#darry curtis they could never make me hate you

[specific-dreamer]

understanding darry curtis isn’t enough i need to wrap him in a giant weighted blanket

[littlestarbigsky]

you still feel like a kid when you’re 20.

i still laugh when my brother burps and i laugh at dick jokes bc im still a kid. i get home at 2 in the morning and i don’t turn in my homework on time. i drive my mama crazy because i never shut the hell up. i get mad when i have to wake up early for work and i get scared doing my taxes. i’m not a good driver and the idea of making my own doctors appointments is terrifying.

i may be 20 years old but i’m still a kid.

darry curtis was 20 years old but he was still just a kid.

[trekkiehood]

Based on this Tumblr Post by @marmaladedcroissant

(I wrote this at 2am and am self-projecting <3)

TW: Nightmares, vague suicidal thoughts

The nightmares aren’t bad. Not really. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

It’s not like with Ponyboy. He doesn’t wake up screaming or crying or anything like that. No one ever rushes through his door to calm him down or make it stop.

So it’s not really that bad. 

The clock on the mantel (his parents' mantel. The same clock that’s been there for as long as he can remember) reads three a.m. He should be asleep. He knows he should be asleep. But he also knows what’s waiting for him there. 

It’s the silent terror. Waking up with a sore throat but with no tears on his face. It took him awhile to realize it’s the pain of not crying. Of not shouting and begging and pleading with God for a different life. Of not letting a single sound pass through his lips when they need to so badly. 

That’s what waits for him when he finally closes his eyes. He knows this. But his eyes are getting heavy. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep them open. 

Maybe he can get up and be productive. He can do the dishes (if he doesn’t soon they’re not going to have anything to eat on) or fold the laundry (why is there so much? Why is there always so much to do?). But he can’t. He’s too tired to do that. Too tired to function really. He just sits. And stares. And tries not to sleep until his body physically cannot take another second of wakefulness. 

There’s nothing waiting for him beyond the land of wakefulness except the mutilated bodies of his parents. Maybe his brain will decide to spice it up this time. Maybe it won’t be his parents. Maybe it will be Pony. Or Soda. (Or Dally or Johnny or Steve or Two-Bit or or or or). Maybe it won’t be death. Maybe it’s a social worker. One who claims (knows) that he’s failing. One who believes (correctly) that he can’t do this anymore. 

Maybe he’ll watch again as Dally is shot down in the streets (or maybe it will be Soda this time.) Maybe it will be Johnny crying out in pain, barely able to move (or maybe Pony will take his place like he wants to). Maybe Pony’s body is found at the fountain, not Bob (it’s an oddly clear image for something that technically never happened). Maybe it’s Soda with the vacant eyes of another soldier lost that stares at him from the newspaper (Soda turns eighteen in a few months please God I couldn’t live without him). 

He’s seen them all die in so many different ways. He waits patiently for his own turn. It never comes. Maybe that would be too much of a relief.

He should let go now. Stop fighting the heavy eyelids. But he can’t. Because that would be admitting defeat. 

That would doom him to the horror show that lives inside of his mind. It’s hard enough to keep them at bay when he is awake. When he’s asleep he has no defenses. 

There used to be a time when he couldn’t fall asleep (he still can’t but he’s more thankful for it now). He tried sleeping aides when he was a teenager when his nightmares were mostly failing his exams (he had the death one's back then too. But it was different now. Everything was different now.)

Oh he would sleep. They would have their desired effect. But he wouldn’t wake up. Not when he needed too (not when he couldn’t escape whatever torture chamber his brain had decided to trap him in). Certainly not rested. And the pressure behind his eyes wouldn’t go away for days. 

Maybe Two-Bit had the right idea. Maybe if he went through life just on the edge of intoxication- 

Maybe that would make all of his nightmares come to life even faster (he can’t drink like that if he wants to keep his brothers. How is he supposed to protect the gang if he can’t keep a level head?).

