much do you know abt ur fav character in The Outsiders?? My fav is Dallas, who was the sixth character to be introduced by pony in the book- hence my blog name lol

Dally’s full name was Dallas Tucker Winston (as we know)

was 17 (also as we know) and died just two months short of his birthday, which is November 9th, meaning the book begins in September on a Friday

got his disc memorized- you know the drill with him so I’ll keep it shortish: described as tow-headed with an elvish face, with high cheekbones and a sharp chin, small sharp animal like teeth and ears like a lynx, his hair was almost white it was so long, but he didn’t like haircuts or hairpins either so it went over his forehead in wisps and kicked out in the back in tufts along the nape of his neck and curled behind his ears. The shade difference between a greaser and a hood wasn’t present in Dally, he was a wild as a brumly boys, like Tim Shepard’s gang. He had pale icy blue eyes, cold with a hatred for the whole world- he didn’t have anything specific to hate. (So much for short- Read it 217 times since 7th grade)

gave pony the letter from soda and didn’t want to get beat tf up by Darry for giving pony the money and the gun

bought pony and Johnny food at Darry Queen :D

he showed up to the rumble with his arm burnt tf up and fought anyhow

Took Ponyboy to see Johnny because he knew he was dying in the hospital and wanted pony to seem him one last time too

he was born in 1948- since the book was finished in ‘65, I just subtracted 17 from there- so he would’ve been 76 this year :,(

on a lighter note, S.E. Hinton confirmed that he was most likely out of the gang to be scared of spiders- had me rolling 🤣

Lmao it got to the point where I gaslit myself into thinking he lived and Johnny lived based on a fic I read years ago and when I reread it this past month my whole reality with him shattered- please send help I can’t be the only one obsessed with a character to this degree🫠

Wow I think you’re more obsessed with this book than me 😭 HOW HAVE YOU READ IT 217 TIMES? I’m on my 3rd reread in the past 8 months or so.

But seriously wow! I’m glad I found someone who is as obsessed - if not more than me lol. Dallas is probably my 3rd favorite character (ik don’t come and find me lol) behind 2. Johnny and 1. Darry

Darry has always been my favorite character ever since I read the book for the first time. He just stuck out to me and I love his character so much. He also is played by Patrick Swayze and he is the finest man to ever walk the earth sooo. (Like seriously I’m obsessed with this man I’ve watched almost every movie he’s in please send help)

Even though Darry’s my favorite character I don’t know everything about him off hand lol. I’m just gonna make a list of everything I know off the top of my head about my favorite character (yes out of every book I’ve read he’s my favorite character, secondly being Katniss Everdeen if you would like to know lol)

• He’s 20 years old

• His full name is Darrel Shayne Curtis Jr (I say this at least twice a day idk don’t ask why)

• Don’t quote me on this but I think he was introduced last in the book

• He works as a roof repair man person

• His birthday is January 5th

• He’s the oldest brother (obviously)

• He is said to not be a greaser if it weren’t for his brothers and the rest of the gang

• Darry was a MESS when Johnny and Pony were at the church (DARREL STAYS UP ALL NIGHT LONG, TILL HE FINALLY FALLS ASLEEP BY THE TELEPHONEEE - Sodas Letter from the musical)

• Also he was the football captain in high school and was voted boy of the year

• Don’t ask me how I know this offhand (I need a hobby) but in the book Darry is one of the tallest if not the tallest greaser but Patrick Swayze isn’t crazy tall so in some of the photos you can see him standing on bricks to make him look taller lol

Okay that’s all I remember right now but I know more will come to me later lol. And also I sincerely believe also that the events in the book are fictional (well no shit) but like FICTIONAL in a FICTIONAL way. Like Ponyboy definitely just needed a good grade so made up a bs story lmao. I really have tricked myself into thinking both Johnny and Dally are alive and well and the gang is still partying in Tulsa.

ALSO thank you for this ask it was really fun to do!

