#they have GOT to have ��the talk” with darrell

[perplexi]

and there was no more open door policy after that...🤦‍♀️😂🔥

[generic-enthusiast]

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid,” Ponyboy’s muttering as he steps in the door, “stupid stupid stupid stupid.” He goes to slam the door behind him, but notices Darry’s work boots lined up under his coat, so he closes it with a soft click. 

“Stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid—”

“Hey, Pony, how was school?” Darry asks, coming out of the kitchen. His voice has its constant, tired lilt to it. He’s had it for two years, and yet Ponyboy still can’t get used to it. 

Ponyboy opens his mouth to respond but finds himself at a loss for words. Out of pure indignation, no doubt. He just throws the envelope on the table and grabs the back of a chair to lean on it. Darry takes a bite of his apple as he comes forward, eyeing the letter curiously. 

“What’s this?”

Ponyboy looks up at Darry. “You know that writing contest Mrs Anderson was gonna sign me up for?” Darry nods slowly, looking down at the letter and back up at Pony again. “Got the prompt.”

Darry stares at him for a moment as if in expectation before asking, “What is it?”

Ponyboy doesn’t respond, he just grabs the ripped envelope and takes out the folded piece of paper, holding it out to Darry between two fingers. Darry dries his hand on his pants and takes it. 

He fumbles with the piece of paper for a moment, trying to unfold it with just one hand, and his brow furrows as he reads through the prompt. “What’s wrong with it?”

Ponyboy sighs, forever uncomprehended by his environment, and snatches the paper back. He doesn’t really know what to do with it, though, so he throws it onto the table again — not quite as energetically this time — and goes to slump down on the couch. 

“I’m fifteen. How’m I s’pposed to write about ‘being in love’?” He asks, saying the last couple words in a mocking tone. 

“Hang on now, I ain’t seen nothin’ ‘bout being in love.”

Ponyboy squints up at him in a way that distinctly says ‘are you stupid?’ “Did ya even read the prompt?”

“Yeah. Says to write about love. Ain’t nothin’ ‘bout being in love. You can write about Pepsi if you wanna.”

Ponyboy looks up at him, then down again. A couple silent moments go by before he asks, “The drink or the brother?”

Darry makes a sound between a snort and a laugh. “I meant the drink, but I reckon they’ll like it more if ya write about your brother.” 

“Huh.” Ponyboy looks away from Darry and starts staring into nothingness, deep in thought. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to be annoyed and I’m not allowed to so now it’s sorta between annoyed and nothing and the feeling is annoying me.”

Darry hums, mildly amused.

“Is this like college essays where you just gotta compete for the saddest sob story? ‘Cause I think I win if it’s that.”

Darry looks down at him, confused. “Who told you that?”

Ponyboy blinks at him. “You did. When you applied for college. You said ‘I hope somethin’ terrible happens to you in the next six years and you’ll be a lucky son of a bitch if it does.’” He goes quiet for a moment. “Then Ma told you to watch your mouth around her.”

“Oh.” Darry blinks. “I don’t remember that.”

Two years ago, when police officers appeared on their doorstep to ask Darry to identify the bodies and the bathroom tiles were cold under his knees and the bile was burning his throat and Johnny’s hand was warm on his back, thumb rubbing back and forth, Ponyboy’s mind was blank. A couple minutes later, though, when he leaned his head on Johnny’s chest with a couple half-hearted coughs, the only thing he could think of was that at least he would have a great college essay. 

Johnny didn’t really know what to do when he dissolved into hysterical laughter. 

Ponyboy shrugs like it’s not a big deal. “I do.”

“Yeah.” Neither of them says anything for a couple moments. “I’ve never written for a contest or anything, so I don’t know what they want. Just writing good should be enough, prolly.”

“Yeah.”

The room falls into silence for a while. 

“I better get started on dinner. Try and get your homework over with before Soda gets home, alright? I know you get distracted with him.”

“Okay.”

Darry goes into the kitchen and Ponyboy picks up his backpack and goes into his room. He has to finish some math exercises for tomorrow, and Darry will get mad if he asks him to look them over too late at night, but he gives himself a couple minutes to look over the prompt one last time. 

Love is a central part of human existence, something near every writer touches in their work. From Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet to Lord Byron’s “She walks in beauty like the night” to Greek myths such as Sophocles’s Antigone. It’s been written and sung and painted about from every perspective — except yours. 

The 1966 edition of American Young Artists’s yearly writing competition asks you to write a short story (no longer than 8,000 words) or poem (no longer than 50 lines) about what love means to you. 

Please do not: 

Submit an essay or straightforward answer. While undoubtedly interesting, the objective of this contest is to explore your creative prowess and ability to transmit messages and themes through subtext. 

Submit more than one piece. You will be disqualified and none of your pieces will be considered. 

Rewrite a story that has already been written. We are not interested in why you believe Orpheus turned back or how Romeo and Juliet would have lived in another world. The story or poem you submit must be entirely original, not based on someone else’s work. 

There are a couple more points, but Ponyboy stops reading. He doesn’t know where to start. 

He doesn’t even know if he’s felt love before. No one ever bothers to give you a straightforward answer to what it is, only hints here and there that you’re supposed to put together so you get the same definition as everyone else. 

Tall tales of butterflies and blushing and stumbling over words. Of holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes and feeling connected. Of being willing to risk your life for someone (did he love the kids in that church?), of wanting the best for them (shouldn’t he want that for everyone?), and putting them before yourself. 

Ponyboy groans again and buries his face in his pillow. 

He takes the math homework out of his backpack and gets a pencil. 

A minute later he gets up and opens the door, yelling on the way to the kitchen so Darry can hear him over the sound of whatever he’s cooking, “Darry! Is cosine the adjacent or opposite side?”

…

Ponyboy might have school friends, but none of them can hold a candle to Johnny. 

They’re fine for grouping up for projects or sitting together at lunch, but he wouldn’t spend hours next to them in silence, reading or drawing or just thinking. He wouldn’t invite them home and sit down on his bedroom floor next to them, just enjoying each other’s presence. Letting them flip through his sketchbook would leave him anxiously looking over their shoulder and watching their face, trying to gauge their reactions. 

Which means that now he spends an awful amount of time alone in his room. He doesn’t usually mind, but now the stupid prompt seems to be glaring at him, screaming that he should be working on it. 

Mrs Anderson won’t ask him to have something written until at least a month from now, but it still torments him. He finds himself zoning out in the middle of a drawing, wondering about whether love can really be considered a feeling or if it’s actually something else. Answering some questions for science class is interrupted by three attempts at starting to write something about his parents, but all of them sound cheesy. 

Finally, when Soda asks him if he’s okay because he doesn’t seem to be completely there, he decides to just get it over with and excuses himself from the dinner table. 

Ponyboy sets up the typewriter, grabs the stupid, stupid prompt from his bed and reads it through. 

He skims through the rest of things not to do — most of them fairly obvious — and reaches a small bit at the end. 

If you’re not sure where to start with this prompt, you can try exploring some of the more common literary topics relating to love. We’ve included a list of some of the most common ones: 

Love as a home, someone safe, where outside troubles can’t reach you. 

Home isn’t home anymore, not without Ponyboy around. It wasn’t home before, anyways, not with the constant simmering tension, the knowledge that Darry and Ponyboy could start at it at any moment. Living over a ticking time bomb, not knowing how much time was left, waiting for the seconds hand to tick for the last time. 

And now every room is riddled with landmines. A single misstep can set them off, saying the wrong word at the wrong time — Soda can’t take it anymore. He loves his brothers, he really does, but he can’t let the tension seep through his skin and into his veins.

He’s started to spend less time at home. It started slowly, a couple months ago, but now that Ponyboy’s gone, he hardly spends any time there at all. 

Money’s tight as always, and he takes all the shifts he can. Steve hangs around even when he’s not working, and, honestly, Soda kinda prefers being at the DX over being at home. 

Sure, he needs to talk to the occasional customer and put on a fake smile, but the customer doesn’t know him inside and out. They don’t know all his tells and they don’t know that he lost Mom’s pot pie recipe and they don’t know his brothers hate each other. All they know is that they want a candy bar or they need their car fixed. 

And then they’re gone. 

And whether or not Soda sold the routine, whether or not they know he was faking it, whether or not they think there’s something wrong with him, none of it matters, because they’re never going to see him again. They walk out that door and he’ll never talk to them for the rest of his life. 

It’s a breath of fresh air to be able to exist without the constant pressure of holding them all together. 

And then there’s Steve. 

Steve, who sits on the counter while he does his book reports. Who pretends to hate Ponyboy so he won’t go out with them when Soda needs to decompress without his brothers around. Who somehow always knows when he’s worried about his brothers fighting or how disinterested Sandy’s been recently, and starts telling him some crazy, probably made up story. 

You get this wrinkle between your eyebrows, Steve told him once, Shows you’re worried ‘bout somethin’. 

Sometimes Soda wishes he could come home to Steve, instead of Darry and Ponyboy, go out with him instead of Sandy.

Then he realises what he just thought and a wave crashes down on him, a wave of ungrateful and don’t care about them and queer. 

