#you woulda had people swearing up and down that it's tim

[introspectivememories]

my timbern hot take is that i thank god everyday that we got riley rossmo's art for those first few issues instead of serg acuña's because i know some of you bitches would've been extremely weird about timbern if we had gotten acuña's manga-esque style from the beginning

[curlyshepards]

Look, Pony and Curly have a day, where they have a little mini picnic at Pony's favorite spot to watch a sunset, and then after a while Curly just leans on Pony as Pony starts reading. And at certain points of the book he'll stop Pony and just ask random little questions.

I don’t ship purly but this was super cute and inspired me except I tweaked it a lil bc im a hoe for angst!!!! still, thank you for giving me inspiration after my mental dry spell and I hope you like it regardless!! (also idk if read more will appear for mobile users who follow me so if it doesn’t, I apologize)

It was always the same, this time of year. Never any easierand yet not all the way as bad.

Three years and the brink of winter, the last of autumnshowcasing the ground around them, almost but not-quite-there-yet dead leavescrunching underneath their sprawled bodies. It was only pushing six, but thesun was already beginning to set, casting an orange glow across Ponyboy’s face.

Puberty had hit the kid hard sometime in the middle of highschool. It was almost an overnight change—to Curly, at least. One day he was theCurtis baby, all doe-eyed and lost and vulnerable and helpless after the lossof his best friend and the seemingly never-ending court case. It was unnatural to seetheir kind go before a judge and leave still a free man. Tim had sworn they’dfind something to pin on the kid, yet he walked out innocent. A fuckin’defiance of nature. But then he was Curtis, baby, and his lips were attached tothe junction of Curly’s neck outside of Jay’s diner, where damn near anyonecould see them and hand them their asses. His long fingers gripped his curls,tugged, grinned at the older boy’s startled groan and Curly thought yeah, fuckthat judge, ain’t nothing innocent about this kid.

Ponyboy lets out a content sigh as Curly rests his head onhis lap. Both boys lay on their backs, basking in the last of the sun beforethe nightly breeze set in and Curly would have to fight his boyfriend for hisleather jacket—that was currently serving as Ponyboy’s makeshift pillow—back. Fornow, he was comfortable enough to watch the steady rise and fall of his chestand pretend that things were okay.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Pony mumbles, absentmindedly twirlinghis fingers through Curly’s hair. His voice cracks, all raspy and tired fromthe near hour-long silence that had stretched between them. He never had beenmuch of a talker, that was Curly’s role, but with the changing seasons broughtan even quieter version of himself, more introspective than anything. The firsttime, Curly had tried to get in his mind, tried to get him to talk, tried tofind answers in Darry. But this was Ponyboy and what he didn’t want to give,Curly wouldn’t take. It was better that way. Still, Curly hated that annualwedge being driven between him and his boyfriend.

Curly sighs quietly and reaches up, finding the fingers inhis hair and pulling them away, tangling them together on Pony’s thigh. “Thanksfor letting me.”

Thanks for not pushing me away this time. Thanks for includingme. Thanks for letting me see this side of you. Curly sneers. For better or forworse, right? His words had enough of an edge that they forced a flinch out ofPonyboy. Curly’s eyes are closed, but he can feel his boyfriend retract intohimself and he sighs. “I know it ain’t easy, baby.” Then again, nothing isthese days.

“Just miss ‘im.” Ponyboy gets defensive, like Curly will ripinto the memory of Johnny Cade the moment he gets his hands on it. “Wouldaturned nineteen this year.”

“I know.” And God, does he know. I know you miss him. I know youwere best friends, that he understood you in a way no one else did, was therefor you in a way no one else could have been. I know his death changed you,that the one person who kept you soft was taken away. I know that you lovedhim. Just fucking admit it, it’s killing me inside.

Curly wills the confession like a prayer. But just like God,Ponyboy isn’t listening.  

“Nineteen.” He repeats. “Sometimes I forget he was just akid.”

Kid was a loose term. The guys on their side of the trackshad been forced into maturity a little too early. Legally, yeah, they were justkids back then, but Curly couldn’t remember a time he had ever felt like one.

Curly almost swears, because he’s never been one for heartto hearts and this is foreign territory. But then this was his boyfriend, the boy who’d been on his ass aboutcommunicating and trust and then turns around a few months later just to shuthim the hell out, forcing him into the endless tug-of-war between what he should do and what he wants to do.

“When—” He stops what he should be doing, because he doesn’t know if this is theroute he wants to take, if this will effectively drive his point, if it’s evenworth it anymore. Maybe they could makeout instead, he could just get Ponyboy’smind off of things. The area he’d brought Curly to was secluded enough thatthey hadn’t seen a single living thing since they’d gotten there—unless youcount the bear that Curly swears he saw through the trees, but he won’t bringthat up again unless he wants to start another fight.