He had to get up for work soon. But how was he supposed to do that when his brain wouldn’t let him move? 

How was he supposed to get up on a roof and work when he could barely see straight? Maybe he could close his eyes for just a minute-

His eyes fly open and he doesn’t remember if he even dreamed. The clock reads four am. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than twenty minutes. He must not have dreamed, something else must have woken him up (his eyes are painfully dry and the ache in his throat tells him that’s not true). 

He used to talk in his sleep. Soda made fun of him for it. He used to say the strangest things. Things that didn’t make sense. Words or phrases that didn’t seem to go together (those were the days that he didn’t remember dreaming at all but he always woke up feeling worse than he had the night before). 

Sometimes he’d wake up in the middle of the night and he couldn’t breathe. Sometimes he knew why, knew what he had seen inside of his head. And sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes the pain in his chest and the spinning in his head warned him with the impending feeling that death was imminent and that it was close (but not for him. Never for him. Why couldn’t it just come for him?). 

But no one knew. 

No one heard him sobbing in his dreams. No one heard his screams and cries and begging. Those stayed inside of him. Everything stayed inside. Because the second it came out it would ruin them all. If those emotions, those reactions, ever broke containment, they would never go back in and he wouldn’t be able to cope anymore ( then everyone would know how messed up he was. How broken he was. How not okay he was). 

So he would wake up with a sore throat and aching eyes and a scream on his tongue (one that will never make it past his lips) and stare at the ceiling until his alarm goes off and everything starts again. 

And while he’s lying awake he’ll listen. Listen for Pony’s cries. His screams (sometimes he was jealous that Pony got to scream. Why doesn’t he have to suffer in silence too?). And then he’d wait outside the door to see if Soda could handle it (most of the time he could). Wait to see if he was needed (he rarely was). And in the rare event that Soda couldn’t calm him down, he would step in and do everything he could to make his baby brother feel better (why does Pony get comfort? Why can’t he have it? Why does even his subconscious refuse to allow him to ask for comfort?). 

But tonight Pony remains silent. 

Darry does too. 

Because the nightmares aren’t bad. Not really. 

Notes:

Let me know what you think <3 Much love and God bless, Jamie

[just-another-fangirl326]

Rip Darry Curtis, you would have loved Vienna by Billy Joel.

"Too bad, but it's the life you lead You're so ahead of yourself that you forgot what you need Though you can see when you're wrong You know you can't always see when you're right" is very Darry coded.

[trekkiehood]

I feel like he makes it a month, maybe two, before he realizes he just... Doesn't care anymore. He's spent the last four years providing for everyone else and now he's just taking care of himself with maybe Steve or TB occasionally stopping by.

And then Steve comes by less because, well, he was there for Soda.

And TB is finally trying to get his life together so he's bumming around less.

And Darry wakes up in an empty house and realizes that he only has to make breakfast for himself. And really there's no point in that.

And so what if the electricity gets turned off? Who's using it anyway?

So he decides to just... Not yet out of bed. For a long time. For a concerningly long time. And if he does manage to actually get up and go to work, he doesn't really eat much because cooking for one is exhausting. And he finally has free time but all there is to do is sit alone in a two empty house so he starts picking up even more shifts (maybe he can send some money to Pony. Yeah. Ease his brothers load a little bit).

But it takes a long time for anyone to notice that Darry, the one who almost made it out. The one the whole town said had such a bright future. Student of the year of his graduations class. He's just... Stopped living.

thinking about darry waking up one day while ponyboy is at college and sodapop is at war and he’s alone in the house and realizes he doesn’t know what to do with himself because he hasn’t put himself first in so long