2. Venatus amoris. Being loved as something to hunt, to be achieved. 

You don’t become Boy of the Year without picking up a few tricks on how to be well-liked. 

If Darry wants someone to like him, he’ll get them to like him. He’s got it down to a science at this point. 

Now, love, that’s a trickier bit. He’s not all that sure how to get that. But for now, being liked is enough. 

He’s learned how to smile and avoid dangerous questions. He’s learned how to hide the parts of himself that other people don’t like — the part of him that can’t lose and goes to the bathroom after a bad game because he can’t break linoleum the way he can break drywall. The part of him that doesn’t understand what people want when they talk to him and goes over every interaction when he’s trying to fall asleep. The part of him that feels things as strongly as his little brothers do. 

People like a pretty shell, they don’t like a messy, feeling person.

The doors in the Curtis household don’t have locks, though, and the walls are thin. So when he punches the bathroom wall after losing because stupid fucking Mark couldn’t run fast enough, the whole house can hear him. He can’t turn on the shower to drown out when he’s crying because they have one bathroom in the house, and you better believe Ponyboy and Sodapop will barge in if they need to. 

There’s no hiding, no covering himself in a shell.   

Which is fine, until this fifteen-year-old kid shows up with Soda one day, claiming to come from New York. Darry doesn’t mind if his brothers and their best friends know that he’s a sore loser, but he’ll be damned if this asshole knows a thing about him. Dallas Winston is still a stranger, even if he’s a teenage hood, and it means that Darry’s walls come up. 

Which is. Exhausting.

Dallas seems to be everywhere. He’s latched onto Johnny, and Johnny’s always with Ponyboy, so there’s no escape. 

And he isn’t falling for Darry’s usual tricks. He scowls at Darry’s forced smiles and scoffs at the questions he asks without caring. Either he doesn’t notice social cues, or doesn’t care about them. Whichever it is, he doesn’t bother to hide that he doesn’t like Darry, and seems to get a rise out of getting him to try and prove himself. 

Which finally pushes Darry over the edge. Why should he give a fuck what anyone thinks about him? Being well-liked only got him so-called friends that forgot him as soon as they threw their caps into the air. 

So what if Dallas Winston doesn’t like him? So what if he thinks he’s a weakling? So what if those years didn’t mean shit to Paul and Mark and Noah? 

Who gives a fuck? Darry definitely doesn’t. 

“What’s your fucking problem with me?” It comes out scathing. 

And Dallas Winston has the fucking gall to look him up and down judgementally and smirk impassively. You’re in my house you asshole. “You ever told me anything that wasn’t a lie?”

Out with the forced smiles, out with the meaningless questions, out with the closed doors. 

You wanted the real me? Here he fucking is. In all his glorious colours. 

So he snaps and he stares and he doesn’t ask about what he doesn’t care about. The underlying Are you happy now? grows sharper and louder and covers up the noise outside, so much that he doesn’t notice when the contempt starts to leave, when something else starts to grow. Maybe Dallas doesn’t quite like him, but there’s something else there.

He doesn’t notice it, any of it, until Steve’s handing him the phone, saying Dally asked for him. 

Johnny’s not entirely sure when, but at some point during the seventh grade, a fire started burning in his chest. 

He doesn’t notice any of it until he’s screaming because there’s nothing else you can do with a body full of bullets. 

3. Ignis amoris. Love as fire: uncontrollable, burning, intense. 

He doesn’t know how it was before. Was it frozen over or just numb? Was there anything there at all?

Maybe it was just empty. What was the point of anything without the little flame to enlighten it?

At first it was quiet, warm, crackling in tune with Ponyboy’s excited rambling. They were ten and twelve, and it was the first time that Johnny found out what it meant for someone to see him and care. 

As days turned into weeks turned into months, casual touches and toothy grins and barks of laughter threw firewood into the flame. It would flare protectively when a Soc shoved Soda when he was just trying to get to class, burn warmly when Steve waited for them in his car despite having a free last period, thaw even the coldest of nights as long as Dally was in the lot beside him. It reached his cheeks when Darry called him smart and burned brighter every evening spent with Two-Bit, wandering around and avoiding responsibility. 

But when it really roars to life, when it becomes a starved monster that takes over Johnny’s body, is when crickets fill the air or the wind whistles past his ear or the low rumble of whatever cars are still driving around reaches the lot, whispering to him as he lies on his side, eyes tracing Dally’s profile. 

When it crawls up his throat, when it starts making his brain do flips, is when the stars glitter in the sky above him or when clouds crawl over them and bathe the city in darkness or when it’s pouring and he’s running with Dally, jackets over their heads, trying to find a roof to huddle under. 

When it turns from warmth to heat, when it turns from comfort to exposing hidden truths about himself, is when he lies next to Dally in the lot, both pretending that they don’t have to pretend, fingers inching closer, pinkies only just grazing as the sun comes up. 

And then he has the sun to bring him heat, and the fire turns back into embers with small, pale flames above it, and Dally’s still beside him but it isn’t the same when there isn’t the rush of adrenaline, the weight of the news stories, the freedom that darkness brings.

But it burns nonetheless. 

There is a world where that fire never starts burning. Where Johnny’s chest stays empty and cold and dark, where the hearth gathers dust as it’s beaten day after day. 

In that world, Johnny doesn’t survive. 

How ironic, then, that it should be fire to take him from this one. 

4. Furor amoris. Love as madness: all-consuming. We are blinded by it, confounded, and act purely out of passion, rationality all but forgotten. 

Dally isn’t thinking. His head is completely blank, just like that bullshit the hippies spread around. 

A couple minutes ago, he was stumbling around hazy, dark blues, forest greens wrapping around him, black ink dripping down from the sky. 

Now there’s red streaks tunneling around him, bringing him down the only direction he can go in. 

Dead.

Red like Johnny’s jacket collar four months ago in that field that Dally takes a long way around to avoid seeing. 

Dead.

Red like when the church brought them straight into hell yesterday. 

Dead.

Red like the rumble. 

Dead.

Red like the sirens following him as he runs for his life.

5. Amor post mortem. Love after death; overcoming the menial, human barriers of a heart beating. Love as the only eternal thing in a life full of the fleeting.  

Ponyboy sighs and lies back on his bed. 

Usually, Johnny would be lying next to him, bouncing ideas off him to see if anything inspired him. Dally would come storming in, not even bothering to knock. Mom would ask if he made any progress when he came back down to dinner. Dad would tell him it was fine, that he’d think of something like he always did. 

It’s hard to come to terms with. 

Maybe part of him will always be in denial. Maybe part of him will always turn to Mom to ask where the oven mitts are. Look for Johnny whenever he steps into a room. Trust that Dally’ll get back at whoever tries to hurt him. Want to ask Dad to tell that story about when they were kids again. 

Is that what love is? 

This can’t possibly be it. It can’t possibly be something that follows Ponyboy around, wakes him up when he thinks he’s finally worked past his nightmares, seems to disappear then comes back to haunt him, crawling up from behind to see if it can finally get a scream out of him.

No, it can’t be. It isn’t. 

What it is is Darry staying up late to calm him down from a nightmare. It's Steve knowing when to quit the teasing. It's Two-Bit leaving books on his nightstand without a word about it. It's Soda asking him about his day, every day without fail, no matter how tired he is. 

What it was was Dally offering to teach him to fight. Johnny listening to him every time he went on a rant or monologued about whatever book he’d just read. Mom setting aside a couple hamantaschen for him when he had track until late on Purim. Doing his bar mitzvah in the same tallit his father had done his in. 

And maybe it didn’t change anything. In fact, it didn’t. 

Love doesn’t bring people back to life and it doesn’t give them a happy ending and it doesn’t take away all the struggles that come with just being alive. Sometimes it’s just there, and that’s all that matters. 

[two-entire-bits]

marcia who grew up crushing on cherry and two-bit who grew up crushing on darry bonding over unrequited love when they start dating

[a2trid]

So many of my Darry HC are just random bits of very subtle subtext thrown together that don’t make that much sense but does when I explain it.

Like him having a minor ed(eating disorder) because of how tight money is and the fact that I believe he thinks of himself as less important compared to the gang and always makes sure they have a place to stay and food when needed. They don’t have the money for constantly having extra like Paul did, so Darry makes sure the others are feed before even thinking about himself.

The whole subtext reason is literally just because of poverty and how tight money was for them

(We don’t talk about the projection I’m projecting so hard rn)

I always had this really weird oneshit idea where Darry got like jumped at 10-14 once and only his mom knew, and he got a tooth knocked out but like towards the back so it’s not noticeable because he hardly smiles. May finish writing.

Damn I talk about him a lot.

[ddejavvu]

Doctor's Note - Sodapop Curtis x Reader

summary: you stand soda up, accidentally

contents/warnings: soda is somewhere around 18-19, mentions of his failed relationship w sandy, distrust/miscommunication, angst -> fluff. based on my very painful experience this morning with crippling back pain

send me requests for the outsiders!

Selfishly, sometimes you wonder what it would have been like to date Sodapop before he'd met Sandy. When he was more carefree, when he wasn't glancing at any man you talked to just a second too long. He's not possessive- and even if he is, he doesn't enforce it. But you know he's wary, and you know it's her fault.