[thecraziness]

you can't tell me that ponyboy never mocks the brumly boys behind their backs. he literally calls them out and says they arent real educated.

anyways, for example

brumly boy: you excited for the bopaction* tonight ponyboy: yeah i am brumly boy: *turns away* ponyboy: *mocking* yOu eXciTeD fOr tHe BoPaCtiOn ToNiGhT twobit: *dying of luaghter*

*bopaction= rumble

[i-like-ratsssss]

Au dump bc u are my favorite mat mootie ever and also my longest mootie

Kinda Tw for depression and themes of su1c1de

Hear me out purly but Pony (in his defense, this was pretty shortly after they started dating and he was struggling) gave him the harshest breakup ever. Telling him it wasn’t working because he never loved him and he was just playing around. OBV THAT SHIT HURT, but bc the shepherds are well, the shepherds, there parents where pretty much absence as a whole, also bc they live with Tim. He really didn’t have any support, his friends, Bryson didn’t give a shit, you ain’t talk to the brumly boys, and Markboy started which HURT, and Angela, responded to it like it was nothing bc he didn’t fully tell her and twin rivalry, and Tim was well, Tim. Busy and acted like he didn’t give af, after like a few months of it it was TOO much and bro was just done. Legit bed rotting. Tim didn’t rlly say anything cus “kids will be kids” and Engel was worried but didn’t bring it up.

Eventually it got bad.

“Tim?”

“What? What do you want Curly. I’m busy-“

“Im done living.”

Tim FLIPPED out obv, screaming at him to sit down chat bc he does care for his litteral siblings. Anyways it kinda just ended up Angela and Tim just awkwardly sitting around him not rlly knowing what to say bc they know violence isnted of comfort.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I’m gonna go sob real quick ☺️

[wildestdreamcatcher]

TW: Mentions of death

I think in interesting theme in "The Outsiders" is being doomed by the narrative, ending up back were you started, and accepting your fate. Darry tired to escape the poverty and crime filled area by going to college but he ended up back where he started after his parents died. He tried to make a better life for himself but he was doomed to end up there again. Johnny briefly became a hero, even though he was in the hospital, there is still this sliver of hope that things could be different if he surived but he died, sad and depressed, just like how he lived. The rest of the gang has kind of accepted they can't live a different life since it's all the know, they don't even have that hope for eachother.

After Dally's death, Ponyboy says "Dally didn't die a hero. He died violent and young and desperate, just like we all knew he'd die someday. Just like Tim Shepard and Curly Shepard and the Brumly boys and the other guys we knew would die someday." They've seemed to accept the fact they could be stuck in this cycle. The rest of the gang expected Dally to die this way, they've accepted this fate so much they predict it.

[foottoe101001]

If the Brumly boys had stayed together this day in age they’re vocabulary would basically be just pure brain rot. They can’t read they can’t write they don’t even know what basic knowledge is but they got brain rot.

Lol imagine darry walking down the street and they all yell “GYATTTT” poor darry would look around so confused.

@cheryyy-valancce @gr3ase-g0t-h0ld @dxllycade @pookiepiss69

[kaytheday]

Angela Shepard Head Canon's

Angela Shepard is the younger sister to Curly and Tim Shepard. I learned recently that she was never actually mentioned in The Outsiders, she was only ever mentioned in That Was Then, This Is Now.

ALSO: I am creating a tag-list for this series! Just comment or PM me to be added. Masterlist linked here! More under the cut, thanks!

Angela is about 14 years old and she’s in 10th grade

She has straight black hair and black eyes. Her features are dark and her skin is olive.  

She’s very skinny. She’s the kind of skinny where her wrists are thin and her hip bones jut out underneath her jeans. Her teeth are crooked and she's got this cat-like grin that she learned from Tim and tries to copy to look tough. 

She started wearing heavy black makeup in 8th grade. She wears it in an effort to distract from the fact that almost all her dresses are second-hand. 

Angela is no stranger to dangerous boys. Her brothers are some of the most dangerous guys around for crying out loud, but she tends to be drawn to them. 

Like having a crush on Dallas Winston till she was twelve. 

The first time Tim caught her making out with one of the guys in his gang, he beat the guy up and slapped her. She was twelve. 

 After this incident she tries a little harder to piss Tim off. She took up smoking, got black out drunk, and even lost her virginity to one of the Brumly boys. 

Angela is a very vicious sort of danger. She’s desperate in every sort of way. Desperate to impress her brothers. Desperate to let everyone know she's tough. Desperate to grow up in a world where the deck is stacked against her. 

Her desperation often ends up manifesting itself in stupid dangerous acts against authority. 

Like how she overdosed and Curly had to call someone to pump her stomach.

or hitting on Buck Merril because she knew Tim would be pissed.

Tim gets frustrated because he’s the one parenting. Their dad walked out of the picture a long time ago. Their mom is a drug addict and prostitutes herself out for drug money. Because of this, the parenting responsibilities often fall on him. Tim is hardly the best brother, let alone parent. Especially when it comes to Angela. 