[dairyfairyy]

darry being darry when he checks in on the guys in the gang who don't stay at their home often when he sees them sleeping on the couch at 4 in the afternoon

darry being darry when he joins johnny and pony's team when they play football because he knows it wouldn't be fair otherwise

darry being darry when he covers the ones who fall asleep after their movie night with the last three blankets he keeps for himself in his bedroom

darry being darry when he stayed up till 4am looking through family photos that pony could use for his family tree project

darry being darry when he gives up eating dinner because he has one hungover and one sick kid in the bathroom who need care

darry being darry when he pulls out the shoelaces from his old football cleats to give to pony since his are falling apart. (he knows the laces aren't the right ones, but they'll keep them together until he can buy some new ones)

darry being darry when he skipped his day with his friends to go take pony to his track meet

darry being darry when doing everything he can to be a good brother, but at the same time, a father who needs to care for the rest of them

darry being darry because who else is he supposed to be than someone who cares for the only people he has left

[umbrellagoaway]

how it feels to defend Darry Curtis without an annoying BITCH in your ear blaming Ponyboy for everything, calling Pony an annoying brat, defending Darry for EVERYTHING he's ever done, and overall removing any Nuance to their relationship

[outsidersheadcanons]

Gender nonconforming Darry head canons because I said so ‼️

(and also. a cool pic of Patrick Swayze. To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar was such a good movie man 😭)

So before anyone starts with the "um actually it was the 1960's 🤓" or "NOO DARRY'S A MANLY MAN 😠" um. don't. 😡 if you don't agree w/ these good for u.

So to start. I don't think Darry would like any labels or being like. out and proud (even in modern times but to explain it better to u guys he would be considered genderfluid?? i don't think he's fully trans). he just likes being himself 😭 (but in a modern AU. he would prefer any pronouns. but the boys are the ONLY people on Earth who know).

Growing up he didn't really feel that similar to other guys. He loved hanging out with guys and dating girls and he LOVED football, but something just felt... different. He wasn't ever able to place it exactly until he was much older. He never really felt like being a man was a HUGE part of his identity though.

Darry never really experimented with his gender until Ponyboy was away at college (it was really the first time in like. years he could think abt himself and how he felt). But it started w/ him literally buying perfumed hand soap 😭

He bought a dress once and was so horrified he made up a girlfriend so the cashier wouldn't judge him. But he felt pretty nice when he wore it for the first time (but he felt so ashamed he took it off after like 15 minutes. slowly but surely he got more comfortable)

Soda came home early and just. walked in to Darry cleaning the stove in a dress 😭 he didn't care that much, but he did laugh out of surprise (he apologized profusely after). But Soda doesn't really care. Once for his birthday he got Darry a very sweet orange cologne (it was still for guys but it was a kinda sweet feminine scent) and Darry nearly cried.

Ponyboy didn't care either (at this point he's grown up a lot and is a lot less of a little hater than he was previously) but he definitely had to get used to the idea?? (they're all just simple southern men after all 🤠/j)

He doesn't dress feminine outside of his home (for reputation and social reasons) but it doesn't bother him that much. Sometimes when he goes to work he'll wear a little bit of the cologne Soda bought him and that's enough. (but bro DOES like lipstick sometimes at home. He'll wear it just to vacuum the living room)

[specific-dreamer]

and darry too has a green ish eyes (another way the two are similar) and he states that he tries to convince himself that he hates darry and doesn’t care about him which also can reflect back to his low self-esteem. in this essay, i will-

The fact that Ponyboy dislikes people with green eyes even though he himself has green eyes is a direct representation of his low self-esteem. In this essay, I will-

[foottoe101001]

Ponyboy if his true side showed that’s darry in the back disappointed

[girlishwhimsies]

thinking about darry and pony. what if i throw up. like. how am i supposed to live my life wirj them in my head.