Fuck it, he decides, Ponyboy needs to hear this.

“When Dallas died, Tim came to see me out in reform school.Knew it was bad the minute I saw him, he never just visits, you know? There’salways something. But, anyway, wanna know what he said?” Curly opens his eyes to lookat his boyfriend, just to find those green eyes already staring back at him. Soopen and so easy to get lost in. He loses his train of thought and decides tobacktrack, swallowing thickly.

“I was a mess, don’ know why I took it so hard, but I did.Tim did, too, I could see it, but he wouldn’t talk about it. And I said, ‘Whatthe hell do we do now?’ and he gives me that look, you know, like I was anidiot for even asking.” Curly takes another breath. “He said we keep going,because what the hell else can we do? But I don’t think that means we gottamove on, baby, we just gotta keep living for the ones that didn’t.”

He stops there, for good this time, because if he says one more word he mightthrow up, and he thinks if his brother ever heard the goddamn speech that justcame out of his mouth, he’d be sent home with a black eye.

Ponyboy isn’t Tim, though. He’s a far fucking stretch, andinstead of decking him in the face he rubs his thumb along the back of hishand, fingers tightening almost instinctively.

“Tim’s got a way with words.” Pony smirks.

Curly shrugs, “There when you need him to be.”

If Pony disagrees, he doesn’t say it. Instead he leans overto dig in his backpack, pulling out that infamous copy of Gone with the Wind,the one he always carried around with him this time of year, like a bad habithe just can’t break. Its’ pages are crumpled, corners folded and chapters marked.

The book dangles lazily from his hand, pointer finger tuckedalmost possessively between the pages and running along the note written inside.Curly had read it enough times that he could picture the nurse’s mercilessscribble. A dead kid’s soliloquy.

If it had been Curly up in that hospital bed, skin blisteredto hell, he doubts he would have wasted some of his last breaths on a note likethat. He’d focus on the important things, not making sure Dallas Winston wouldwatch a sunset in honor of his death. He didn’t understand the depths of it, probablynever would, but he racked that up to just being Ponyboy and Johnny.

“Johnny let me read this to him back in Windrixville.” There’sa small smile on Pony’s face. His eyes, though, are distant, filled withexhaustion that seems too heavy for a seventeen-year-old. “Knew it was one ofmy favorites, and it helped pass the time. Sometimes I’d try to get him toread, but he didn’t like it real much, so it was usually me.”

Pony flips through the pages and Curly watches. He noticesthat the first half of the book is worse off than the other, like he’d never quitebeen able to get that far, always stopping before it’s supposed to be over. And people might call Curly an idiot, but the irony wasn’t lost on him.

He shifts so that his head is on Ponyboy’s stomach. Thesky is a soft orange by now, and it’ll be dark real soon, but he decides hewants one more thing before they leave.

“Read it to me.”

It’s not a question or a request, but Pony knows that if hedoesn’t want to then he doesn’t have to. And Curly thinks, even just for asecond, that he’d have every right to refuse. Instead Pony just tilts his headto the side, looking at the curly haired boy close his eyes. “You said booksain’t your thing.”

“They ain’t,” Curly replies, wishing his boyfriend wasn’tsuch a know-it-all. It’s a disease, he swears, but he smirks nonetheless andpeeks an eye open at Ponyboy, “But you are.”  

Seconds pass and it’s quiet between them, long enough thatCurly starts doubting himself. Maybe he had stepped too far, maybe this was asentiment he’d do just fine staying out of, maybe he needs to learn thatwhatever it was between Ponyboy and Johnny, whether something was there or it’sall just his own jealousy, he needs to let go. Because he’s the one here, afterall. Picking up the pieces of a boy that Cade had left behind.

But then Ponyboy is smiling. It’s small and shy but it’sthere and every thought of Johnny flees his mind. Curly pushes himself up on anelbow and leans over, pressing his lips to Pony’s in a soft kiss. They part andtheir foreheads press together, the smile still on his boyfriend’s face as hegives a small nod.

“Yeah, okay.”

Curly grins in response, gives in to the urge of one morekiss before laying his head back down, settling himself in for the story.

They spend what little time of sunlight left reading, Pony’smelodic voice flowing through the air. Curly, for the most part, keeps quiet,only butting in when he doesn’t understand a word—The hell’s that mean?—or wantshim to repeat something simply because he likes the way it sounds coming out ofPonyboy’s mouth.

Neither of them speak after the reading stops, choosinginstead to lay there in silence through the better half of the night. It’s notCurly’s usual scene, but it’s something Ponyboy needs, and he reckons it reallycould be worse.

And, even if it’s for a brief second, he wonders if DallasWinston ever had someone to show him a sunset.