Darrel had warned Soda to stay away from girls for a while, to give himself a break. And he had. Two long years later his hiatus was broken when you'd come into the DX fiending for a coke, and when you'd asked, 'Do you know where I could find a soda 'round here?' his eyes had glimmered with opportunity, and he'd pointed proudly to his nametag.

"Right here, ma'am. No caffeine in me but I could keep 'ya up all night if you want me to."

It had been so wildly crass, so insanely audacious that you'd burst out laughing, both from the absurdity of his name and the brashness of his comment. He'd apologized for it, too, twenty minutes into your conversation that lasted an hour.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. I mean- I don't usually come on strong like that. Couldn't stop myself- prolly got it from my friend Two-Bit, he's always crackin' jokes like that. Hope you didn't think it was greasy."

"I think it was very greasy," You'd laughed, tilting your chin towards the tin of hair grease abandoned at the other end of the counter, "I thought that was the whole point."

"That's my buddy Steve's", Soda had told you, light dancing in his eyes as he readjusted his elbows on the counter to lean further towards you, "He does these real fancy swirls in his hair, and I've been able to do 'em a few times, but mainly I just slick mine back, and half the time I don't even grease it anyways because I'm just bummin' round the house so there's no need. My other friend-"

He was a natural-born talker, and you'd been just as caught up with talking yourself as you were with listening to him. It had taken the reappearance of his aforementioned coworker, Steve, for you to glance at the clock, and realize that you were 40 minutes past the time you should have been back at work from your lunch break.

You're surprised you hadn't scared Sodapop off with your swearing alone, but you'd managed to scribble your number onto his hand before you'd left. You hadn't even remembered to buy a drink, but he'd brought you one when he showed up for your first date.

Now, three weeks later, you're getting ready to show up to his house. This is a big thing: you're meeting his brothers. He's told you so much about them you feel like you know them, and he's also given you your fair share of warnings, too. Darry's too stern sometimes, and it might take a while for him to warm up to you. Ponyboy's an awkward teen, and on top of it, he'd trusted Sandy- they all had. You know you've gotta prove yourself better than her, and you're starting with some sweet perfume and a bundle of flowers for their dining table.

--

"Get your bum ass off the couch and vacuum," Soda's hands shove roughly at Ponyboy's thighs, "She's gonna be here in thirty minutes!"

"Jeez, Soda, she's not my girlfriend," Ponyboy grumbles, but he stands and heads for the closet where the vacuum lies all the same, "Don't understand why I have to be the one cleanin'."

"'Cause Darry's the one cookin'." Soda glares at him, "And I'm cleaning too. I've been cleaning for days."

"Bathroom looks good, little man." Darry voices his approval from the kitchen, "Thought I was gonna die of shock when I realized you'd scrubbed down the toilet."

Not much conversation is heard over Ponyboy's aggressive vacuuming, but Soda calls the cleaning at five minutes to your arrival time.

"Okay. Rules again?" He looks expectantly at his brothers, and Darry looks irritated that he's being grilled this time.

"No judging." Ponyboy grumbles, but he doesn't think it's fair, because Sandy had seemed so nice and sweet, and she'd run right out on Sodapop. So he feels like he has to judge, because maybe Soda's gonna get hurt again. He doesn't want that.

"No grilling." Darry continues, equally put-out by Soda's request. He wants what's best for his brother. Sodapop's two-year long relationship drought was refreshing, and he's seen the boy blossom into a wonderful man. Still, he can't help feeling some lingering resentment towards Sandy, and he knows it's not fair to attach it to you, but he doesn't know what else to do with it.

"And no arguing at the table." He glances between Darry and Pony both warily, "I mean it, this isn't the night to discuss grades or curfew or chores. Just- be nice to her. Treat her like a real guest."

"Alright, little buddy." Darry secedes, squeezing Soda's flannel-clad shoulder slightly, "Now, you gonna go wait by the door for her?"

"No! I'm not that desperate." Soda scoffs, but Darry notices the way he flops down into his eldest brother's armchair, the only seat in the house with a view of the front walkway. Ponyboy settles himself awkwardly on the couch, watching cartoons even though there's an anxious tension in his skinny shoulders.

You're set to arrive in two minutes, and Soda's practically vibrating out of his seat. There's no sign of the cute little sundress you said you'd wear today, but that's okay, because he thinks it's so considerate of you to show up punctually versus early. if you'd come fifteen minutes earlier you would have seen him near-tears over the spot of chocolate that wouldn't rub out of the wall behind the television. Ponyboy had pointed out that there's no way you would have seen it unless you'd been wedged between their tv and the wall, but Soda was not going to invite you into a messy home.

One minute goes by, and Soda's cuticles hurt from where his nails tear at them. He tries to stop himself- after all, you wouldn't want to hold his hand if his was bleeding. But his next nervous habit becomes fiddling with the hem of his shirt, which isn't nearly as satisfying for his fingers.

He waits for what he's sure is more than a minute, which means you're due to flounce up the stairs in seconds. But he doesn't see you, and he knows Pony's watching him crane his neck every three seconds to look for you. So he tones it down- after all, he's got a 10-minute grace period at the DX for his shifts. If he can clock in at 8:10 and still be 'on time', you can show up a few minutes late.

"Any sign of her?" Darry pokes his head out of the kitchen, seeing the front door still shut. Soda shakes his head- then he catches a glimpse of your hair color outside the window. Upon further inspection, it's a stray cat. Ponyboy snorts at him, and Soda sinks back into the recliner.

Okay, so you've used up your grace period. But Soda gets it- you probably sang one too many love songs about him in the shower, and now you're tripping over your own feet trying to run to his house. Or the bus was late, or you missed it entirely, and you'll show up before the food goes cold.

Fifteen minutes go by, and Darry hovers over the finished meal, wondering whether he should plate it or not.

Twenty minutes go by, and Darry considers removing one plate from the table.

Thirty minutes go by, and Darry turns off the stove.

An hour goes by, and Pony retreats to his room for some homework time. Darry's meticulously cleaning the kitchen, but Sodapop thinks it's more because he doesn't know what to say than because he thinks you'll judge them for a grease stain on the wall.

When Darry's scrubbed the kitchen raw nearly an hour later, he pads softly over to Soda where he still rests in his armchair.

"Soda, I- listen, I don't think she's comin' tonight."

"I told her today." Soda's got his fingernail pinched between his teeth, his leg having long-since stopped its nervous bouncing, "I- I know I told her tonight, and she said she'd be here, but I-"

Darry's hand squeezes his shoulder again, this time tighter, and something awfully familiar resurges in Soda's chest where it's laid dormant for two years.

"C'mon, little buddy." Darry urges him up out of the chair, "Let's turn in early tonight."

--

Soda's not doing his best work despite having gotten eleven hours of sleep the night prior. He's sluggish and mopey, and Steve sticks him on the register so that no one risks a foolish mistake to their car. Soda stares at a knot in the wood grain, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and doesn't look up even when the entrance bell dings.

"Soda-" He hears a voice, one that he'd been waiting since last evening to hear, one that exacerbates that sickly feeling in his chest. He hasn't been able to shake it, and your face had blended with Sandy's in his nightmares last night.

"Soda, I'm- I'm so sorry."

"Why didn't you show?" He barely has the courage to look up at you, but he does, because last time he'd groveled. He'd begged, pleaded, bargained with her to stay with him, and he wasn't going to do that this time. He was going to be the man Darry wanted him to be.

"I'm sorry." You repeat, clutching a paper in your hands, brows permanently furrowed, "It was an emergency. I was getting ready, and- and all of a sudden my back started hurtin'. Real bad, Soda, I- I had to lie down on the ground."

Soda watches, interest piqued, as you stagger towards the counter, clearly limping. Sickness is replaced with worry in his chest, and he watches as you brace yourself against the register.

"My folks didn't get home for hours. I was just laying there, I- I couldn't reach the phone, I couldn't move my legs, I was just stranded there." Your voice thickens at the memory, and you sniffle absentmindedly, "Soda, I would have called you, I just- I couldn't move. I swear. I tried, Soda, I swear I tried to get to the phone, but it was so painful. And then when my parents got home they had to carry me to the car 'n all, and the emergency room took forever, and- and we didn't get home until three in the morning, and I knew you'd be sleepin' so I didn't call, and I felt so bad because I knew you'd be waiting on me, and- and I'm so sorry, Sodapop."

All at once yours and Sandy's faces come undone in his mind, and hers is cast aside as he studies yours. There's tears, big shiny ones lining your eyes, and your chin trembles slightly. You're still clutching the paper, and when you realize he's glancing at it, you gasp.

"Oh! I- um, I got you a doctor's note. I didn't want you to think I was lyin'."

You push the page towards him on the counter, and he takes it with trembling hands.

'Patient Y/N Y/L/N admitted to emergency services at 8:49 PM Wednesday, 30th July. Diagnosed with severe lumbar muscle strain. This patient is placed off of work from 7/30/1968 through 8/05/1968.

Patient would like to add that she did not intend to stand up her date with one Sodapop Patrick Curtis on Wednesday, 30th July. Patient would like to reschedule for another night. Doctor prescribes a calm, laid-back dinner date until patient recovers.'

