#idk if I’ll ever be able to look at Marcia again without feeling like I’m gonna puke but that is a later Rachel issue

[sexynetra]

Hi Rachel, I'm so sorry that happened to you... It's crazy because with the fics we've been living in a world of characters, not bothering the real people with them. Hope you feel better! Also, Marcia deleting the tweet kinda means she cared enough to not spreading the negativity towards you.

Thank you 💕 I’ve been very careful about keeping the two separate so this was. Very uncomfortable and demoralizing. But everyone has been so sweet and supportive (on here I am not looking at twitter you can’t pay me enough) and I have a lovely support system and I have decided I am not letting a shitty hating ass bitch who literally READ my novel length story keep me from writing this story I’ve dedicated so much time and blood and sweat and tears into. I’m really grateful Marcia deleted the tweet. I don’t know her intentions posting it and I don’t know her intentions deleting it but I’m glad she did it quickly and I hope that if she had a genuine issue with fic being written about her she would actually say something serious about it and I would of course listen and respect that! But for now. The post is down (from her), people here are helping keep me afloat, and this is all just a blip that will blow over soon (I’m praying)

[colawinston]

“ i ain’t no fortunate son, no...”

a/n — hello, hello. I’m here with a little fic for you all, something simple and sweet and maybe a little shitty.

A Sodapop Curtis and vague reader fic for @radiantcade. Idk, I hope you enjoy it :)

we’re also going to totally ignore that hinton said soda dies in vietnam cause fuck that shit

He wasn’t dead, but he might as well have been.

Coming home had been...a hassle almost. Sure, it was better than trekking through miles of hot, shrouded forest, scared shitless and waiting for the next bullet to whiz by or mortar to come sailing through the trees and drop in the midst of them, waiting for the next ambush or false alarm or snap of a branch. Yeah, being home was far better than being stuck in the near ceaseless rain and heat and barrage of casualty, even if it still held its own set of completely different issues. Sodapop couldn’t really bring himself to complain, though. He was grateful he made it home, grateful to be alive, goddamnit. 

It just felt...different. Verging suffocating. He enjoyed the fact he could step off a bus and immediately be near bowled over by his kid brother, arms tight — Lay off the man, Ponyboy, Darry had barked, but there wasn’t any heat behind the words. Lay off my kid brother, Soda chided, just as heatless, though far more playful. He enjoyed the fact he could catch up on his brothers lives, greeted by his old friends and take in what they’d been up to in the last two and a half years he’d been gone.

 Ponyboy had grown up, was damn near as built as Darry by this point, but still the soft mess of a kid he’d been when he’d left. He played football, was set to graduate, go off to college and do something important with himself. Darry still worked on houses, but had found himself a gal, a sweet girl named Joanie, and he was real smitten with her, got bashful when Soda asked if he was gonna pop the question. But he wasn’t the only one. Seemed like everyone had found them someone, Soda had noted. Steve, who’d gone off to college ‘round the time Sodapop left (which had kept him from the shit storm of a draft that Sodapop found himself plucked from), and had himself a pleasant college girl — her face sweet, hair kept neat and her clothes impeccably clean — not someone that Sodapop would have thought would end up with Steve, but life was full of surprises. Two-Bit ended up with Marcia, Randy Adderson’s now ex-gir. Took a ride on the wild side, Two-bit had grinned, tipping back a beer. He looked cleaner — they all did. Weren’t damn near as greasy as they had been, wore new clothes, looked as though they’d really gotten themselves out of a rut. 

But they all still converged in the Curtis home, crowded together around the coffee table smushed in between the arms of that old couch. 

That was all good, felt fine, but the suffocating part was, well, talking about the very large elephant in the room. The war. What he’d seen, what he’d done, just the barrage of questions and unwavering interest in things he’d rather not brag about, talk about, think about. How many of them vietcong did ya kill, Soda? Heard they was sending ladies off for you boys while stationed out there, weren’t they? Get anything good? Still as charming as ever...But he supposed they didn’t quite understand. They knew the horrors, the happenings, what went on, but they didn’t understand. And he’d brushed it off, gave them some bullshit response and smiled and sat back. Conversation had moved away from him and onto something else, and he was left staring at the wall, chest tight and suffocating.

He didn’t sleep well. Hell, he hadn’t slept well in a very long time. Although comfortable, his bed felt foreign. The silence of the house deafening despite the chirp of crickets outside, and every soft creak of the house sending a jolt through Sodapop, his fists clenched in the sheets, eyes locked firmly on the shadowed ceiling. Among the delicate noises of night, he could hear his own heart, occasionally Ponyboy or Darry stirring, a cough or a shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, only for the same shuffle to retreat down the hall and a door to click shut. He didn’t sleep, once bright eyes and crooked grin now a murky pool of green and teeth barely shown, the smile itself barely meeting his eyes. He was plagued, and he hid it.