Tim can tell Curly what to do. Curly will listen to him to some degree. Curly respects him. 

Angela is a different story. She's got that defiant look in her eye. The one that dares Tim to challenge her. 

And he just doesn’t know what to do. 

TAGLIST: @ratwife77

[some-of-us-watch-the-sunset-too]

“I’m not afraid of loving you anymore.”

(lil sneak peek at an important scene)

A/N: this is a Dally x male!reader fic and i literally have 3 paragraphs written so don’t expect much from it for a loooong time. also this wasn’t proofread at all and it’s really just a concept for a scene right now.

Tags: Kinda angsty, this is like a pretty pivotal moment in the stoey

Warnings: homophobia (the F slur is used i think once)

Y/N stood in the corner of the room and looked around. He had came here with Two-Bit but he had snuck off to go flirt with some girl. One sound in the sea of voices caught his attention. A laugh. He looked around to see Dallas standing across the room with some of his friends from the Shepard gang. They both stared at each other. Dallas dropped his gaze first. Asshole. He runs out on Y/N and he can’t even stare him down? Pathetic. “Did you hear about those two Brumly boys?” Dallas looked back around at his friend “No; what happened?” “They kissed at some party the other night!” Dally looked shocked. “Really?” Y/N saw a certain glint in his eye, hope. but he knew that his friend would be disappointed. “Yea. Disgusting faggots.” The friend hissed. Dally stared across the room to Y/N. Y/N could see the realisation in his face. The greaser put on a cold expression and turned back to his friends. “Yea, disgustin.” He laughed but Y/N could see that he was close to tears.

He scoffed. What did Dallas expect? In this world their relationship could never be accepted. That’s how they would be talked about if they ever showed affection to each other in public. Y/N had always know this, but the whole idea of it seemed like a shock to Dally…

[alittlebitofloveliness]

Outsiders Prompt Fic #11- "This ain't my first rodeo kid"

This one was requested by @whitemanswh0re3 who requested prompt 10 for Tim Shepard. I had a lot of fun with this one, and got to include some Curly and Angela shenanigans so I hope y'all enjoy!

****************

Tim should have known better.

His first mistake was forgetting to hide ma’s liquor bottles before she woke up that morning. His second was paying more attention to Manuel’s report on their business with the Brumly boys than to his pissed off little sister, and his third was leaving the twins alone for more than five minutes without adequate supervision.

This is his fault, but all Angela’s doing. She’s mad at him so now she's getting even, and shit he’s gonna have a miserable night isn’t he? He should have known better. She’s not one to mess with. He supposes it’s his own fault- he raised her to take no shit, but honestly, she's not supposed to turn his teachings against him. She’d wanted his attention before and he’d ignored her, so now she’d gone and made it impossible for him to ignore her a second longer.

“Timmy!” Ma’s eyes are jewel bright, the booze making her happy before the comedown makes her mad. That’s fine. That’s par for the course. “Carinõ, come sit with us.”

He takes in the scene in front of him. Bottles and powders- familiar evidence of Ma’s debauchery- covering every surface, his baby brother on the floor, half hidden behind the couch, his little sister bleary eyed and all but collapsed into Ma’s side. 

“Come sit with us,” he can hear the deadly disbelief in his voice, “Come sit with us? With you and my seven year old baby siblings you let get drunk with you?”

She scoffs at him. Actually scoffs. 

“They’ve only had a sip or two, they’re fine.”

He should have known something like this would happen the minute Angel started sucking up to Ma. Angela hates Ma. Of course she had ulterior motives. How could he be so stupid?

“They! Are! Seven! Years! Old!” He all but howls, “You shouldn’t have given them any! Jesus Christ woman, I know you decided not to be our mother but you could at least use some goddamn common sense! You don’t give children alcohol for fucks sakes.”

“Angel wanted some.” She’s petulant, like a scolded child, and Tim hates that he’s stuck raising her right along with his siblings. 

“Angel wants a lotta things, and at least half of them will kill her,” he levels a glare at his sister, who doesn’t seem to really hear him before turning back to Ma “she’s gotta learn the meanin’ of no and you bet your ass I’m gonna teach it to her just as soon as I make sure they ain’t gonna die of alcohol poisonin’ because of you.”