"Had one hell of a time trying to get him to put that in there." Your sheepish voice pipes up from where Soda's reading the last words on the page, "But I told him you were a nice boy and he said there's not many of those around here. I'm sorry, again. I'm so sorry."

Lumbar muscle strain rings a bell in Soda's head. It's something Darry's definitely mentioned before, the few times they've bullied him into seeking medical attention for all of his blue collar aches and pains. He's sure if you're hurting the way Darry does sometimes, that you weren't lying about not being able to move.

You're staring at him like you're worried he'll send you away, and the piece of paper in his hands is the only thing stopping him from doing just that. But he glances down at it again, and takes a deep breath.

"It's okay. I believe you. My brother Darry, he- he pulls muscles sometimes. Don't usually see him cry, but I do when that happens. Are you okay?'

You visibly relax at his words, but something in your back must have protested the movement, because your face pinches up again.

"Um- yeah. Mostly. It hurts when I move too much." You admit, "But I had to make it down here to see you. I'm so sorry. Were you- were you angry at me?"

He doesn't think so- he was offended, he was disappointed, but most of all, he's pretty sure he was beating up on himself more than he was beating up on you. It felt like it did the first time, and he was the common denominator in both.

"No." He answers honestly, "But- uh, I think Darry probably is."

You wince, and he doesn't blame you. But he holds the note a little tighter, "But I'll tell him what happened. Like I said, he knows what that feels like. Don't worry about it, honey. You- uh, did you want to still meet them?"

"Of course! Of course," You nod eagerly, bracing your weight against the counter, "Do you still... want me to meet them?"

"Of course." He echoes, finally breaking his stoicism with a grin, a shy one as he reaches for your hand over the counter, still clutching the note in his other hand, "Can't argue with the doctor's orders."

[johnnycakesswitch]

Whatever you do, don’t think about Darry being the last person Dally talked to before he died. Don’t think about how when Steve picked up the phone, Dally asked for Darrel. Don’t think about how Darry immediately asked if Dally was alright because he just knew how bad Dally had to be hurting. Don’t think about how despite being physically hurt after the rumble and mentally hurt from the loss of one of their own, Darry told the others they had to go hide Dally without a moment of hesitation. Don’t think about Darry begging the cops not to shoot because Dally’s just a kid. Don’t think about Dally trying to reach them and Darry leaning down and reaching for him back as if he could put Dally back together but never actually touching him. Don’t think about Darry screaming at the cops and absolutely crumpling because they lost someone else this year? Their parents, Johnny, and Dally all in 8 months? Don’t think about Darry hugging himself as he sobs and not even having a moment to process anything because his baby brother just passed out and is so sick now after they finally got him back. Don’t think about how when he heard that Johnny was dead, Darry seemed numb and in shock, but his focus was instantly on Ponyboy, yet when Dally dies in front of him, he’s distraught because this didn’t have to happen. Don’t think about how mentally, everyone was prepared even a little bit to lose Johnny, but no one was ready to watch Dallas die.

Just don’t think about Dally and Darry

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Dallas' head snaps back, and he stumbles with the force of an unexpected hand on his shoulder. For the briefest moment, he goes entirely limp, lets his fist hang in the air and doesn't try to scramble back to the boy on the steady retreat in front of him.

Darry's got him. And if he'd thought it through for even a second longer that would have scared the shit out of him. But then the fingers are tearin' into his jacket and forcin' him backward and he finally whips his head around and realizes the reality: two very pissed cops have got him.

And he immediately starts fightin' again. He writhes in their grip and the kid he'd been whalin' on is suddenly skitterin' back with renewed fear. Dallas bares his teeth once and figures he's made his point.

The next ten minutes are a blur.

His heart is poundin' in his ears and he can feel his pulse as it rattles under the cuffs the cops slapped on him the second they could get his wrists within a foot of each other and his head is achin' and he realizes for the first time he tastes blood but he can't focus on anythin' because all he can think is Fuck, Darry is never gonna forgive me for this.

He says it all the time. When he rolls in an hour late and thinks Darry's gonna kick my ass. Or when he lets Pony have just a little too much of his beer and the kid's gigglin' fit to wake the dead when Dallas 'n him sneak back in. Or when he hauls off and picks stupid fuckin' fights for no reason.

But this time he means it.

He groans and drops his head to his hands in the little holdin' cell they have him waitin' in until they process him. Last night's argument flashes vaguely in stills through his mind. He wasn't comfortable with people... carin'. He just didn't know what to do with it.

You can't tell me what to do, Darrel. Dallas flew up from the kitchen table and paced wildly away from Darry. Pony watched him with wary eyes. Soda bit his lip and looked at Dallas like he was tryin' to tell him a hundred things Dally didn't know how to understand.

Yes, I can. I won't have you actin' a fool and gettin' yourself hurt. Darry frowned and he's got these lines in his forehead Two jokes he never had before Dallas moved in. Dallas can't stand to see them.

You're not my brother. And you're not my dad. I ain't never had no one tellin' me what to do in my whole life and I'm not about to let you start. He'd slammed the screen door and gone straight to Tim's, started a fight, wound up at Buck's 'n drank til he vomited, woke up this mornin', and started another.

Darry was goin' to throw him to the fuckin' curb and never talk to him again. And Dallas deserved it. He wasn't one of the Curtis boys. No matter how hard he wanted to be.

"Name?" A cop had reappeared in his cell and he kicked himself for missin' it.

"Curtis." Dallas opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "Fuck. No, sorry." Since when the fuck did he apologize to cops! "It's Winston. Dallas Winston."

The man just stared at him, Curtis already written across the top of the paper in big, bold letters. "Are you sober, kid?"

"Yes, I'm fuckin' sober! My name's not Curtis. How the fuck do you not know me?" To his horror, he feels hot tears in the back of his throat. He's just some no-good juvenile delinquent every bastard officer in this town knows by name except this one apparently because all he is is trouble. And Darry hated him.

"Sure, kid." The man shuffles his papers together. "Officer Matthews has already called your- big brother is it? He's on his way."

"He's not my brother!" And now he's actually cryin' which is bullshit! Who cares! Who cares that Darry is gonna look at him just like his father did. Like he was a burden he'd do anythin' to get rid of. Like the worst thing Dallas ever did was simply show up in his life one day. Dallas is used to this. He's not someone who stays. He was meant to be left. He's a violent dog. He only knows how to bite.

"Dallas?" Darry's voice makes him jump. He doesn't pull his hands away from where they're pressed so hard into his eyes that he sees stars. He can't bear to look up and see what he already knows he will—not hatred, but cold, cold indifference.

"Out." Darry isn't talkin' to him, Dallas can tell he's turned around by the way his voice bounces back to him off the cement walls. He flinches anyway. "Please." He adds like an afterthought and Dallas hears the door open and close.

"I'm goin' to touch you, ok?" Dallas doesn't say anythin', just makes a low noise in the back of his throat. He feels Darry gently tip his head back, eyes still squeezed shut. He feels him softly check the area on his jaw he knows will bruise tomorrow and run experimental fingers along his ribs for breaks. Dally hisses once and Darry immediately pulls back.

"Oh, Dallas." And suddenly Dallas is fuckin' cryin' again. Darry sounds so tired and worn down and old. Did Dallas do that? Did Dallas make him like that? And the sob that catches in his throat makes him choke.

But then he's pressed against Darry's chest and his hands are strong on Dalla's back and in his hair and Dallas doesn't even fight it. Just lets himself be held and doesn't even mind he feels as small as Ponyboy.

"Come on, Dallas Curtis. Let's go home."

[problem-prone]

The sun was beating down as Darry wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead. It was the hottest day on record in Tulsa—a whole 115 degrees—and Darry was standing on the roof of some soc’s house, helping bring up bundles of roofing. 

There was two hours left in his shift and he wasn’t sure he was going to make it if the throbbing behind his right eye had anything to say about it. 

The lunch Darry had barely been able to choke was threatening to come back up any second, and it took all of his willpower not to let it. Crawling down the ladder, he could feel his resolve beginning to crack as the sunlight pierced his eyes. An involuntary shudder ran through his body causing him to stumble. The throbbing behind his eye gained traction and was now accompanied by dancing lights in his vision and a pounding in his temples. 

Darry winced and grabbed onto the side of the house to keep him upright. His vision swam, and he used the last of his strength to make his way as gracefully as he could to the front porch, where his water was. With sheer luck, he made it just as he collapsed. 

In his pain-induced delirium, Darry didn’t notice his boss talking to another one of his coworkers in front of the porch. And he didn’t notice he was trying to get his attention either. “Darrel? You alright kid?”

Darry looked up to see his boss in front of him, crouching down so they were at eye level. He took a swig of water and willed his mouth to work. “I’m alright,” he responded, “just got too hot. I’ll be back to work in a second.” 

His boss, George, narrowed his eyes at him. Darry’s vision was blurred, creating three images of George standing up and towering over him. The nausea he had controlled for the past hour was threatening to take over, and the world seemed to swirl around him. 

George sighed and put his hand on Darry’s shoulder, meeting his eyes. “You ain’t looking so good Curtis, why don’t you head on home?” Darry almost wanted to cry. He wanted to go home so bad but he couldn’t miss out on even two hours of pay and he didn’t want to leave his coworkers to the rest of the work. George seemed to sense his unease because he followed up his statement with, “you’ll get the full day of pay, don’t ya worry.”