[specific-dreamer]

it is very important to me that yall know “darry” is only uttered once (1) in the entire show and it’s said by the man himself

[kaytheday]

The Tragedy of being Second Best - Steve Randle

I think @alittlebitofloveliness brought this up back in September but I want to say something else on it. (Thanks for bringing it up by the way!) Personally, Steve Randle is a hard character for me to write because of how similar I feel to him. Like Steve, I have spent a lot of my life bitter and angry, feeling inadequate and second best. This fic was kind of hard for me to write and half of it might just be me projecting but I wanted to write something about Steve Randle and everything that he represents. Enjoy 💚💚

Steve has always had a hard time with keeping his temper.

This isn't news to anyone. He was pretty sure he had come out of the womb spitting curses and ready to punch his way through life. 

It didn’t help that his father hated him. The bruises and bloodied lips he's had since four years old have proven that. His dad is a drunk who beats on him, so Steve learned from a young age how to stay gone. Steve was never is fathers first choice, he isn't even his second choice. Depending on the day, his dad would probably trade him for a six-pack.

Steve was nobody's first choice. It was just one more thing to be angry about. 

His mother was a pretty woman. He knew because of the way people used to talk about her. The way people still talk about her. 

Though, looking back, he never had any pretty memories of her. She left when he was in kindergarten. His dad told him it was his fault and of course Steve believed him. He can still remember flashes of nasty conversation exchanged with her. Why are you so angry? Nobody is this angry and bitter at six years old. If he thinks about her words for too long it makes him want to throw something. His dad said she left for California, she wanted to find the beach or something like that. Steve figured that she chose a state over her own son. Steve was nobody's first choice.

Every time he thinks about either of them,  his veins fill with fire and his chest constricts. 

Then there's Soda. He can still remember the day that they met. Steve with his black eye and scuffed shoes and Soda with his hand-me-down backpack and earth-shattering smile. How quickly they became friends and how quickly everything changed. He was welcome at the Curtis home and more than that they actually wanted him around. Soda always invited him over and seemed to want to be around him at school. Despite what his parents said.

He was glad to have Sodapop around too. Nothing about Soda can make him angry. Irritated? Of course, but never downright angry.  Not like everything else in the world. 

The two of them never could be still for long. They were always getting up to something. Like the time they hid all the chalk out in the school yard so they wouldn't have to do math that afternoon or the time they put a thumb tack on the substitute teacher's chair so she would leave.

They were always moving; moving in tandem, so fast and so hard that the picture was blurring at all the edges.

More than anything, Soda seemed to be the only one around who was not only able to tolerate his biting tongue, but actually liked it. Because what did Steve have if not his biting tongue, fighting fists, and fire in his veins? He had grown up with nothing but those to protect him. Even his mother had seen it. 

When they got older, things got more complicated. Soda was still Steve's best friend in the whole world. He was charismatic, outgoing, understanding, beautiful, and funny. Steve knew this but as they got older, everyone else seemed to realize this too. Steve felt that familiar anger and jealousy creep in. The same one his mom had pointed out so early. The same one that had led Steve to beg for his fathers attention as he drank himself half to death. Steve had always needed some sort of attention, now it was just Soda's instead of his father.

So when those others started to notice how great Soda was, he started competing against them. 

Every time they would get talking to someone at a party or a drag race or even school, people would never come over to talk to Steve. They came to talk to Soda. His beautiful shining best friend who is everyone's first choice. And once again Steve was left drowning as he realized yet again that he was nobody's first choice.

The worst part was that all of it made sense. Why would people not want to talk to Soda? Why would they not look through Steve? As if he wasn't there? Instead focusing on the charismatic golden teenager with the biggest heart in all of Tulsa. And why would they not?

Instead of saying anything or god forbid, bringing it up to Soda, he got angry. Packing it in like a suitcase with too many clothes. And because of that tightly packed anger came guilt, because Steve shouldn't feel angry about people wanting to be around Soda. Especially when he wanted to be around Soda. 

Steve is reduced to the second best, and he deserves it. All these feelings mixing into a nasty cocktail of bitterness. Wasn't that what his mother always told him he did best? Was he still his momma's bitter little boy? So he turned bitter and stopped pulling his punches. Instead, throwing himself into the things he was good at, like fixing cars and fighting soc's and all the other things that aren't worth anything to be good at.