Ma doesn’t look ashamed. She never does, never once feels guilty when she should no matter what she’s done or how much she’d hurt them. Nothing is ever her fault, not when she didn't buy enough food to feed them when they were little, not when she forgot they existed and left for a week when she went on a bender, not when her boyfriends beat on him and Curly or got too friendly with Angela. To Maria, nothing is ever her fault. Letting the twins go hog wild on her Jose Cuervo won’t be any different. She’ll blame him or fate or her piece of shit ex husband, if all else fails she’ll call it an accident but she’ll never admit that it’s all her fault. Her fault for never getting to know her children as more than dolls to play with when she's bored, her fault for giving up on mothering when he was four and never trying again, even when she had new babies, her fault for being so pathetically broken she doesn’t know- or worse just doesn’t care- what giving free access to her poison of choice could do to children who are already too used to numbing their pain in any way they can find.

He hates her. He hates her so much. 

Curly is sprawled across the floor by the couch, glassy eyed and babbling to himself. The kid already never shuts up and whatever poison Ma had given him seems to have cut off his filter altogether. It don’t matter that no ones listening to him- Curly’s off in his own little world, entertaining himself. He’s a lonely kid, Tim’s seen it, seen how he’s always a bit too strange, a bit too callous, a bit too wild to every truly fit in- he supposes it’s good the kid has learned to entertain himself. Even still, he hates seeing it like this. 

“What did they have?” he grits through a mask of forced calm. He’ll deal with Ma later. For now, the kids have to come first, and per usual he's the only one around willing to recognize that. “How much did you give them?”

“Really Timmy, I don’t know what you’re all up in arms about, my mama got me started early-”

“-Look how well that turned out for you, huh?” He sneers, glad to see her flinch. “Now I ain’t gonna ask you again: how much did they have and what exactly did you give them?”

“They been sippin’ from my bottle with me,” she holds up her good old Jose Cuervo bottle that Tim wants to smash against the fucking wall, “and I think Angel stole a bite or two of brownie when my back was turned.”

“She got into the grass?”

“It ain’t my fault! They’re devils, both of them. They wouldn’t listen to me when I said it wasn’t for kids, she just wanted sweets!”

“Fuck!” He kicks the beat up coffee table sending empties crashing to the floor, “fuck!”

“If they get proper sick from this,” he whirls on Maria, jabbing a finger in her direction and she cringes back. He knows he looks like Pa when he’s mad like this, it’s why usually he fights so hard to keep his temper under control. RIght now though, he doesn’t much care if he reminds her of him. Let her be scared. He hopes she feels even half the terror he’s feeling right now. “If I gotta take them to the ER or Curly chokes on his own puke or Angel finds she’s got a taste for the good stuff at seven fucking years old- I swear to god I will kill you. So you better pray they’re alright.”

She swallows, suddenly quiet and the only noise in the room is Curly’s incessant babbling, but Tim doesn’t drop eye contact and she must know he means it because without another word she rises from the couch, and stumbles down the hall closing the door of her room behind her with a snap. 

Tim sighs. One problem dealt with, two to go, one of whom is having a conversation with the ceiling and the other of which seems fascinated by the feeling of the couch cushion against her cheek. 

Jesus Christ.

The twins have always been small, wiry and wild as any feral animal, and he fears it’s yet another disadvantage working against them tonight, as the alcohol and the weed is bound to do a lot more damage to their systems than it would to anyone actually old enough to be playing with substances. However, their is one advantage to them being small that Tim learned very early on to use to his advantage, and that’s this: he can still manage to pick them both up at once.

He scoops Angie up first, fixing her nightgown which has gotten twisted around her neck, and she rests her head on his shoulder, but apart from that doesn’t give any indication that she knows who he is or what’s going on. She gets like this sometimes anyway, quits talking and gets real blank looking so he can’t really tell if it’s the weed hitting her hard or not. Curly on the other hand, grins as soon as he sees him and doesn’t stop talking for even a second as Tim settles him on his hip and starts carrying them down the hall to their bedroom. They should’ve been asleep ages ago, and they’ll probably crash soon regardless, but it isn’t gonna offer him any sort of peace now is it, not when he’s gonna have to wake up every hour to check that they’re still breathing. 

“...an’ mama’s friend Mark came over for a bit an’ I think he’s mean but mama said we had to be nice or we’d have to go away again and then Angela stole her brownie and didn’t even share with me e’en though I gave her an easter chocklit and then mama got mad at us for fighting so she said I could have more of her special drink so it was fair but her special drink hurt my mouth but I got in trouble for spittin’ it out an’ Mark belted me a goodun’ so I had to swallow all of it-”

“Curly,” Tim cut him off firmly. That’s how he always has to do stuff with the kid. Firm. Otherwise Curly don’t pay attention long enough to listen to anything, “what do you mean that bastard belted you?”