Darry swallowed hard and nodded his head, which only angered the raging pain there. He heaved himself up, and the floor seemed to tilt below him. He would’ve collapsed to the ground if George and his coworker hadn’t grabbed his arms and held him up. Darry thought he heard his coworker saying something but everything sounded underwater. “Easy kid,” his boss whispered to him. 

“I’m okay, ‘ust dizzy for a second,” Darry responded, hoping his answer would satisfy them. He bent down and grabbed his stuff, then headed off to his truck. 

The drive home took longer than it should’ve, with Darry having to pull over twice to get his vision right or to swallow down the nausea that had begun to creep up once again. 

By the time he got home, Darry was ready to collapse into bed and not think about anything for the rest of the night. Unfortunately, he still had to cook dinner and finish the laundry and vacuum the living room an-

Somewhere between pulling into the driveway and the thoughts of everything he had to do beginning to spiral, a gag crept up his throat. Darry slapped a hand over his mouth and opened the door to his truck, intending to make it inside. His body had other plans though. As soon as the door opened, vomit was splattering onto the ground below him. 

Taking a deep breath, Darry wiped his mouth and hopped out of his truck, which sent a jolt of pain up his spine and through his head. He stumbled into the house, dropping his keys on the table next to the door. Ponyboy was sitting at the kitchen table doing homework while Soda and Steve were in the living room arguing about who knows what. 

Soda perks his head up before being tackled back down to the ground by Steve. “You’re home early,” Ponyboy said without even looking up from his work. 

The sunlight streaming in through the blinds burned into Darry’s eyes and closed them tight in a feeble attempt to lessen the pain coursing through his skull. He opened them again, this time in a squint, to both his brothers and Steve staring at him like he’d grown three heads. “Gotta ‘igraine, gonna lie down.” Darry’s own voice was nails on a chalkboard to him, and he held back a flinch. The room felt tense because everyone knew that a migraine was one of the only things that could knock Superman on his ass. 

Soda shot up and moved over to Darry, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Close your eyes, I’ll get ya to bed.” Darry almost cried with relief when he was graced with darkness. Soda and Darry moved slowly toward his bedroom, each step sending lighting shocks of pain through Darry’s head. 

After what felt like an eternity, Soda helped Darry onto his bed, bending down to take his work boots off. His bed had never seemed so inviting before in his life like it did right now. He went to lie down before Soda stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, making him let out an involuntary whine. “I know you’re hurting but let me grab you some water and an aspirin before you get comfortable.” Darry opened his eyes, which were glossy with unshed tears. 

Soda rubbed his shoulder with sympathy before leaving the room. A whole year could’ve passed before Soda returned with a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a wet cloth. Darry smiled and reached a hand out to place it on Soda’s arm. Or he would have if he didn’t miss it, as if his fingers didn’t belong to him. A small, sad smile crossed Soda’s face before he set down the water on the bedside table and poured two aspirin in his hand. 

“Take these then get yourself lying down.” Darry grabbed the aspirin and the water, swallowing them with a small gag. He laid down on the bed and Soda draped the cool cloth over his eyes, causing him to let out a heavy sigh. “That feel good?” Darry hummed out a noise of contentment and snuggled down into the covers. Soda ran his fingers through Darry’s hair, which had Darry teetering on the edge of sleep. 

Then Soda started to hum, and it was almost like a switch flipped in Darry’s brain, and he was drifting off into a restless slumber. 

______

The next morning, Darry was woken up by the blaring of his alarm. Despite his hope that the migraine would be gone with sleep, the ice pick stabbing into his eye socket persisted. Darry slammed his hand on his alarm clock and slowly sat up. The change in his center of gravity had him reeling, vomit attempting to claw its way up his throat. 

There was no way he was gonna be able to work today. This meant he had to call his boss. Which meant he had to stand up and walk without collapsing straight down to the floor. 

Using as much energy as he could muster, Darry pushed himself up, leaning on his bedside table for support. He could hear his brothers in the living room, presumably getting ready for their respective days. Despite the ground swaying beneath him, Darry put one foot in front of the other until he reached his door. Sheer determination kept him upright as he opened the door and stepped out into the brightness of the living room, causing him to shield his eyes away from the piercing morning sun. 

Soda and Ponyboy must have seen him because within seconds Soda was at his side, coaxing him to sit down on the couch and the blinds were closed. “I take it you’re not feeling better,” Soda asks. Darry shook his head, only to wince as his brain rattled in his skull. 

Hands appeared on his shoulders and began massaging the tension out of them, and Darry let out a heavy sigh. “No, and I gotta call my boss and tell ‘im I ain’t coming in.” He hadn’t noticed that Pony had gone to the kitchen until a glass of water was pressed into his hand. Darry took small sips, not wanting to tempt his stomach to rebel. 

“I’ll call him for you,” Ponyboy said from his new spot behind the couch. Darry wanted to argue and say he could do it, that he didn’t need help. But the warm hands that were now rubbing his neck were turning him into putty. 

“Thanks little colt.” Pony smiled and made his way to the phone. Soda and Darry could hear him from their spots on the couch. He sounded older than he ever had, almost as if he was trying to imitate Darry. Darry could feel a small smile creeping up on his face at how grown-up his little brother was getting. 

The characteristic sound of the phone hanging up rang through the house, and Ponyboy appeared back behind the couch. “George said his wife gets migraines so he understands and to not come back until you feel better.” He rounded the couch and plopped down next to Darry, a giddy grin on his face. 

Soda stopped rubbing Darry’s neck and shoulders, and a wave of disappointment wash over him until his body was being pulled down into Soda’s lap. The hands that were once on his shoulders now snaked their way into his hair, nimble fingers rubbing his temples.  “Aw hell Pepsi, you’re gonna put me to sleep doing all that.” Soda laughed quietly and continued his ministrations. Darry felt his legs being lifted and set down into a pajama-pant-clad lap.

“You look miserable big brother, just go back to sleep.” And well, Darry couldn’t argue with that. Between Soda playing with his hair and Pony absentmindedly rubbing his calves, he didn’t stand a chance at trying to stay awake. The last thing he heard was Pony’s soft voice reading something out of a book he must’ve had on the coffee table.

_____

The migraine didn’t let up for three days, leaving Darry writhing in agony. Soda almost wanted to take him to the hospital, but they both knew it wouldn’t do him any good. 

Finally, on the fourth day, Darry woke up without a white-hot searing pain in his skull. His muscles still screamed in protest as he got up, but it was bearable enough that he could get ready for work. He pulled on his boots and left his room. For the first time in his life, he was excited to go to his dead-end job.

[theoutsidersloverakaponyboy]

🅃🄷🄴 🄾🅄🅃🅂🄸🄳🄴🅁🅂 🄷🄴🄰🄳🄲🄰🄽🄾🄽🅂-

Darry had one fight in school. Some Socs came over and started fucking with him which didn't last long because Darry can handle himself but him and Paul fucked up the Socs. One of the Socs that went to school with Darry was held back and started to fuck with Ponyboy and him and the Soc got into a fight and when Darry was called in he couldn't hold back a chuckle when he was told that Pony call the Soc that he was a fucking dumbass. Soda and Steve had gotten high once in high school(They just wanted to see what it was like) and high off of balls and passed out and when Darry came to get them he had to pick up Soda high ass and Steve stumbled out of the school building and Darry had a serious talk with them and then because of Soda they got ice cream. Two-Bit and Pony see each other in the hallways at school and Two-Bit is always with blondes and when he see Pony he has Pony tag along and Socs saw Pony with girls and Two-Bit had to deal with the Socs so that Pony wouldn't be jumped after school and Darry(ONCE AGAIN) has to come pick up Two-Bit and deal with the teachers and principal and they left and Two-Bit just got drunk. When Dally started school at 6-years-old he bullied everyone and he had dentition almost everyday. Johnny went to school 6-to-15-years-old and drop up because he couldn't deal with his parents and school. Johnny and Dally hang out because they don't have school and Johnny just wants to be away from his mom and dad and Dally loves Johnny. Johnny and Dally have vent sessions when the gang is gone and they are alone. Ponyboy knows about Johnny and Dally's venting sessions and knows what they talk about and when neither of them know what to do with what one of them says they go to Pony to help them. Dally rocked a Socs shit when Two-Bit went to his house and had a few cuts on his face and a black eye. Steve and Soda have almost kissed. Darry had all the girls in high school. Darry, Soda, Pony used to have movie nights when their parents were alive but after when they have movie nights now the whole gang comes over and Darrel is normal doing something else. One time for movie night they were watching a horror movie and Pony tried to be brave and get through the movie but Darry saw that Pony was scared and when a part where someone die because one an auto-wreck he went a watch the movie with him and Soda. (Their parents had been kill in the auto-wreck 7-weeks-ago when they had watch the horror movie).