Two weeks after he turned sixteen, he got a job at a DX gas station. It felt good to get that job. The manager liked how much he knew about cars and was impressed with how good Steve seemed to be able to fix them. He was constantly busy and could always do something with his hands. He was so distracted that he hardly had time to think. To think about his shitty father beating him at home or how Soda was so much better at everything than him or how his mother was right about him or how he was nobody’s first choice at all. 

He liked working there but he especially liked that it got him out of the house and got him money. It was one good thing that he had. 

Then everything turned bitter. He did it to himself really. For the three months till Soda turned sixteen, he talked about wanting to work at the DX with Steve. His parents wouldn’t let him until he turned sixteen. Steve encouraged this, half of him thinking it would be fun and the other half thinking about how he would be second best at something yet again. The guilt ate at him, but still he kept encouraging. 

True to both of their words, Soda got the job and things changed once again. What was it that Ponyboy had said before? People were drawn to Soda like flies to honey? Something like that. Steve never said made a point to have a conversation with the kid anyway. He was always annoyed with his lack of focus and his constant hero worship of Sodapop. Though to be fair, he was annoyed with everyone’s hero worship of Soda. 

How will this endless cycle of bitterness and anger end?

The short answer? It probably wouldn’t. Steve would probably always bear those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue like a cross. Like a weight, draped unflatteringly across the scars in his face. He had always been a fighter. Hurting other people was often the only outlet he had. 

“Steve..!” The voice sounds far away. “Steve..! You have to stop…” Suddenly he is being shoved down. “Steve..!” The world is exploding in angry red, his muscles are tense and he turns again, ready to fight. The voice sounds so loud and Sodapop is right in his face. “Steve, what the hell happened?”

“Soda we gotta go man. Get him up and let's go.” That’s Two-Bit. Suddenly Steve looks down. There is a guy laying on the ground covered in blood. He looks half dead with the way someone beat him up. Steve’s knuckles are busted open and bleeding but they don’t sting like usual. He can’t feel anything and his head is still far away. Soda shakes him a little and they hit the ground running. 

They duck inside a greaser joint and head for the bathroom. Soda turns to him, looking sick. Two-Bit starts washing the blood off of his face. But Steve is still angry and ready to fight. His body is tense, like a spring that’s been wound too tight. His fists are pulsating and he’s angry. It’s the only conscious thought his brain can come up with. He’s angry.

“Steve…” Soda is at a loss for words and Steve doesn’t know why. The only thing he can feel is anger. Got red anger as a scream threatens to tear through his throat. His hands want to keep hitting. 

“What Soda’s trying to say is you beat the guy half to death Stevie. I don’t even know if he was breathing when we left.” 

“Shit…” It’s all Steve can say. 

It wasn’t the last time it would happen either. Sometimes he could control it, but sometimes he didn't even realize what he was doing. Steve would beat the guy half to death before Soda or Two-Bit or even Dallas would pull him off. It was like a red haze would go over his eyes and he would operate on auto-pilot. Letting anger take control as a form of self protection. 

It had worked when he was a child and his father would beat him. He wasn’t sure if it was working now, but it was all he had. 

So he bore those hungry flying fists and spiteful tongue… not like a cross but like an anchor. He would be strong where Soda couldn’t. He would protect this kids when Johnny and Ace couldn’t protect themselves. 

So he would try to fight, but not so uselessly like he had done all his life. Now, he would fight with passion and purpose. He knew he’d spend the rest of his life fighting; the only difference now was that he would fight for something. Fight for his gang and his sister and Sodapop and all those little greasers who were too young to fight for themselves. He would never stop fighting but he would start fighting for something good. Maybe his mother was right about him being angry, but she wasn’t right about why. 

Steve wasn’t angry for no reason. It was an important distinction. 