Which was unlike him, but if he was being honest, it felt wrong to push these things onto his brothers — the two of them had enough to worry about without the extra baggage of something they wouldn’t understand. Maybe Ponyboy would be soft about it, sympathize. He’d gone through his own bit of trauma years back, struggled in his own way afterwards. Soda had helped then, so why wouldn’t he ask now? Was he that much of a coward to admit something was off, something wasn’t right with him. He knew what to expect when he’d gotten home, he’d heard the rumors and the tales of those who’d come home from the second world war. But that couldn’t be him. He did want it to be him. 

But he kept up his image, because being home was nice. He’d gotten a job back at the station, something to keep himself preoccupied. It wasn’t the same as it had been without Steve there, though pretty girls still flocked his way, got him to smile, flirted back and forth. Hippies, mostly. Not that he was particularly interested in them. No, he was still set on a broad he’d been seeing back before was shipped off. One he wasn’t sure if she knew he still existed. Not until she came by the station one day, in one of them fancy new Pontiacs: blood red and loud as hell. She noticed him near immediately, jaw dropped and not a moment of hesitancy before she flung herself around him — a lot like Ponyhad that day he’d stepped off the bus. 

“Sodapop Curtis, I didn’t know you were home!” She had squealed, and pushed him back an arms length, as if to get a good look at him. He gave a bashful smile, averting his gaze and shrugged.

“Haven’t been back too long. Sorry I didn’t write. You back home for a bit?” He’d asked her, keeping the subject off him.

She was a college girl, much like Steve’s pretty blonde girl. Smart as hell and pretty to boot. Her soft features hadn’t changed much, eyes still bright as ever and lips spread into a familiar, comforting grin. She’d smacked her hand against his chest, pushed him slightly. “I am. Why? You wanna take me out sometime? Like you used to?” She asked, bubbly as ever. 

“I just might, if you’re willing,” He grinned right back. The first grin he had since he’d seen his brothers, his old friends. 

And take her out he did. 

Now, the two of them hadn’t ever really been a ‘thing’. They’d been friendly, talked a lot, eventually started gettin’ affectionate but he didn’t think either of them wanted to put a label of things. She hadn’t, having gotten into that new age idea of goofing around, just living her best life, not worried about settling down, just kicking up dust and running on. He thought that way too, or he thought he thought like that. He thought that maybe settling down was a bit of a joke, something for older folks who knew what they wanted, but sometimes it’d felt like he was just....coasting by on the fumes of her own ideals. That he was just jazzed and caught up in the feeling of her fun, her change, her life. Sodapop was always one to get drunk off life, and she gave him that tugging feeling that drag races had, that dancing around did, and he’d soaked up every moment he could get of it, which was why she was settled against him again, pressed into his side in his bed, delicate fingers playing with his own. Darry and Ponyboy weren’t in the house, which was the only reason she’d come over — he’d allowed her over — and things had led to them snuggled up like they used to be. They lay quietly, Sodapop keeping one arm around her and the other bent at his side as she played with his fingers. 

“It fucked you up, didn’t it, Soda?” She eventually broke the silence, voice light as a feather, almost sounding sad. “I can see it, y’know. You don’t smile like you used to,” She reached up to cup his face with one hand, body shifting to be able to get a better look at him. He kept his eyes off her, green-blue gaze locked on the ceiling like it usually was. His body stiffened, hand on his belly curling into a fist. She was the first person to prod him about it, maybe to immediately notice it. Given, he’d kept up his attitude to the best of his abilities and been working, his brothers had been busy with their own things. What was he really supposed to say to her? He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to face the obvious conclusion she’d come to himself. 

But it came out as a soft “Yeah,” His chest rising with a deep sigh, eye flitting to meet hers. “It did.” He admitted, voice thick, low. His throat suddenly felt dry, stung in the way it would as if he were trying to hold himself back from crying. Sodapop held her gaze for what felt like hours, just until her lips pouted and she had her cheek against his bare chest, hand tucking against his body. 

There was another bout of silence, and her soft voice broke through the silence again. “You’re gonna be alright, Sodapop, I promise.” It was firm, knowing. She’d always been like that, positive to a fault almost, but he believed her. She’d always been right about things — about her getting into school, Steve, too, Pony getting on well with some of his new friends back after Johnny and Dally had died, about Darry getting another job when he’d lost the other one. She’d always been right, and he had no reason not to be. 

Stroking a hand over her hair, he gave a short nod, eyes back on the ceiling, his vision blurred. “I’ll be alright.” He agreed. With you, sat on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to put that on her. She was going back to college soon, would be busy with her friends and forgetting about him until she came home again, so he wasn’t going to pressure her into thinkin’ she needed to care about it. “I’ll be alright,” He repeated.