[catastrophe-jones]

So idk if I've talked about this at all on here and I don't generally go back through my own posts but

If you have a chance to see The Outsiders, go do it. If you don't but you can get the OG cast recordings from like, idk, Apple Music or whatever, go do it. There's a song called 'Great Expectations' and I can't explain why it's grabbed me by the throat, but whatever

Brody Grant's voice is youthful and curious and anguished

and the part where the whole ensemble comes in for the refrain is just fucking magical. Listen to it with headphones on, or in a small room -- and turn it up as loud as you can stand it.

The song starts and is going along, noodling along, a little slow, a little sad, but then from "Darrel was on his way up in the world" and then "They say there's strength in numbers" is when you can start to hear a train on the tracks, that one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three of the bass sound, idk if it's piano, cello, what, but it's the driving sound of the train, getting closer until "Beyond these city walls" it's gaining volume and momentum until the pickups "I've got--" and then it's blowing by you, when the whole company is wailing "GREAT EXPECTATIONS, GREAT EXPECTATIONS " and then Brody goes up, higher, for another round --

And then it's past -- it's gone by, like a missed opportunity. It sounds. Like. A fucking. Train. A cast of people, and it sounds like a the warning blast of a train just before it rockets through an intersection. I cannot explain in words why it moves me. I've been trying. Just go listen to it. Maybe it'll move you, too.

[kaytheday]

Things that were a Culture Shock for Dallas Winston from New York to Tulsa

Being able to see the stars for the first time. He is so surprised about how full the sky is, not that he would ever tell anybody that.

No public transportation (there is no way baby Dally ever learned how to drive and no way that he has a drivers lisence now) Buck probably taught him to drive.

He probably misses the subway and hates the bus system that Tulsa operates under (which is why he’s stealing Bucks car all the time).

Lowkey the rats. He is probably overestimating quite how much vermin there is.

The first time Darry caught him stuffing a towel in the sink drain at like 10:00 pm before they go to a drag race he was very confused.

"Why are you doing that Dal?"

"I’m planning on sleeping here tonight and if you don't keep these things plugged up when you go to bed you're gonna have a full rat invasion on your hands. They can get through pipes smaller than these you know Darrel.”

"Ratvasion up in here!"

"Shut up Two-Bit!"

Streets with nobody on them and less crowded spaces in general. Dallas is constantly asking where all the people are. Everyone else just keeps telling him that this is a normal amount of people?

Another thing that I think about is how Dallas was probably on high alert right after he moved. He was constantly used to the noise and the fighting and he was pretty paranoid about people following him and things like that because of the crime he was involved with in the city.

He was jumpy and always ready for a fight. He also thought that most of the neighborhoods in Tulsa were run by gangs. They are not (if anything they are loosely run)

The prices of things? In New York things are just more expensive. This is why he is always treating Johnny and Ponyboy because he sees that paying for three people in Tulsa is as much as paying for himself in New York.

Also the first time he got paid for barrel racing by Buck he thought he was getting gypped because it didn't seem like a lot compared to what he was getting in New York. He literally almost punched Buck's teeth out on the spot.

The accent. He would always get annoyed with how slow people talked.

"Come on! Spit it out and get to the point! I don't got all day!" He's done this on many occasions to store cashiers, people at the bar, and so many others. He gets so sick of waiting for them to say their bit.

Also the southern manners piss him off as well. He hates responding to ‘how are you?’ Or the stupid ‘have a nice day’. He’s complained more than once on the unnecessary small talk and manners.

This could also be why he comes off as rude and cold to Ponyboy especially and many others. He is blunt and says what’s on his mind and he hates small talk and unnecessary interactions. (as most New Yorkers do!) He will almost always cut an interaction short doing anything he can to get out of it. This is often what differentiates him from other southern hoods.

New Yorkers talk fast and they use a lot of complicated slang that the rest of the United States doesn't use. A lot of people get confused when he's talking to them and we know how Dallas is easily frustrated.

"I've been schleppin' your stuff around all day Buck, it's brick out 'ere and I come home to this Schlock? I gotta go lie down!" (love you and your New Yorker accent Dallas 🥰)

Let me know if you guys have any more. I love this concept.

This is inspired by some tags left on a post by @damthosefandoms

[made-my-peace-with-all-the-bad]

Sometimes Pony and Johnny would just sit down on the porch together. Sometimes they talked, sometimes they didn’t. Sometimes Pony sketched, sometimes he didn’t. Sometimes it was just them, sometimes the whole gang was there. But this time they were alone. Darrel was still at work, Steve and Soda had gone on some double date thing, Dally was back in county lockup, and Two Bit was off getting drunk god knows where with god knows who. But Pony and Johnny sat next to each other on the porch.

Their legs were touching and their hands were gently sitting over Pony’s knee, pinkies twisted around one another, passing a cigarette back and forth while they watched the sunset. It was nice and it was quiet, something that seemed rare these days.

Johnny finally said something as Pony took a drag of the cigarette. “We could do it yknow”. At Pony’s confused look and tilted head, Johnny clarified, “we could go off and get our big house on a hill”. Pony let a soft smile slip onto his face, “yeah, we could, and I could read a new book to us every week…” his voice trailed off as he let his eyes slip shut as images of it swirled in his brain.

He could see it so clearly. Just him and Johnny. It would have flowers, and a garden, and they could watch every sunset. Then, when it got late, they could curl up together in a huge and soft bed that they would never be able to afford. It was perfect, peaceful, and oh so far away. It would be theirs. He would be lying if he said he didn’t hear his brothers’ voices whispering that he was too much of a dreamer for his own good. Maybe he was, but when he was sitting here like this, listening to Johnny and feeling the gentle weight of his head on Pony’s shoulder, could you really blame him?

He was so lost in his head that when he went to pass the cigarette to Johnny, it slipped out of his fingers. He heard Johnny giggle as he bent forward to pick it up, knowing Darrel would lose his mind if there was another cigarette burn on their porch.

Just when his hand curled around the cigarette, it was like everything shifted. Suddenly he was surrounded by smoke and the hood awful orange color that he knew meant fire. Fire. No no no no, this couldn’t be happening. He was just with Johnny on the porch, laughing and dreaming about their future. He wasn’t in a church, he wasn’t surrounded by flames, he wasn’t alone. Except he was. He tried to suck in a breath but his lungs rejected the air, sending him into a coughing fit.

When he finally got his breathing more under control he began to look for Johnny, running through the smoke as it stung his eyes and he could feel the heat building all around him. But he needed to find Johnny.

When he finally saw him, he called out his name and watched Johnny turn. It took everything in Ponyboy to not throw up when he saw Johnny. Because the boy looking at him wasn’t the same one he was just with. No, this Johnny was in that same damn hospital gown he’d died in. His neck showed the nasty burns he’d gotten. His cheek still had the fresh cut from the socs. But the worst part was his eyes. Because Johnny was looking at him with dead and unseeing eyes.

Suddenly Pony was sitting upright in his bed, awoken by a loud scream, not even realizing it came from him. He was shaking violently, he had tears streaming down his face and blurring his vision, and his breaths were coming in short and fast. He could distantly hear Soda’s groggy voice, asking him if he was ok, but he couldn’t do anything but aggressively shake his head as he tried to force Johnny’s dead eyes out of his mind and he tried to ignore how he could still feel Johnny’s heavy and unmoving hand in his.

He felt Soda’s arms wrap around him but he could still barely register it. He knew Soda was whispering calming words but he could barely hear over the roaring in his ears. He didn’t know how long he went on like this, he just knew he was getting light headed from the lack of air, and he distantly realized that Soda was taking his arms off him and quickly rushing out of the room. Huh, that was strange, normally he stayed. Maybe he was just scared he’d die from being around Ponyboy, most people around him died sooner rather than later anyway, so it wouldn’t be surprising.

He hadn’t even noticed Soda return until he felt a larger and rougher hand on his shoulder and he watched someone kneel down in front of him. It was strange, this guy didn’t look like Soda. In fact, he almost looked like dad. But dad was gone? Maybe he was here to get Ponyboy, maybe Ponyboy was going too?

“Pony, baby, you gotta breathe, honey”

No, that wasn’t dad’s voice. It sounded kind of like Darrel? Ponyboy felt himself begin to sway, suddenly feeling very dizzy and even shakier than before.

“Soda, if this don’t stop soon we gotta take him to the hospital”

NO. NOT THE HOSPITAL ANYWHERE BUT THE HOSPITAL. That was what Pony’s mind screamed at him as he suddenly snapped his head to look at his oldest brother, immediately having a death grip on his brother’s hand as he shook his head even more intensely. He couldn’t make the words come out to explain just how much he couldn’t go to the hospital. Because the hospital was where Johnny died. It was where that sickeningly pristine white covered every surface. It was where he could still smell that sterile cleaner they used on everything. It was where he couldn’t go without picturing Johnny laying on that damn bed and dying.

“Hey, hey, we don’t gotta go but I need ya to breathe with me, okay?”