Steve was angry because of his situation and the shit he’d seen in his life, the shit he’d let his sister go through. He was angry because of his abusive father and the way he’d always been second best. 

But most of all, Steve was angry because they deserved more. Jonny deserved to not be so scared all the time and Ace deserved to have a childhood filled with love and Soda deserved a girlfriend that wouldn’t break his heart and Darry deserved to go to college and Dallas deserved to have family and Two-Bit deserved not to drink to escape and Ponyboy deserved his parents alive. They all deserved so much more.

And Steve was angry about all of it. Greasers were used to having nothing and Steve was no exception. He’d grown up fighting with nothing and nobody on his side. His anger was his only constant companion. Keeping him warm at night when his mother left and protecting Ace from whatever violence took place that day. The same hot anger that has burned holes through every memory he has.  

Steve had his anger… as well as his flying fists and snarky comments. 

So from that anger, Steve would fight. For his friends and his family and for a chance. Because though he may think he’s second best at everything, there is one thing he’s the best at. Steve Randle always gets up and fights for what he believes in. 

[trekkiehood]

I felt frozen in place. I hadn’t meant it. Not really. I was just angry and when I’m angry I say things sometimes. It’s like the whole world is shaking and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Darry just makes me so… angry. So angry that I don’t even know what words are coming out of my mouth.

--- Pony says something in a moment of anger and immediately regrets it. Darry's response is far from expected.

Authors note: 

This struck me in a vision and I did not intent to write a full one-shot based on it but here we are. (I promise I'm working on the next chapter of Problem Prone.)

I also just need to say, I do not normally write first person. I do not normally LIKE first person. But for some strange reason I could only write this in first person. But the book is also written in Pony's POV so please at least give it a chance lol

It also just jumps right in. No exposition. Very very unlike me. This fic in general is just not my normal style but hey it's Darry angst.

Please enjoy!

TW: Survivors guilt/passive suicidal ideals“

"I wish you had died instead of mom and dad!” As soon as the words left my mouth I knew I didn't mean them.

It wasn't the Soda's quick “Pony-” that surprised me. That was expected. Soda, the mediator who made sure neither of us ever went too far. Well I just did.

It was Darry's “And you think I don't?!”

I stepped back as if I'd been physically hit.

“Darry, I-”

“You think I don't know things would be better? You think I don't wish every single day that it has been me who ran to the store? That it has been me who died? You think I don't know that I will never be enough for you?! That if Dad was here you'd never be worried about money and Ma never would have let you drop out.” He said turning to Soda. The look in Darry's eye was scaring me.

“I didn't mean it.” I said like that would fix. Like it would reverse time and return all the water that had leaked from the cracked dam.

“Yes you did.” His voice was pitched higher than normal and he was talking real fast. He didn’t sound like Darry at all. “You meant it because it's true.”

“Darry,” Soda stepped forward like he was talking to one of the scared colts at the rodeo. “I couldn't take it if you were dead. We need you.”

“Oh come on, Soda. If I had died there would have been a paragraph in the paper about how sad it was, maybe the football team'd have a moment of silence in my honor. Then it'd be done. Things would go back to normal.”

“Don't - you can't talk like that.”

I hated that Soda was the one doing all the talking when I was the one who had started this whole mess. But I couldn’t find the words to say. I felt frozen in place. I hadn’t meant it. Not really. I was just angry and when I’m angry I say things sometimes. It’s like the whole world is shaking and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Darry just makes me so… angry. So angry that I don’t even know what words are coming out of my mouth. Soda’s always telling me that me and Darry are more alike than either of us realize

“You know I’m right. Pony knows it too. Everyone would’ve been better off if it was me instead of them.”

“It ain’t true. Ma and Dad never would have recovered. Never. And neither would we. A couple lines in the newspaper? You really think that’d be all it’d mean to us? To the gang?”

“Soda-” And some of the hysteria was gone. Now he just sounded so… tired. Defeated. The fire of anger was gone now a the air felt cold. Like someone had left the freezer door open for too long and zapped all the heat out.

“And even if it was, it don't change nothin’ now.” Soda didn’t let Darry get any further than his name. His voice was calm, but firm. Like how he sounded when he was trying to pull me out of a nightmare. Maybe they were all in a nightmare now. “ You are the one who is here. And we’re glad you’re here. And we need you to stay, okay? No good would come from you not bein’ here. None. You gotta believe that, okay? You gotta.” It had been a good while since I’d heard Soda so torn up. I thought he might start crying right there in the kitchen.

“Darry,” I finally found my voice. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to say that- I was just angry and it slipped out. I don’t mean it, really. I don’t… I don’t wish you were dead. I was just angry is all.” Maybe I was gonna be the one to cry. I didn’t think so though. I was in too much shock. Too cold. Like if I cried my tears would freeze right on my face.

Darry never voiced his self doubts. He was Superman. He could wear the weight of the world on his shoulders and not even begin to crack.

But maybe he did. Maybe at night when he’d ask us to do the dishes and then go to bed early, he did. Maybe when he was alone and no one was around. Because the words he was saying right now didn’t come from nowhere.

Darry looked between us and I saw his jaw tighten, his eyes a little too glassy. If me or Soda cried that wouldn’t be all too unusual. We weren’t no babies but the whole gang knew we had to get our emotions out somehow or we’d blow. But not Darry. I didn’t know what to do if Darry started crying.

It felt like the world was fallin’ in and I had been the one to drag us over one of those fault lines. Like that one in California. The one that was just waiting to bust open and take out half the state. That’s where it felt like we were right now. Standing right on top of it. Waiting for the final earthquake that would crack it open like an egg and swallow us whole.

So I waited. I waited for Darry to do what he always did. To pull us back over the edge to safety. To make sure his little brothers weren’t in any danger of falling.

But he didn’t say anything.

He stared at us for a long moment. Then he slowly shook his head and walked out the door.

Soda and me just stood there. That chill seemed to have gotten colder, freezing our feet to the floor.

I looked at my brother and found that I couldn’t read him. I knew he was upset, that much I was sure of. But aside from that, I was at a loss.

I had to apologize. I had to make him understand that I didn’t mean to get so close to the edge. That I didn’t mean to yell so loud the earth started to shake.

“Soda, I-”

“Don’t.” Soda didn’t get upset at me often. But when he did it meant I usually did something awful. Something almost unforgivable. “Just don’t right now. I can’t-” He finally looked over at me and I was thankful not to see hatred in his eyes. I wasn’t sure exactly what I saw there, but it didn’t make me feel any better. “Stay here.” He ordered, seeming to finally have thawed enough to move. Soda didn’t give me another glance before heading off after Darry.

I wasn’t sure how Soda had managed to escape the ice that held me in place. How he’d managed to break away and go do what needed to be done.

He had meant don’t leave the house, not don’t move from that spot. But it would be pretty hard for me to go anywhere when I was too cold to move.

My whole earth was shaking and I couldn’t tell if it was the house or just me. But I knew that I had started this.

Then the fault line opened, swallowing me whole.

Notes:

Please let me know what you think!

I've found that dark angsty stream of consciousness plots are the ones that I am best at lol.

Also! Please go check out my friend CO_Raindrop and her story "Home Without Leave". It's her first fanfic and I convinced her to actually post it so please give her lots of comments :) (She also beta'd this for me and she's really awesome).

I would appreciate any thoughts that you have <3

Much love and God bless, Jamie

[amethyst-writer]

stop you all are too niceeee

alright though the real question is do i make it take place before or after Johnny & Dally’s deaths?

god please someone write me a fanfic where darry puts his brothers first so often that it starts to get concerning and the gang notices like-- he definitely does not think about himself until soda & pony have everything they could need