“He hit me,” Curly told him simply, and Tim hated how matter of fact he sounded. No seven year old should sound so blase about being smacked, “a goodun’ in the back, but I didn’t cry ‘cause I know you wouldn’t an’ I’m tough like you so I just glared at him and called him a motherfucker like you woulda-”

“Curly, let me see your back.”

He eased the kid’s t-shirt over Curly’s scrawny shoulders, feeling a new spike of rage at the hand shaped purple bruise blooming across Curly's shoulder. That asshole. Tim was gonna hunt him down and give him a taste of his own medicine. He’d learn not to mess with a Shepard ever again, and maybe he’d learn a lesson about beating little kids too.

“You did good kid,” Tim told him, fixing Curly’s t-shirt, “that bastard ain’t gonna take a swing at you again, y’hear?”

“I’ll beat him up if he tries. You can help,” Curly offers magnanimously, “you’re real good at beatin’ people up. I bet me’n you could beat up anyone if we tried. Even a football player soc.”

“Even a football player soc.” Tim agrees, hating the softness that’s welling in his chest. He’s supposed to be angry at them- they’re big enough to know they aren’t supposed to talk to Ma if he isn’t around and he’s had the talk about not eating or drinking anything Ma gives them more than once- but it’s hard when the booze has made Curly so sweet, and Angel so cuddly, curled into his lap. They’ll be grumpy tomorrow, sick and sore, and hopefully that’ll teach them a lesson, but for now he figures he can afford to be a little extra nice to them. After all, it doesn’t sound like Ma or latest her boyfriend had been earlier.

“Angel’s bein’ real quiet doncha think?” Curly really couldn’t shut up if his life depended on it. Tim just hums, shifting so he’s leaning against the wall, Angela in his lap and Curly leaning into his side. “She says that brownie made her feel all floaty and thet talkings making her sick, but that drink made my head cloudy too and I don’t feel sick so I thought it was maybe an al-er-gic reaction like Saide Thomason had at school except I made her blow on my hand and  could feel the air so I guess she’s still breathing, which is good because I don’t want Angel to stop breathin’.”

He pats her cheek none too gently but Angela doesn’t seem to mind, offering him a dopey smile,far less guarded than her usual one. Yeah, she’s real out of it, but Curly’s assessment seems to ring true, and Tim thinks she’ll be ok.

“Angel’s my best friend, did you know?” Curly informs him, before looking down at his twin sister, “You’re my best friend Angel, even though you are plain old mean sometimes. It’s ok though ‘cause I am too sometimes, and usually you’re just mean ‘cause you're sad, and I figure that’s alright. Ponyboy says you should try not to be mean ever but he also called Dillon an asshole at recesss yesterday so he’s a hyp- hypo-critter or whatever it’s called when you’re a big dirty liar-”

Curly’s mouth was still spilling words at warp speed but his eyes were starting to droop, and Tim figured he’d talk himself to sleep pretty soon. Angel had already nodded off a minute ago, and the even breaths puffing out of her mouth between snores reassured him she was doing alright and wasn’t gonna overdose the way he’d been worried about since Ma let slip she’d got ahold of that brownie. Was he still gonna wait up to make sure? Obviously, but at least there wasn’t panicky tension thrumming under his skin anymore.

Curly dropped off to sleep exactly the way Tim knew he would, cutting himself off mid sentence and slumping against him. Tim sighed, waiting a minute to make sure he was truly out before carefully shifting him so he was curled up beside Angela, head tilted so he wouldn’t choke if he threw up in his sleep. Tim climbed off the bed, making sure not to jostle either of them lest he accidentally wake them up. Angel was blitzed outta her mind, and Curly had drunk himself into a near stupor, but he still wasn’t about to risk it.

He dragged Curly’s mattress across the room so he was right next to them when they inevitably woke up fussy, and quickly fell into a fitful doze.

He jerked awake an hour later, and after checking to make sure both kids were still sound asleep and triple checking they were breathing ok, fell back onto his own mattress.

The next time he wakes it’s to the sound of whimpering. 

Internally cursing and blinking blearily he sits up to see Curly twisted in the blankets, hair flat on one side and eyes welling with unshed tears.

“Tim?” Curly sounds very small, “I don’t feel good.”

“Ok kid,” Tim sighs, swinging Curly into his arms and carrying him down to the bathroom, “it’s alright. This is just what happens when you drink Ma’s special drinks.”

“I don't wanna be sick,” Curly whines, a dangerous wobble in his voice, “I didn’t even like her special drink.”

Tim really, really can’t handle the waterworks right now.

“It’s alright kid, just let yourself throw up and you’ll feel better.”

Curly does, managing to get the whole mess in the bowl and isn’t that a fucking miracle since usually the bathroom looks like a crime scene whenever the twins get sick. Tim rubs his back, pushing his curls out of his face until he’s sure Curly’s done, then wets a corner of the hand towel with water and uses it to wipe his baby brother’s face.

“You’re real good at this,” Curly mumbles, already half asleep as Tim carries him back to bed.

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly, pressing a soft kiss to the sleeping kid’s forehead as he lays him next to Angela, “this ain’t my first rodeo kid.”

Curly snuffles a little, loud even in sleep, and  Angela somehow managed to headbut him in the shoulder and toss an arm over his shoulders without waking up.

Tim regards them both a second longer, watches their chests rise and fall- breathing, alive, safe, if only for the moment, and drops back onto his own mattress for the night.

He'll be here when they wake up, but for now he’s gonna get some much needed sleep.

[sweet-child]

" The Future Is Bulletproof, The Aftermath is Secondary. Its time to do it now and do it loud. Killjoys, Make some noise!"

Im currently listening to my Danger Days vinyl, and I heard this. My mind went to 'greasers'. Before the rumble, Steve and Soda were singing about how they were hoods and JDs. I think this kind of goes along with it. If it doesnt go with the Curtis Outfit, it goes with the Shepards and Brumly boys.

[hatchi-matchii]

Axel Beckham!!

It feels like I have like no art of him lmao. Anyway he’s a part of the rarely-mentioned Brumly Boys band of greasers and owns a junkyard on the east side, where he lives on the property with his girl, Evelyn

I haven’t finished this but it’s the only picture I have of them together lol. Based on that one ad

Starting a reblog game: RB w/ your own outsiders OC!

if enough folks do, I’ll draw them together or something lol, it’ll be fun!

So these are blatant self inserts for my sister and me

(Info & backstories under the cut because I’ve put waaaay too much thought into this)

and again, pls do reblog/tag me w/ your own Outsiders original/self insert characters! (Drawings and/or written descriptions!) Making OCs was one of my favorite things to do as a kid, so I figured it’d be fun to bring it back here lol

(And to reiterate- if enough of ya’ll do this I’ll draw ‘em all together like a greaser-sona gang! So don’t be shy ok??)

-got sent to Tulsa from Seattle in 1961 at ages 13 and 11 to live with their mildly neglectful uncle, due to their mother getting cancer and being unable to properly care for them. Their father was lost at sea when they were little, so they had no one else to go to.

-in Tulsa they go by their mother’s surname, Biondi, instead of their father’s, because interracial marriage isn’t legalized in Oklahoma until ‘67. They try to pass as just Italian. This works better for Naomi, who takes more after their mother than their father in looks.

-Naomi is good friends w/ Ponyboy- she relates to him a lot, from the dislike of fighting to the love for sunsets (legit Ponyboy reminds me of my sister so much irl) (She’s also low-key got a crush on him and Sodapop which is pretty funny)

-Jesse is closer to Two-Bit, Dally, Steve, and Soda. And he really likes fights. They’re exciting and make him feel tough. When he stops to think about it it does make him a little uneasy how much he’s grown to like them, but usually he just ignores that

-Naomi disapproves of crime. Jesse used to oppose it too, but the more time he spends without good role models and parental figures, the more his morels loosen. Tries hard to be a good example for Naomi though

-Jesse met the gang through Sodapop originally- they were thirteen and some Socs were jumping Soda, and Jesse jumped in and helped him out. Soda explained to him what the deal with Socs and greasers is, because there’s no greasers up North

-Naomi met the gang separately through being classmates with Ponyboy. They were working together on a school project, one with him writing and her drawing

-So Jess and Naomi spent a solid few months hanging out with different members of the same gang, completely unaware they had the same group. They eventually end up running into each other at the Curtis house, and both are totally shocked. Two-Bit, who knew the whole time, nearly died laughing

-Naomi is friends with both Socs and greasers, because she isn’t really either- she’s financially a greaser, but she has a crazy high GPA for someone who has ADHD and dyslexia in the 60s, and besides that, she just doesn’t like what she sees as pointless rivalry

-Jess loves pointless rivalry. At least until people start getting hurt. Then he starts to get angry.