Pony tried to blink the remaining tears out of his eyes as he nodded. He felt Darrel move so his hand was over his oldest brother’s chest and he couldn’t feel the gentle rise and fall. He tried to time his with his brother and slowly, he started to breathe normally. He sniffled quietly, before speaking, cringing at the rawness of his voice, “‘m sorry for wakin’ yall and botherin’ ya, I know you got work early”. He felt Darrel’s gaze flicker with hurt before it was immediately replaced with a softness he didn’t even know his oldest brother could have. “You ain’t botherin’ us at all, baby. You just scared us somethin’ awful with how long you were like that”

Pony felt even more confusion fill him when he heard that, because it hadn’t been that long, had it? It felt to him like maybe 20 minutes? He’d had longer fits than that. Upon his confusion, he felt Soda’s eyes land on him, and as he reached out to wrap an arm around his brother, he softly said something that stunned Pony, “honey, you been like this for damn near three hours, I got Darrel after forty minutes, but you just wouldn’t calm down”.

When he looked between his brothers, he finally noticed the fear in both their eyes. They really were scared that they were losing him. Hell, he was scared he was losing himself.

“Do ya- do ya wanna talk about it?” Pony recognized this, it was what Soda did every time, he asked if Pony wanted to talk about his nightmare, about what got him so worked up. Usually it helped him, so he decided to give it a go. “It was Johnny ‘n the fire ‘n getting out ‘n-“ Pony stopped as he felt his breathing pick up pace again. He started curling in on himself until he felt Darrel’s hand on his knee, “hey, you don’t gotta talk about it if you ain’t ready”. Ponyboy nodded, feeling a hot and fresh tear slip down his cheek.

He felt guilt roll in his stomach. Guilt for the fire, guilt for scaring his brothers, guilt for everything. But even more than that he felt a hole in his heart, like he was missing part of himself. In a way, maybe he was. He missed him. He missed Johnny more than anything in the world. Maybe he always would. But his brothers understood. They were there for him. And that made him feel just a little closer to ok.

[b0n3s-is-gay]

pleasseeee do more submissive greasers stuff i ate the last one up

YES, I'm just doing 3 though (Darry, Two-bit, Dally).

Darrel Shaynne Curtis:

As I said in my last one, he is a whiney sub. He's not shy about it unless his brothers are asleep in the room next door. So he's okay with you shutting him up.

Not a big fan of toys, he just can't really get behind them being used on himself. Don't get him wrong, he's willing to test the waters but they're just not fun for himself.

No degration. He degrades feels really bad already post accident and post book. Praise him, please. He needs to hear how good he's doing, always.

He's not a big fan of risks. The most risk you'll get out of him is sex in the living room when he knows that the gang is out and won't be back anytime soon.

Darry is okay with you overstimmulating him, it shuts down his brain for awhile. He loves it, adores it even. It's like a little brain vacation that is needed, between his brothers, gang, and job, he needs it. Don't stop unless he safewords

If you're going to bite him, bite him below the neck. He doesn't want his boss, his brothers, or the gang to see any of the bites. He loves when you mark him up, don't get him wrong, but he's gotta remain in control and professional.

Keith 'Two-Bit' Mathews:

He's loud, like very loud. Louder than one might think. Two-bit is so damn loud that you have got to shut him up to even think about doing anything like this.

Has a few toys, nothing much but he's got them. A dildo, a vibrator, and a few othr toys. How you use them is up to you when you're in control.

Overstimulate him, do it! Don't be shy, he wants you to do it! Shut his brain off, make him cry from pleasure. DO IT. He's asking for it, don't stop until he's begging for mercy.

Doesn't care how you talk to him. Two-bit doesn't give a single fuck how you're talking to him. Just keep talking him. If you praise him, alright, he's all for it. You're degrading him? Also awesome, call him whatever you want just don't go too overboard.

Two-bit has only ever safeworded twice, once when you overstimulated him so much that it hurt and once when he's been denied so long that he's got to let go. In both cases, he's smiling after he's gotten his way.

Doesn't mind giving you whatever you want as long as he doesn't get hurt too bad. Scratches, bites, accidentally making him bleed from going too hard, that's fine. Intentionally making him bleed, hurt, punch, or anything else? Yeah, no. No thank you.

Dallas 'Dally' Winston:

Brat, he's a brat. When he's not in charge, he's still gonna act like he is. Dally is challenging you, wanting you to make him submit. Do it, he's going to fight you, but do it!

Dally wants you to bite him, scratch him. Stake your claim on him in the most carnal way. Show it off, put those bites and scratches in areas that he can't cover up; neck, chest, back, ect. ANYWHERE.

Sometimes, on a rare occassion, Dally is quiet, so quiet. Not like when he's in control, he's just softly panting and gazing up at you with those wide eyes.

Dallas doesn't want toys anywhere near himself. He doesn't wanna use them on you or himself, so he doesn't own any. He just doesn't want any of them, it doesn't make him insecure or anything, he just doesn't like them.

Dally once ONCE cried from pleasure, not because he was overstimulated but because it felt so good. He's had other partners but he's never really been so taken care of that he's got tears of pleasure streaming down his cheeks. (He makes you swear not to tell anyone.)

He likes to think he's in charge when he's in the space. Dally likes to think that he's a power bottom but he's not, he's really not. 9.9/10 he's in charge in the bedroom, but that 0.1 is him begging softly or staring up at you with a pleasure dazed expression.

[two-entire-bits]

Deaf Outsiders Headcanons

I'd like to preface this by saying I'm hearing, and I've only been studying sign language, deaf history, and Deaf culture from a Deaf professor for the past couple months, and I do not know everything. I've researched the medical backgrounds for the genetic conditions and injuries mentioned, but some information might be incorrect and/or I might've misunderstood some things. If it is or I have, please tell me! I don't mean any misinformation or disrespect and I apologize if I cause any offense.

These also include some other disabilities!

Some world-related stuff:

There's no deaf schools in Tulsa, but the Oklahoma School for the Deaf was founded in 1908 so the time periods would hypothetically work out

In this alternative story there would be a deaf school in Tulsa and the Curtis brothers would all attend/have attended said school

I know it's Gallaudet University, but before 1986 it was a college

For the Curtis family: all of them are deaf. I think they'd have Autosomal Dominant Non-Syndromic (DFNA) deafness, maybe a variant in the MYH14 gene, which causes those with the variant to progressively lose their hearing within the first 3 decades of their lives. The Curtis parents taught their boys how to sign ASL, which they'd use at home, speak English, which they'd only use for hearing people, and lip read, also for hearing people, to an extent when they were young. The Curtis parents encouraged their boys to talk in sign as much as possible, but also were very upfront about ableism and how the world is built for hearing people.

Ponyboy:

Completely loses his hearing around 7-10

He's good at talking but doesn't like to, and very good at lip reading so he can watch movies

He still likes to write and caught onto English spelling and grammar quick

He often carries a notebook around to write in but mostly writes quick in ASL's grammar

He also uses it to write things to hearing people when he doesn't want to speak

He signs REALLY fast, he has a lot of things to say and good motor skills and sometimes even his parents have to ask him to repeat himself

Lexicalizes words all the time on accident

Signs to himself all the time, especially when he's alone

Likes to try and figure out what the actors are saying in movies and figure out the plot without the dialogue and sign along with the lines he can follow

VERY visual storyteller

Darrel:

Completely loses his hearing around 12-15

He can talk and lip-read very well, which he doesn't prefer but it's useful at work

Always kind of dreamed of playing football at Gallaudet, but always knew it wasn't really possible

Also signs to himself, but only when he's alone

Soda:

Completely loses his hearing closer to 3-5 and struggles with speaking compared to Darry and Ponyboy.

He always had hard time understanding English, and that plus being deaf and dyslexia contributed to him feeling stupid and dropping out of school (especially compared to Ponyboy)

He and Ponyboy talk in tactile sign at night before bed when everything's dark

His parents told him "Darry" rhymes with "Dairy" in English when he was really young and half the time he just signs "milk" instead of Darry's sign name to tease him. He got Pony in on it too

Johnny:

Hearing, but has apraxia of speech and selective mutism

His parents hate him for it and sent him to public mainstream school anyways

The Curtis parents taught him ASL after they met him

His apraxia and mutism contribute to why his teachers "give up on him" and to him having to repeat a grade in addition to other learning problems he was having and struggling to get the material quick enough for the curriculum

One reason why he was so scared in the hospital was because his hands were so burned he couldn't sign

Steve:

born with x-linked recessive deafness to hearing parents. His mother carried the gene and passed it to him

An especially good driver because of this

He goes to the same deaf school as the Curtis brothers and met Soda when they were in grade school, same as the book

Doesn't know how to speak English and doesn't want/care to learn it

When he was younger, he almost got caught stealing a car's hubcaps because he didn't realize how loud it was until he was telling the gang later about how the owners came outside and spotted him and Two-Bit told him that they probably heard the clattering of the metal hubcaps on the tarmac

Two-Bit:

Hearing, but his mom and sister (Tammy) are both deaf, he just didn't get the gene

Speaks English and ASL fluently but still stutters while signing because of motor skill issues

Purposefully messes up his grammar or signs sometimes just to annoy Tammy

Dallas:

Born hearing, but has Ménière's disease because he was jumped or in a car accident (something that wasn't his fault) when he was around 13-15 and the head trauma caused bleeding in the inner ear and his hearing is fluctuating at the time of the book

He's scared and angry because it'll get better and then worse and he never knows how or when it's going to change

He gets annoyed by the tinnitus and dizzy spells, and will often hole up somewhere when he feels a vertigo episode coming on and won't leave until it's over

The Curtis parents start teaching him basic sign and things to expect and things to know if he ends up permanently loosing his hearing, but he stopped trying to learn anything after they died

On one particularly shitty day when he didn't realize how loud he was being and Two told him he was yelling and he got so pissed at everything and that he didn't even realize he was being loud that he punched Two in the face

He's angry that it was something he could've stopped, that it happened when he wasn't actively looking for a fight or driving recklessly, or that it wasn't genetic because then he'd have someone/something to actively hate and blame. He never found out who jumped/crashed into him

Bonus: Socs!

Marcia:

Acquired hearing loss due to a recent head injury while barrel racing

It's not too bad at the time of the book, but they don't know if it'll get worse or not yet

She's not too worried about it, but every once in a while when she thinks about it a lot she gets really scared about what will happen if she loses her hearing permanently

She's scared she'll have to quit dance

Her mom kept her in high school and got her hearing aids eventually when it got worse

When she starts dating Two-Bit, it's another reason why she gets along with his mom and Tammy so well

They help teach her some basic sign and about Deaf culture, and kind of quench any fears she had about not being able to be happy/live if you're deaf because she didn't know anything about being deaf

Once she's learned enough sign to have conversations, she starts taking her hearing aids off at their house

Cherry:

Hearing

She was there when Marcia crashed and comforts her when she gets really worried about her future, but she doesn't really get it or know much about it

She wasn't rude about the way Pony pronounced things or later that night, when she was waiting for Ponyboy to write out what he wanted to say at the Drive-In and he got tired enough he didn't want to have to speak, which really surprised him

Bob:

Hearing

Knows nothing and could not care less about d/Deaf and generally disabled people

Thinks he can make Johnny talk if he beats him hard enough (partial motivation behind him and the Socs jumping Johnny before the book)

He knows Marcia's losing her hearing and is kind about it

Rolls his eyes sometimes when Marcia asks Cherry to repeat herself

Randy:

Hearing

Has no clue how to deal with Marcia's crash or her losing her hearing

Just tries (key word) to comfort her but doesn't do much else, just kind of goes on as normal

Similar to Bob, he'll get annoyed if she asks him to repeat himself too many times but feels a little bad about it

Paul:

Hearing

Learned some signs when he was friends with Darry

He didn't care to remember them when they stopped seeing each other

Felt "betrayed" when Darry said he dreamed of going to Gallaudet to play football because Paul just always assumed they'd go play together at some hearing mainstream college and he doesn't want to "learn all that shit" or "be around those kinds of people that much" just to play football at the same college as Darry

Bev:

Hearing

Knows about Marcia and says she doesn't care, but every once in a while she'll say something or make a joke that's just rude and shitty

Like Bob and Randy, she also doesn't cut Marcia a lot of slack if she doesn't hear something one of them says (Cherry is pretty much the only one that does)

She purposefully tries not to think about Marcia's future because she knows she'll get really upset about it, cos she thinks (and pretty much all the Soc's and hearing population, including Marcia) being deaf means you can't live or be happy

[askponyboymcurtis]

Hi Pony!

What’s your favorite and least favorite thing about having brothers? :)

"There's a lot that comes with having brothers."

"Me and Darry fight a lot. It gets kind of exhaustin', honestly, with how much we fight. I know Sodapop gets real tired of us yellin' at eachother all the time. Darrel's just lookin' out for me, or whatever, but he babies me."

"Bein' six years older than me, he's real protective sometimes. He don't like when I hang out with the wrong crowd, and he starts yellin' at me like he's dad or somethin'. Makes me angry. 'Cuz he don't got any right to be yellin' at me like that all the time."

" 'Nd Sodapop takes his side in a lot of arguments. It ain't fair, him bein' in the middle of all of our arguments, but its just so frustrating. I want them both to take me more seriously, but still, they never do." ... "But there's a lot of good that comes with both of them, too. 'Cuz I'm never really alone. I know both of my brothers would come runnin' as fast as they could if they heard me hollerin'-- and, man, they proved that to me that one time..."

"Darry's real hard workin'. Puts his whole heart and soul into whatever he's doin'. 'Nd he's got a good sense of humor, when he just lets himself relax. His laugh is a nice surprise, whenever he lets us hear it."

"Soda don't got a mean bone in his body. It's nice havin' someone to sleep next to, and talk with."

"It's real nice havin' older brothers, even if we fight. 'Cuz I love them."

-- PONYBOY '65

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Something is happening. Americans are organizing to fight the oligarchy. Turns out, circumventing the Constitution, crashing the economy, and cutting vital services to fund tax cuts for the wealthy is not very popular. This is in Denver.

* * * *

It’s happening, folks!

March 24, 2025

Robert B. Hubbell

It’s happening, folks! The resistance is picking up steam, gaining the momentum needed to reach the tipping point. Readers from around the nation reported in yesterday’s Comment section about their participation in weekend protests and town halls in Maplewood, Minnesota; Buncombe County, North Carolina; Westwood, California; Bozeman, Montana; Dedham, Massachusetts; Indiana Dunes National Park; San Diego, California, and more.

Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo wrote the following in his Sunday evening post:

They’re happening: ’empty chair’ town halls in Republican districts pretty much all over the place. This weekend we’ve got reports in Columbus, Ohio for Sens, Moreno and Husted, on Maryland’s eastern shore, where Jamie Raskin had to show up in place of Andy Harris; [I]n Little Rock for French Hill, Tom Cotton and John Boozman, in Lexington for Andy Barr; [I]n Billings, nearly a 1,000 showed up for no shows Daines, Sheehy and Downing, about 300 for Daines, Sheehy and Zinke in Missoula, and another big turnout for no show Darrell Issa outside San Diego.

Marshall’s list represents a small portion of the “empty chair” town hall meetings sweeping the nation.

On Friday evening, Senator Bernie Sanders and Rep. Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez drew a crowd of 15,000 in Tempe, with 123,000 people watching online! To other Democratic Senators and Representatives, follow the example being set by Bernie and AOC! The people crave leadership at this perilous moment. Provide it!

The protests are succeeding because they are re-writing the political narrative. We have gone from the false narrative of “Trump's electoral mandate” to the true narrative of “the American people are rebelling against Trump and Musk.” Protests help provide legitimacy and authority to court rulings. Most importantly, they inspire more Americans to speak out and join the protests.

As good as the protests have been to date, we need more protests everywhere—big, small, and in between. We are approaching two days of national protest—please make an effort to join them:

March 29, 2025—A plan to hold 500 protests against Elon Musk / Tesla across the nation. See "Tesla Takedown" movement plans 500 protests in 277 stores, Superchargers

April 5, 2025—A national day of protest, see 50501 — 50 protests, 50 states, 1 movement to learn about an event near you. This national day of protest is co-sponsored by multiple organizations including 50501, Indivisible, Women’s March, and Hands Off!

Keep up the good work! We are gaining momentum!

Pause for a moment to reflect on the unlawfulness and destruction of Doge

As I mentioned in my Saturday livestream comments, an unfortunate side-effect of reporting everything that is being destroyed by Doge and Trump is that the media has begun to skip over the most important point: Everything Musk and Doge are doing is unconstitutional, unlawful, and likely illegal (as in a violation of US criminal law).

No story about the latest round of cuts or closures is complete unless it includes a statement to the effect that they are, “In violation of the constitutional Appropriations Clause, the Appointments Clause, and the president’s duty to “take care that the laws are faithfully executed,. And the story should also include, “The failure to disburse funds appropriated by Congress violates the 1974 Impoundment Control Act . . . .”

Let’s not give into the notion that Musk, Doge, and Trump have the legal authority to shutter agencies, withhold funds, or cancel contracts. They do not.

Finally, in a shocking—shocking—as in s-h-o-c-k-i-n-g development, IRS has circulated an internal report that estimates that the Doge disruption to the IRS has caused the loss of half a trillion in tax revenue. See Talking Points Memo, IRS Predicts DOGE Lost Half a Trillion Dollars for the USA.

Although a report in the Washington Post disclosed the IRS memo, I have unsubscribed and blocked WaPo from my newsfeed. But Josh Marshall describes the situation as follows:

Based on the number of taxpayers who have filed tax returns and paid to date, the IRS predicts that tax receipts through April 15, 2025, will be $500 billion below historical norms. It is possible that some of that difference is temporary (which increases the US debt and borrowing costs) but some of it is likely intended to be permanent, i.e., people not paying taxes because they believe staff reductions at the IRS decrease the likelihood of collection efforts. Not a good situation for the US—and a direct consequence of the reckless, counter-productive cuts by Doge.

For comparison, the $500 billion decrease caused by Doge disruption is about one-fourth of the IRS's annual collections. That is a sizable hole in US tax revenue.

This is a MAJOR scandal that could have significant consequences for the US debt.

[In a related story, the IRS is near an agreement with ICE to confirm the addresses of undocumented migrants in the US. The IRS encouraged undocumented migrants to file tax returns—and many did. Now that the IRS is going to use tax returns to help ICE locate undocumented migrants, what is the likely effect on the number of migrants who will file tax returns? See IRS nearing agreement to use its data to help ICE locate undocumented migrants | CNN Politics]

[Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter]