#(darry is NOT fallin for that)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

between soda who sensory seeks by gnawin on shit n pony who remembers he has teeth n simply chomps on the nearest person darry CONSTANTLY has bite marks on him

[callme-holly]

Heyy, I was wondering if you could do a dally x reader similar to your darry x drunk reader as I found it really sweet. But instead Dallas is teasing her for being such a lightweight at first but then she starts feeling sick and is a sad drunk so she starts spilling a lot of bottled feelings and he gets really worried about everything shes saying and just takes care of her. Ty<3

𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 [𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

solace: (n.) a source of comfort or relief during a time of distress or sadness; the feeling of peace found amidst chaos.

𝐚/𝐧: this was meant to be posted yesterday but i had a bunch of stuff to do, sorry y'all!!

The room was swirling and spinning around you, your eyes heavy and your body aching all over. Your stomach was churning violently, and the telltale ache behind your eyes had already begun, throbbing in a way that made you groan in protest.

The curtains were thankfully drawn, and you didn't protest as Dallas laid you down gently on the mattress, a small smirk playing on his lips as he stepped away.

“Never knew you were such a lightweight.” He muttered, looking down at you with a look that was akin to amusement. You groaned again, trying to sit up, only for him to gently push you back down, his expression quickly shifting.

“Nah, don't try to get out of bed yet. You can hardly walk, doll. Don't need ya fallin' on me.” 

You weren’t going to argue that; you weren’t sure you could even stand without his help, and your whole body felt like a lead weight. 

“I’m okay…” you insist, your words jumbled and slurred, spoken so slowly that they’re almost incoherent. “Just—just need a minute.” You needed much longer than a minute. Your stomach was rolling like waves crashing onto a shore, and Dallas’ room continued to spin, almost as if you were on a merry-go-round. It was too bright, too hot, and you suddenly felt bile rise in your throat. The nausea hit you hard and quickly, and Dallas must have sensed it quicker than you had, because before you know it, there's a trash can in front of you and you're retching into it, feeling nothing short of miserable.

Dallas doesn't say a word, and once your certain you have nothing left in your body, the sickness is replaced with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Tears spring to your eyes, and it takes everything inside of you to keep from crying, swallowing past the lump in your throat as you slouch back against the bed. 

You feel exhausted, drained, and suddenly incredibly emotional, and you look up at Dallas through teary eyes, sniffling softly.

“Sorry,” you whisper, and he shakes his head, reaching out to tuck some stray hair behind your ear. 

“No… Don’t apologise. You’re okay.” He brushes the damp hair back from your forehead, settling down beside you and brushing away a tear you hadn't known you'd let slip. "Do you... want me to get you anything?” he asks slowly, and you shake your head, swallowing heavily.

"No..." you breathe shakily, resting your head on his shoulder. His arm wraps tightly around you, and you snuggle closer into his side, letting the comforting smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne envelop your senses. Your stomach continues to churn, despite the fact that you've emptied it entirely of its contents, and all you want to do is sleep, to get away from the thoughts that have suddenly begun swirling around your head. 

Dallas ran his fingers through your hair, his breathing slow and steady, and you find yourself matching it, letting his quiet, gruff mumbles lull you into a calm state, slowly but surely dashing away the oppressive thoughts clouding your mind.

“Dally…” you whisper, your voice still rough and raw from the sickness, and you smile slightly when he hums softly in reply.

He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly. “Ya need rest. 'S alright to be tired, doll.” He says after a few minutes, and you nod, relaxing further into him as exhaustion begins to take over.

The party downstairs continues, the music still blasting loudly, some old country song that you have no doubt Buck has chosen, but the notes are muffled through the walls, and in that moment it’s just you and Dallas. Just him, with his arms wrapped around you, and your head tucked beneath his chin, where it rests comfortably. It feels safe and secure, and you close your eyes, inhaling deeply and finally letting yourself drift off to sleep. 

[askdarrelcurtis]

“Hey. Name’s Darrel Curtis, but most folks call me Darry. Pony n Soda signed me up for this pen pal thing cuz I had to ‘loosen up.’ I’m the oldest Curtis brother—basically the one keepin’ this house from fallin’ apart. Between workin’, raisin’ two stubborn kids, and dealin’ with the gang’s chaos, I don’t get much free time. But when I do? I guess I’ll be here.

Got somethin’ to ask? Make it quick—but I’ll answer honest.”

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

Darry rises early. He always does. Doesn't matter what had happened the night before. N last night had been nothin short of torturous. Pony n Curly had finally drifted off but every movement sent fresh wounds reopenin, achin. Neither had slept much. N so naturally, none of them had.

Before his eyes even open his mind is goin almost faster then he can keep up with. There's no way he's leavin Curly n Pony alone. Or even just with the others. Pony won't say it but his body language told his without words, everytime Darry had left his line of sight he'd tensed, shifted to keep him in his eye line longer. He'd stayed with him until he'd fallen asleep n longer before Soda took over last night insistin Darry needed rest. He had only put up a cursory argument. He sighs, lifts his hands to scrub at his face in the dark when-

It's a soft noise. Just a creak as someone shifts their weight as they enter the room. Darry jolts up, the blankets tanglin n fallin around his clothes from yesterday he'd never had the energy to change from. Dallas n Tim stand stock still at the foot of the bed. They don't look much better than the boys, roughed up. Darrys pauses, looks closer. No. That ain't true. Most of their wounds ain't defensive. Far from. They're split knuckles, split lips. They're bloody but it's not-

'I think we fucked up, Darry. We fucked up bad.'

[pumpkinsy0]

Do you have any headcanons about Johnny Cade? 🎤

YEA I DO🗣️🗣️

•i said it before and ill say it again bc i love this hc that johnnys art style is so obviously based off of patachirta, i love that style of painting sm it looks so cool

•lowkey, if he wasnt so introverted, he’d b a rlly good dancer, like super good he’d look so cool, his footwork is actually unmatched

•he has this oral fixation problem that results in him biting the inside of his cheek (same lol)

•he also bites his nails a lot, his nails dont look allat good</33

•hes brownskin, he thinks its funny when pony gets a lik sunburnt n gets all red

•likes quiet enviorments bc then he can listen for any danger, its not that he hates noisy places or thing, he just prefers it to be quiet, poor guy is always on alert

•always holding pony when they were toddlers, ponys just a lil guy to him, he never admits it to make pony feel better about himself but he always found pony cute

•asexual, hes not sex repulsed just quite literally not interested in anyone in that way, hes also demisexual

•johnny🫱🏾‍🫲🏼darry

being transmasc

•his shoes r actually fallin apart, u just dont notice bc he sewed the soles back up and it looks pretty cool actually

•lets pony draw on him in class cause he likes the touch and closeness of it

•may i just day if he was a girl, she’d love wearing a saree everywhere, ofc she’d b a lil on the fence but it makes her feel pretty

•if johnny DID live he wouldnt live w his parents anymore, he’d totally live w the curtis’ full time

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

WAGH IVE BEEN THINKIN ABOUT THIS FOR DAYS!! I think Soda has a subconscious habit of shovin everythin down. he forgets. he shoves it aside. he distances himself. cause soda CAN'T break down. he has to be his brothers keepers. he has to keep the peace. but then he's fallin asleep with his head on Darrys chest n pony curled up against his side n darry starts absently hummin that song their mama always sang him to sleep with and oh. it's all just. there again. cause maybe Pony can deal with the grief cause he FELT it. he HEALED from it. Darry n Soda never will. cause they have to shove it down. there's always somethin else to be done.

soda forgets a lot.

sometimes days go by and soda forgets to think about the people he has lost. but then he will remember. and suddenly he is so deep into a depression that is so hard to get him out of.

(gonna try to fill this thought later. any ideas for a story behind it?)

[fuckinggreaserimagines]

i love the hc's for darry fallin in love with a soc!! can you do some for how the gang reacts when they meet you/find out you're dating please? :)

thank u so much love!enjoy💘gang meeting Darry's soc girlfriend!- surprised enough he's got a girl- extra surprised it's a soc- they probably grumble and are mean at first- but they can tell Darry likes you and lays off a bit- over time they like her a lot - ponyboy probably was :/ at first but then you defended him against Darry and he was in love tbh- ur like his mom??- everyone in the gang loves you- Darry gets jealous tbh bc u baby them and buy them stuff- u guys probably end up getting married and give a big fuck you to stereotypes of greaser and soc and fall in love!!thank u ?? I hope this was good lol

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry was the epitome of oh he was such an easy baby the others will be just the same! (wrong. soda is a nightmare child. wrong again. Pony was no better)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

look I love myself a good 'rip darry you would have fallin to your goddamn knees over inflation' head canon. however. I raise you darry 'I ain't payin eight fuckin dollars for eggs pony open your backpack fuck that shit'

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Darry's in the kitchen, makin' dinner again since Soda is banned from the stove for the foreseeable future. What compelled the kid to dump half a shaker of pepper into spaghetti, Darry will never know. But he doesn't mind, really. He's got one of their ma's old cookbooks on the counter and is piece mailin' together a casserole both Steve and Two-Bit had raved over last month.

Dallas sits at the table, arms folded and scowlin' hard. Darry had to chase him into the kitchen five separate times before he managed to set the table without driftin' back to the TV to watch a western. Darry's sure they've all seen it three times.

If I go back into that kitchen and those places still aren't set you're gonna be sittin' in there until I'm well 'n done cookin'. Dallas had immediately jumped back up and vanished through the door but Darry was followin' though. Maybe he was a tough hood everywhere else, but inside the Curtis home, he was just another one of Darry's rowdy kid brothers.

To his credit, he hadn't put up too much of a fuss so when he started leanin' to see the movie through the door Darry pretended he didn't notice. He only cleared his throat warningly when he started reachin' fallin' out of his chair levels of tilitin'. Every time Dallas would straighten back up and shoot Darry his meanest glare, proppin' his elbows on the table 'n pickin' at the peelin' paint.

At some point, Pony detangled himself from Soda on the couch and disappeared down the hall, returnin' with a notebook to sit across from Dallas. He glanced up at Darry before he plopped down 'n Darry nodded his approval. Sometimes he'd make them sit alone when they were in trouble, specifically Soda and Two since they were Darry's most rambunctious. Pony would distract Soda but him 'n Dallas enjoyed just sittin' in the quiet. It reminded Darry of how Johnny 'n Pony had been. His heart gives a sharp little ache and he shakes the thought from his head.

Greif had an odd way of sneakin' up on him.

Pony picks up his pencil and Dallas nearly falls out of his chair for how hard he's leanin'. Darry doesn't bother clearin' his throat, just knocks him up the back of his head gently and Dallas scowls hard and leans back.

He's not sure how much time passes, not very long. He finishes the casserole and slides it into the oven to cook. He sighs, listens to Two and Steve as they wrestle in the living room, waitin' to see if they'll knock it off themselves before they break somethin' or not. Apparently, the sigh he lets out it enough for Soda to kick them both in the ribs and they reluctantly separate.

Since Dallas has put up the minimal amount of huffin' 'n moanin' he opts to release him until dinner. Before he can open his mouth he catches a glimpse of a sketch Pony has his nose an inch away from. He's got his brow all furrowed and he's bitin' his lip hard enough to leave marks like he always does when he's focused.

"Holy shit, kiddo." He hadn't meant to comment but even just the edge of the portrait he's workin' on is an utter work of art. Pony jerks up and slams the notebook closed. He always was oddly shy about his work. Darry doesn't push it, he doesn't want Pony to feel like he's pryin'.

Dallas, however, doesn't share Darry's values of privacy. He watches as Steve disappears into his room without askin' 'n thinks maybe none of them do. He rolls his eyes again. Dallas, suddenly payin' attention again, reaches over 'n snatches the notebook out of Pony's hands, openin' it to the page Pony had been workin' in. Whatever smart shit he'd been about to say dies in his throat.

"Holy fuck, Pony." The sketch is nearly finished, clearly set from Pony's view of the kitchen, Dallas framed neatly in the middle, scowlin'. It's so accurate it could have been a photo, one of a spread of Dallas. In all of them, his eyes are bright and angry or dull and aggitated. He's either scowlin' or frownin'. In one particular sketch he's barin' his teeth so his silver one shines lime he does when hes truly hacked off. Darry looks between Dallas 'n the drawin' Pony's just added, notin' how he had lovingly managed to capture the singular fair freckle on Dallas' throat, the way his hair curled against the back of his neck, the set of his eyes as he peered through the door.

When Darry looks back at his kid brother Pony is bright red. Darry snaps out of it first and realizes both he 'n Dallas are just starin' at him.

"Pony, that's amazin'. Really, honey." Pony looks down at the table, still clearly embarrassed.

"It's just a sketch." He scuffs his toe on the tile and runs his hand up his neck in a way Darry knows he picked up from him. "It's not done, yet." Pony wasn't particularly good with praise. He looks up at Dallas who's still just starin' at the page. Dallas runs a finger along the high bones of his face recreated in lead.

"Is... is that how you-"

"Sorry! It's really not that good. I just like to... I dunno... I like to sketch you when you're angry. You just look tuff when you're scowlin' 'n all. That's all. It's not done." He finishes lamely, the flush creepin' down his neck when Dallas doesn't say anythin' else. The silence hangs for a long moment.

"I didn't know I looked like that. When I was mad 'n all." Dallas finally says. He runs a finger over his drawn brow as if he could smooth out the furrow. He shakes his head hard. "Sorry kid, that's tuff as hell. It's a real good drawin'."

Pony ducks his head again 'n Dallas runs the back of his hand over his eyes. "Do you... mind if I keep it?" Pony's eyes go all wide like he wasn't expectin' the question.

"Uh, yeah. Sure. It's you after all." Dallas rips the drawin' carefully out of the book and folds it gently in half, gettin' up and vanishin' down the hall to the room he shares with Pony 'n Soda. He ruffles Pony's hair as he passes, gently squeezin' his shoulder.

The second Dallas is gone Pony drops his forehead to the table. "D'you think I upset him?" Darry presses a kiss to his hair and pats him on the back softly.

"Nah, kiddo. I don't think he's upset." But Darry isn't sure exactly how to read that boy. Not nearly as well as he can read the rest of them. "He just needs a minute."

Dinner is a subdued affair despite Soda and Two's best efforts. As Darry expected, both Two and Steve nearly go to blows over the final servin' 'n only back down once Darry promises to make it again next week. Dallas says next to nothin' which makes Pony squirm around every thirty seconds.

When Two's finished lickin' the bowl, Darry shoos them all out, unsurprised to find Dallas silently startin' to collect up the plates and dump them into the sink. He wasn't like his brother's in that regard. When the other's wanted Darry's attention they would simply ask for it. Dallas refused to bruise his ego. He'd find an excuse to catch Darry as he ran to the grocery store or mowed the lawn or did the dishes. Darry didn't mind waitin' for him to decide to say whatever was on his mind.

"I didn't know the kid saw me as such an... angry person." He dumped another armful of dishes and silently picked up the dish towel as Darry started washin'.

Darry hmm-ed vaguely and handed Dallas a plate. He knew the kid wouldn't listen to him if he denied it, despite knowin' better.

"Pony just likes to capture people's emotions. You remember that time he drew Soda after he'd fallen and broken his wrist? Soda had nearly lost his damn mind at how pathetic he looked in that. He might've jumped Pony if it hadn't been such a good drawin'." Darry chuckles lightly but Dallas just gives a weak smile 'n returns the plate to the cabinet.

"Maybe... yeah." Between the two of them, the sink is empty in fifteen minutes and Dallas disappears down the hall to take a shower. He had a late night chore to run at Buck's, somethin' to do with an upcomin' pony race they had comin' up.

Darry see's Dallas out, extractin' a promise to go straight there 'n back, checkin' to make sure he had his blade though he almost certainly didn't need to. He shoos Two out of his armchair and collapses down, only half payin' attention to whatever's on.

"Darry?" Pony was still bein' more uncharacteristically quiet than usual.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Can I go to bed early?" Darry turns his head to get a good look at the kid. He doesn't think Pony has ever asked to bed early a day in his life. Usually, he was the one fit to be tied every night when Darry tried to get them all to bed.

"Sure honey, all ok?" Pony nods his head and Darry crooks a finger. When he's close enough Darry presses a kiss to his forehead. Pony doesn't fight it and leans into Darry's shoulder for a moment.

"Yeah, I'm fine. G'night Darry."

"Night, kiddo."

It doesn't take long for the rest of the gang to decide they're tired. Soda crashes on the sofa against Steve's shoulder and Steve hauls him up and dumps him in bed. Two promised his ma he'd go home and Steve swears he'll be fine at his. Darry reluctantly doesn't put up a fight. He drops kisses to both their heads and reminds them the door is always unlocked.

Once the house is nearly empty he straightens up the few things out of place and drags himself to his room for the night. He's a heavy sleeper and he's exhausted enough to fall asleep right there in the hall but his body won't let him even dream of passin' out before all his brothers are home where they're supposed to be.

He counts on Dallas bein' back in an hour give or take and flips on the bedside light. He cracks the book on the nightstand Ponyboy recommended to him months ago. Pony had read it in one afternoon but Darry was draggin' through it five minutes here 'n there when he had the time.

Half an hour later he hears the door to Pony, Dallas, 'n Soda's room creak open but doesn't think much of it. He hears light steps pad down the hall 'n correctly assumes it to be Pony. Seconds later the door opens 'n closes again.

By the alarm clock beside the bed, it's another forty-five minutes before Dallas comes in. The walls are paper thin, so he can distinctly hear Dally kick his shoes off at the door and continue into the kitchen. He pauses there oddly long but Darry doesn't get up to interrupt.

It takes another ten minutes for Darry to hear the kid in the hall. He sniffs hard and Darry recognizes the sound of him rubbin' the back of his sleeve across his face. It breaks his heart but he leaves him be. Of all of them Dallas was the most fiercely protective over his ego and privacy. If it were anyone else, Darry wouldn't let that stop him from comfortin' him. But he knew the kid would get him if he needed it. He figured Dallas could see the light under the door 'n would know Darry was awake if he decided to come in.

Darry waits another fifteen minutes before he gets up to check on them. When he eases open the door Soda is sprawled out in one bed and Dallas is wrapped tightly around Pony in the other. Darry smiles fondly and goes to shut the door before he catches the paper clutched in Dallas' hand.

Darry slinks quietly across the floor to get a better look. He recognizes Pony's careful, controlled pencil markin'. The drawin' is one of his favorite Polaroids of Dallas, his smile wide and uncontrolled. Darry remembers the exact moment it was taken, his hair blown back from his forehead as Soda had taken a turn far too fast for Darry's likin'. Dallas had howled and stuck his whole head out the window and grinned.

Darry smiles fondly at the memory and catches the corner where Pony's written a note in his neat, loopy hand writin'.

I don't see you as angry. I see you as Dallas. My brother. (who just happens to look tuff when he scowls)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Steve scowls, crosses the empty street in the dark, 'n hovers uncertianly under the flickerin' streetlamp in the space just before his regret 'n ache burned into anger. He's got no clue what time it is. Somehow, too early 'n too last at the same time.

He pops his collar against the chill 'n tries to light a cig, cupped close to his face 'n dartin'. Summer's still clingin' on by her fingertips, but, when nobody's lookin', or maybe when no one should be around to check, a wind blows in that smells like dead leaves 'n the smell of Darry's apple pie.

But now it's not promisin'. It's just cold. He sighs, points his feet across the lot just to be movin'. The street lamp flicks on, off, on again. Steve strikes another match, tries vainly to shield it behind bruised knuckles. He's not payin' one bit of attention when he trips over the dark shape curled against itself 'n half hidden in the tall grass.

He sidesteps, catches his balance before he sprawls straight onto the ground, whips around to see what the hell he'd slammed into 'n comes face to face with a switch, shinin' in the low light. On, off, on.

"Steve?" Johnny's hair is loose 'n fallin' in dark waves around his eyes. His voice still marred 'n tired.

"Jesus fuck. Johnny?" Steve drops his fists, glory, he didn't even remember raisin' 'em, thanks God for the first 'n last time that sleep slowed Johnny's reaction time or Steve was liable to have been sliced to fuckin' ribbons by now. But even the thought makes his stomach lurch 'cause what if it hadn't been Steve?

Glory. One day the kid was gonna get himself killed.

"Johnny, what the hell are you doin' out here man?" Johnny pushes his hair back absently, flicks his knife closed 'n slides it back into his pocket, lifts a shoulder 'n lets it fall.

"Couldn't go home." He tilts his face 'n Steve catches the shadow of a bruise that stretches around Johnny's eye' n across the sunken hollows of his cheeks.

He lets out a low hiss 'n Johnny shrugs again, drops down to the knotted root of a tree long since knocked down, pulls out a pack of Kools. "Why didn't you go to the Curtis'?"

"Didn't wanna be a bother." He taps the box against the heel of his hand 'n Steve doesn't wait for him to ask for a match, just pulls one outta his pocket 'n offers it up. His instinct to say that he ain't ever a bother 'n he's always welcome there 'n Steve didn't know where he kept gettin' the fool idea he wasn't drys up 'n dies in his throat. 'Cause he's out here too. Three blocks away 'n headed further. So instead, he just drops down beside him, tuckin' his knees up into his chest.

"Can I bum a cig? I lost mine when some punk tripped me 'n nearly made me eat shit." He grins 'n Johnny rolls his eyes and passes him over one.

"Last I checked you tripped over me." Steve finally finds the sweet spot between their shoulders where the wind can't get 'n strikes the end of his weed.

"Tom-a-to, tom-ah-to." Johnny just chuckles, kicks his feet out in front of him 'n runs his hand over his arms, both of them sorely regrettin' not havin' jackets. Not that either of 'em were in spots to go thinkin' of the weather when they left.

"So. What are you lookin' for?" Steve blows the smoke out through his nose, the sickly sweet menthals Johnny's got a preference for burnin' up his throat. He leans back, props himself up on his hands, pulls a blade of grass up 'n twists it 'round his fingers like Soda always did.

"Wasn't lookin' for much of anythin'." Johnny turns to look at him, studies him with those bright, dark eyes of his. He's got the ember end of his cig hoverin' in his hand, lightin' him up 'n Steve can clearly see a thin collar of dark bruises that ring Johnny's neck he hadn't noticed before. He grits his teeth 'cause he knew exactly who had put them there, finally feels the anger he'd been lookin' for spark 'n light, thrum under split knuckles.

"A fight?" Goddamn Johnny 'n his eerie ability to just see things.

"Mostly just somethin' to put my fist through." He tries to chuckle dryly but he chokes on it. 'Cause ain't he out here lookin' for the thing Johnny was runnin' from?

"So, Dallas?" Johnny just grins, pulls his knees back up 'n turns to rest his head down on them. "He ain't out here tonight. Think he's with the Curtis' 'n you'll have to go through Darry first there."

"So he's out." Steve rolls his eyes jokingly 'n earns another hoarse laugh. But it doesn't last 'cause now they're both thinkin' real hard about that couch 'n how much better it was than a rotted root in a lot.

There's a brief pause 'n Steve can feel Johnny studyin' him. He always reminded him of Soda when he did that. You just got the feelin' you were bein' picked apart in ways you had never been before. That someone was about to tell you things you didn't know about yourself.

"Was it your Da?" Steve cuts his eyes hard away, should have known. 'Cause he ain't got anythin' to be angry at here 'cept Johnny 'n he could never do that. But that means he ain't got nothin' to stop the regret poolin' back up in his stomach.

"Yeah." Johnny nods. Doesn't need to ask anythin' else. 'Cause if anyone gets it, it's Johnny. But that makes his ribs ache 'n his bruised knuckles burn 'cause he can't fuckin' compare with him. 'Cause when Johnny had a bad night it meant someone had to scrape him off the fuckin' pavement 'n make sure his folks hadn't finally cracked his skull clean in half.

When Steve had a bad night he took a walk around the fuckin' block 'n took a fist to the first fight he could find. 'Cause his father would never do him the favor of makin' it physical 'n no one cared that get the fuck out 'n never come back hurt worse than a couple goddamn broken ribs.

Jesus. How could he sit next to him in the lot 'n think he had it bad at all when in a few days he'd walk home with five bucks in his hand 'n a place to stay until it got bad again?

"Steve?" He jumps, doesn't realize he's tremblin' til Johnny leans into him. He scrubs the back of his hand over his face, goes to take drag 'n sighs when he finds the things blown out again.

"Yeah, Johnny Cakes?"

"I'm sorry." Steve whips his head to look at him but Johnny's just got his eyes closed, head down on Steve's shoulder, 'n he looks so... tired. Not small. Not broken. Just tired. 'Cause Johnny's probably the toughest goddamn kid Steve has ever met.

"Ain't your fault."

"Didn't say it was." Steve sigh, drops his head down against Johnny's.

"I guess you didn't."

"You don't deserve that." 'N Steve feels that right in his stomach. Like a switch cut cleanly up his gut 'n between his ribs 'n opened him up. 'Cause Johnny how could sit there with a black eye 'n rasp through every breath 'n tell Steve he didn't deserve to be treated like that?

'N he wouldn't listen to it from Soda. 'Cause Soda couldn't get it. Soda was so wrapped up in love how could he? Sure, his da wasn't like Mr 'n Mrs. C. But he wasn't that bad. Wouldn't believe it from Darry 'cause he wasn't no better. How could Steve not deserve it? He didn't have it bad. He didn't. He had five dollars 'n cold hard proof that it wasn't ever that serious or nothin'.

"Don't say that, Johnny. You got it worse than me. I ain't got nothin' to bitch about compared to you."

"You got it different." Johnny tilts his head back. Pins him right to the sky with those big dark eyes. "Don't mean you don't get to grieve it, too."

Jesus. What the hell was he supposed to say to that.

So he doesn't say anythin'. Just worries his lip, drops his forehead against the top of Johnny's head, gathers up his brother tight in his arms 'n feels suddenly like he could fall asleep right there, tucked up against Johnny in the big, empty, cold night that would burn off by dawn 'n make way for strawberry-stained mouths 'n the last good weeks of summer. "I'm sorry, too."

"I know." But in the lot, they were just two scared kids in the dark. 'N Steve was sick of livin' like that. Thinks, maybe for the first time, they both deserved better.

"C'mon, Johnny." He slides to his feet, offers Johnny a hand-up he takes without hesitation. "We're goin' home." 'N they both know he doesn't mean back to their folks 'n the empty mausoleums they were always dressin' up 'n hopin' to find love in. He means an empty couch 'n an armchair 'n someone who would look for them in the middle of the night when it got deceptively cold.

'N Johnny folds himself to Steve's side 'n Steve throws an arm around him 'n they turn back up the street, matchin' stride for stride. 'Cause Steve 'n Johnny weren't the same. But maybe they were the closest you could possibly get.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

WAGH!! guys. y'all know what today is. it's tidbit tuesday time again!!! (not really a tidbit I started writin' 'n got so drawn in I accidentally pretty much wrote a whole fic) (sorry!!!) (also this is a part 2 of sorts to another fic I wrote here!!) (enjoy!!)

It's a Friday night which can really only mean one thing for the Curtis household: it's alive. All seven of them clustered together. Voices risin' 'n fallin', pans clatterin' together, bodies runnin' up 'n down the hall, someone thrown to the ground, a fresh bruise where an elbows been jammed into a rib.

The TV's playin', flippin' on interval back 'n forth between two shows every commercial break. The record player's on 'n takin' up a prized 'n rare space on the couch. Soda's got his guitar pulled up in his lap, catchin' every other chord. He's already kicked both Steve 'n Two hard onto the floor for tryin' to move it (to their mutual outrage).

Darry's in the kitchen, nose stuck down into their ma's cookbook, pluggin' through a casserole that both Pony 'n Dallas had raved over last month (a hard sell, at least on Dallas' part).

Dallas is propped up on the counter, absently recountin' a fight he'd seen down at Buck's. ('N you weren't involved?) (C'mon, Darry. Have a little faith in me.) (I have a little faith. That's the problem.)

"So anyways. I'm watchin' this guy, right? Man, he was like four sticks 'n eyes. Picture Pony. Just a twig right-"

"I heard that!" Pony shouts, somehow managin' to pull his rapt attention from the Friday night cartoons to defend his honor over the sound of Two puttin' up a decent fight Johnny's world-famous poker skills 'n Soda managin' to get two whole chords right in a row.

"Guess I don't need to get your ears checked after all, huh? With all the sorry I didn't do the dishes I didn't hear you ask you've been doin' lately you had me real worried." Darry shoots back before Dallas can cut in, pinnin' a carrot to the cuttin' board 'n slicin'.

Pony grumbles but doesn't say anythin' else, distracted by Steve palmin' dial on the TV 'n switchin' it back to whatever beach flick he'd been tryin' to watch.

"So anyways. I'm watchin' this guy run his mouth 'n Jesus. Look, I'm all for a bit of talk. But at some point, it's pack it in or pack it up-"

Two wails, throws his cards on the table 'n Johnny chuckles to himself. "Jesus Christ kid. What do I owe you now? My firstborn?"

"Ah, yeah." Johnny shuffles the cards up again, twistin' them in his hands like real professional dealers did. "Somethin' like that. But I'm feelin' generous. You can keep that, Two. I'll settle for, what, the hundred bucks you're up to now?"

"Aw, damn. Must've left it in my other pants pocket." Soda howls, momentarily distracted by the prospect of a good joke. He kicks him in the spine from where Two's folded up in front of the coffee table 'n Two twists 'n grabs at his ankle, tryin' to drag him off the couch.

Soda hollers, writhin' 'n twistin' desperately away. "Not with the baby!" He clutches his guitar up to his chest, 'n Two relents with one final lungin' jab in Soda's side he wails at.

Darry rolls his eyes, dumps the carrots off the cuttin' board 'n into the mixture of meat 'n vegetables in the pan. "You were sayin', Dal?"

"Hm? OH! Yeah, so the guy gets up from the bar 'n I'm thinkin' to myself like holy fuck. He's dead meat. Ain't no way he's walkin' away from this-"

"Hey!" Pony dives on Steve, rolls 'n ends up flat on his back. "Stop changing' the fuckin' channel!"

Darry looks up, narrows his eyes 'n tries to guess whether they'll escalate or not.

"Stop actin' like a brat!" Pony lets out an indignant noise, decides to play dirty 'n reaches up to grab a fistful of Steve's hair 'n yanks.

Darry sighs, wipes his hands on the front of his apron, flips the stove on.

Soda's back to playin', hard 'n fast 'n at least two of his strings are wound too tight.

"You were sayin'?"

"If I'm a brat then you're a bitch. No actin' necessary!"

Darry groans, shakes his head in exasperation. "One sec, Dal." He disappears into the livin' room 'n Dallas can hear him manhandlin' Steve 'n Pony off of each other 'n poppin' 'em once for good measure. 'Course Dallas doesn't see 'cause he's too busy puttin' his fingers down in the casserole to fish out a piece of ground beef.

Two 'n Johnny are back to playin', Soda's finally found a good pace, catchin' most of the notes. He's still playin' a bit too hard-

"I saw that." Darry bats Dallas' hand away 'n Dal scowls at him but pulls his fingers back. "Now, finish what you were sayin'-"

There's a sharp twang 'n Soda's playin' abruptly stops. "Ow! Shit."

"What's wrong?" Dallas leans so far forward on the counter he nearly falls off 'n Darry absently puts a hand out to catch him. Soda's got his finger in his mouth, the guitar slung haphazardly down in his lap, one string snapped clean in two. "Oh, shit."

He hops off the counter deftly, crosses into the livin' room, 'n fishes in the discarded guitar case. "Anyways, Dar. So this guy, he's like four times this kid's size. No kiddin' on that either." He pulls out a coiled G string, flattens it out between his fingers. "'N I'm thinkin' ok. Man, this kid's gonna get creamed. Like pounded into the fuckin' floor."

He pulls Soda's guitar off his lap, props himself up on the arm since the records player's still skippin' 'n spinnin' on the couch cushion beside Soda.

"'N Buck comes out from behind the bar, like he's gonna do anythin' to stop the guy, right." Dallas idly unstrings the snapped G, nimble fingers pullin' the bridge pin out 'n tossin' the discarded end at Soda who catches it easily. "But naw, man. This kid, I swear I ain't never seen someone knock out a guy like that. Shit." He lets out a long, low whistle, winds the new string in.

He pauses, plucks at it til he finds the sound he wants, nods self satisifed, 'n sweeps it back into Soda's hands. "Jesus, man. It was crazy." When he looks up Soda's starin' at him, that shit-eatin' grin that tells Dallas' he's made a mistake somewhere painted across his face. "What?"

He twists 'catches Darry lookin' back at him with a raised eyebrow like he's let somethin' slip he hadn't meant to. "What?"

Two, Steve, Pony, 'n Johnny are all starin' at him, mouths gapin', arguments 'n games forgotten 'n Dallas' sinkin' concern is startin' to bleed into irritation. "Will y'all stop lookin' at me like dead fish 'n tell me what."

Pony blinks at him, once, twice. "Dallas. Can you play the fuckin' guitar?"

Oh. Well. Shit.

There's a brief pause. A second where no one says anythin'. 'N then Soda howls, gigglin' so hard he grabs for his side 'n dissolves. Darry snorts, turns his head 'n disappears back into the kitchen when Dallas glares at him.

"Well, Dal." Soda composes himself. Blinks at Dallas with big, stupid eyes. "Guess the cat's outta the bag!" 'N it takes every goddamn thing in Dallas to not pick that stupid fuckin' guitar right up 'n crack it over Sodapop Curtis' dumbass fuckin' head.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

jesus christ. guys. show is on its last leg. ep 9 of the outsiders. do NOT do anythin stupid. do NOT do anythin stupid. do NOT

well. if I have nothin else. at least I have my fuck ass intro.

damn were still down to 240p. still can't tell NOBODY from nobody

pony just standin there watchin the popcorn machine. also pony fumblin around for change for like five minutes.

who is this lady. Just stole five bucks out the cash drawer

'how come I don't know you?' 'you know everybody?' 'everybody but you' pony I love you. please never do anythin fucked up please.

I love how bashful n embarrassed n pouty n whiny jay pony is. he's just such a kid man.

steve n two n soda workin on the cars together aough. I love this trio. or I guess. Steve workin n soda n two just dickin around

TIM N DARRYYYY

'you know you got a mouth on you kid' 'eyes n ears too. what about em' TIM TAKIN UP FOR DARRY SO FAST. that's my BOYS.

the way darry holds tim back with literally one hand 👀 'eat this' 'button it tim' darry tellin tim to shut up n tim. shuttin up. hmmmm. yeah. alright.

pony bein whiny is so important to me. like. guys. he's just some kid. I love him so much. they let him be such a brat in this show. n that's so important to me.

tim n darry lyin for each other actually. yeah. alright. guys of all time. those are MY guys.

two salutin buck n buck goin 'unstable. definitely unstable.' I giggled unfortunately

steve soda two triobI love this trio so so much.

soda literally has a new girl every goddamn episode

darry standin with his hands on his belt buckle lookin at Tim like 🤨 that's his husband ur honor

literally every single one of the curtis brothers sneakin off to the carnival without tellin the others. unfortunately they're silly

pony got seperated from the gang within 5 seconds I KNOW he was always gettin last in stores n stuff as a kid

DARRYS GOIN TO BOX???? HES GONNA GET HIS SHIT ROCKED

why did tims money smell like fresh baked cookies

pony losin at those ring toss games n just goin back n tryin again is so funny. I just KNOW he would have dropped an INSANE amount of money on them things left to his own devices n darry would have KILLED him

lovin this random ladies outfit. she's kinda servin

pony is so. guys I know you're so sick of me sayin it. he's just so cute. that's my baby. I need to give him five dollars n a hug.

steve n two playin that game where you throw the ball at the thing n try to knock it down n genuinely gettin so heated is so funny to me. very in character. Steve would flip his SHIT.

'you find him?' 'no' 'knowin ponyboy some con artist just sold him the Brooklyn bridge.' ok one. HA. two says the man actively fallin for a carnival scam. n three. this is the first bit of pony n steve beef we've seen in a WHILE. hell yeah

what is this fuck ass hat on buck

steve soda n two perhaps the worst liars on gods green earth. what the hell.

'I got a pack a smokes right here! musta givin em up for lent!' n then the way soda palms two the money? clean as hell. also just loved that whole scene. more of them bein stupid fuckin kids yeah?

darrys goin to box n they don't know how they get the weights in the gloves. n also tims parole officer is there. Great great. very cool. this is goin well.

'have we met?' 'our eyes did' good lord. soda shut up. no more one liners from you. on one liner prison for a while.

Two's little giggle is everythin to me.

??? sodas flirtin n steve just reached around n put his whole arm??? around sodas chest?? 🤨🏳️‍🌈❓️

oh TIM is gonna fight oh ok. oh nevermind. Tim's convincin DARRY to fight. Tim just said 'cmon you can take this guy by hittin em HALF as hard as you hit me' n then did the stupidest lil grin. yeah. your honor I love them.

oh no part of the ep is missin

oh nevermind I found it on a different channel ok sick sick

darry HELLO SAILOR curtis

OH SHIT PONYS HERE!! he's gonna watch darry fight HELL YEAH

sodas on a date with the carnival lady n steve n two are just. also there. two just grabbed Steve n swept him down in his arms n Steve went 'oh the carnival is SO romantic' n bapped two on the nose n then two dropped him. actually ep of all time perhaps. actually wait yall have to see this. watch just like the beginnin bit of this

DAMN darry is a good boxer. AWWW TIM CHEERIN HIM ON FROM THE STANDS

darry n the fuckin faces he's always makin. I love that guy. also DARRY WON YEAHHH.

tim. do not fall for this. do not fall for this. do not fall for this. OH. he didnt!! in fact he kinda ate him up.

darry helpin pony at the shootin game n pony absolutely WHININ that Darry lied n came to the carnival. like he didn't also. lie. n go to the carnival. also the way he delivers the line 'you LIED to me man' Jay pony they could never ever make me hate you. hes so bratty n whiny I love that kid.

oh. very cool. yet another pitch black scene. where are they. what are they doin.

buck doublin down n goin 'that young man is unstable. Definitely unstable' god that's so funny. buck knows a FREAK when he sees one

THEIR CAR GOT STOLEN

two bit runnin over to the dunk tank n dunkin the guy that was makin fun of them earlier. I love those stupid kids.

'searched under the bleachers n all. no car. not even a two headed calf' 'I say we sue em for false advertisin' ok. again. one. HA. I fear I giggled. two. why the hell would the car be under the bleachers

can we get even one single light on in this shot. I can't see SHIT.

buck bein like I want the truth. about the car. n soda gettin this utter defeated look on his face. n then buck goin. you forgot to tarp it huh. n he LIGHTS up. the look of a man about to get away with it.

pony goin 'don't you UNDERSTAND? they'll break us UP' n his voice breakin when he talks about his brothers. aough. he's my baby.

darry agreein to throw the match in exchange for the car. darry feelin like it's his fault cause he said he wasn't goin to the carnival n then went anyways. how often this man is THROWIN himself on the block for his brothers. aough.

the whole gang bein there n cheerin darry on OUGH

also those are the bluest jeans I've ever seen

TIM N STEVE HELPIN DARRY BETWEEN ROUNDS AOUGH

steve yellin for darry to stay down n pony goin 'he won't. he's too stubborn' PONY N DARRY ARE THE SAME KIND OF STUBBORN MENTION YEAHHHH

DARRY LOOKIN AT PONY N THATS WHY HE GETS KNOCKED OUT. APUGHAGGAH. GNAWIN AT THE BARS OF MY ENCLOSURE.

the parole officer literally already havin the handcuffs. goddamn. HA. TIM WAS WALKIN AROUND WITH BLACKMAIL. HE CAUGHT HIS PAROLE OFFICERS ASS CHEATIN

hes holdin that Polaroid up like how Ken holds the mugshot thing in barbie. does that mean anythin to any of yall. 'you know these handcuffs? they sure can... chaff a wrist...' 'this is blackmail!!' 'sure is. n I'm ashamed of myself.' TIM SHEPARD THE MAN THAT YOU AREEEE

everytime they all pile in the back of darrys pick up I gain 10 years on my life especially cause I KNOW darry is makin pony ride inside

ok. episode ever actually. great ep. wish they were all good as this shit. AOUGH. my KIDS.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

begging you for more picky eater dallas!!!!!!

AOUH!! I've gotten like four asks for this one!! I hope I did it justice!! fic under the cut!! TYSM for the ask AGH!!!

The second Dallas walks into the Curtis' house he turns his nose up. Somethin' simmerin' in the kitchen 'n stinkin' the whole place up. For a moment he considers just spinnin' right on his heel 'n beatin' it outta there.

"Oh good, just in time Dal." Darry appears from the hall, rollin' up his sleeves, 'n ducks into the kitchen. "I thought I was gonna hafta hunt you down."

Dallas scowls, flips him off the second his back is turned. Darry's been on a bit of a one-man mission lately to force them all (but really just Dallas) into eatin' better. Apparently, a person could only make so many a nutritious dinner of three cigs 'n a sleeve of swiped Chips Ahoy jokes before Darry's goddamn mother-hen instincts kicked in.

"Not like you gave me any choice." Dallas mutters, toes his boots off 'n figures it's too late to make a break for it now.

"Nope!" Darry pops the p cheerfully 'n Dallas glares daggers at his back. "Now c'mere 'n stir these."

He drags himself into the kitchen, the record player spinnin' through The Beatles Help! album. Dallas rolls his eyes, mostly on instinct rather than actual dislike, 'n takes the wooden spoon Darry offers him.

He has to fight the urge to not cover his face with his sleeve, the smell alone turnin' his stomach. He settles for leanin' as far back as he possibly can, stirrin' the pot with his arm extended as far as it could go. Darry quirks an eyebrow at him, opens his mouth, but before he can say anythin' Pony slides in on socked feet, nearly trippin' 'n fallin' straight on his face. He scrambles for a moment, slippin' on the tile before Darry reaches over to deftly grab him by the shoulder.

Soda's right behind him, slammin' into Pony when he stops abruptly so there's no savin' either of 'em 'n they both go straight down in a heap on the floor. "Sodaaa!" Pony whines, kickin' at his older brother's tangled limbs.

Soda grins, kickin' Pony back for a moment before somethin' catches his attention 'n he sticks his nose straight up in the air like a hound dog. "Darry! Are those mama's collards?"

"Soda!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He finally disentangles himself from Pony, with one final whack to the shin on Pony's side, 'n pops up, divin' for the pot on the stove.

"Ah, you can wait for dinner like everyone else." Darry turns, quick as quick, pops him once on the back of his outstretched hand 'n Soda wails like he'd been shot, collapses into Dallas' arms like he'll get any more sympathy there.

Dallas catches him, shoves the spoon into Soda's hands 'n spins him back to his feet at the stove. "Since you like 'em so much you can stand here 'n stir 'em." Soda pouts a lil', jams an elbow into Dallas' ribs he doesn't manage to fully avoid, but turns back around to the stovetop.

"Fine. Then Dallas, you 'n Pony can come over here 'n pull this chicken."

Pony whines wordlessly 'n Dallas scowls, mutters, "Didn't know you only invited me 'round so I could do all you're housework," at the same time Pony huffs,

"I'm pretty sure there's child labor laws against this shit." Darry rolls his eyes at them both, reaches back 'n unties his apron.

"Hush, both of ya before I make you do the dishes too." More glarin' 'n draggin' ass but they both throw themselves down at the kitchen table to diligently start on the chicken. "Good." He ruffles both their hair, turnin' to give Soda the same when he pouts.

"Where're you goin'?" Pony narrows his eyes accusin'ly as Darry ducks out of the kitchen, comes back with the keys to the truck, laces up his shoes.

"I gotta run down to the corner store. 'N don't you go gettin' mouthy with me 'cause I'm only goin' to pick up Pepsi for your ass." Pony relents, shrugs a shoulder by way of apology, 'n returns to the chicken. "I'm gonna pick up Two on the way back 'n then dinner should be all ready."

He palms his wallet off the counter 'n is halfway out the door before he turns back, points a condemnin' finger at both Pony 'n Soda. "'N y'all better not eat any of it before I'm back, y'hear?"

They don't even give him the decency of waitin' for the door to swing shut before Soda has a heapin' spoonful of collards in his mouth 'n Pony has a handful of chicken.

Good. Dallas thinks, dryly, when they turn implorin' raised eyebrows to him, less for me.

...

The dinin' room table is full to overflowin', probably only really made for four they've managed to squeeze the seven of them in. All elbows, 'n knees 'n kickin' each other, accidently 'n intentionally. Reachin' hands 'n glasses crowded together in the center like refugees on an island so nothin' got spilled.

Darry hmms vaguely to himself, drops Pony 'n Johnny's plates down in front of them 'n neither wait for any other promptin' to dig in. Soda howls at somethin' Steve says, goes to knock his ankle 'n misses, jarrin' the whole table.

"Jesus, Mary, 'N Joseph Soda." Dallas reaches out 'n grabs the can of Pepsi 'n glass of water that pitch to the side in a motion he's done probably a thousand times. "Cool it."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have to turn the table up if Dar'd hurry up with dinner." He teases, grinnin' wide when Darry fixes him with a look over his shoulder.

"Maybe it wouldn't take me so long if I didn't have to fix all your plates, huh?"

"Aw, Dar. C'mon, how old d'ya think we are?"

"Well, lemme think. Last time I let y'all get your own dinner Pony ate half a pan a mac 'n cheese on his lonesome, Two didn't have nothin' on his but chocolate cake, 'n Dallas had a cigarette for dinner." The offendin' parties let out indignant noises 'n Darry promptly twists around to ignore them. "The only one a y'all I can trust to serve his damn self is Johnny. You would think I have a house full a toddlers."

"Aw, Dar. Don't be such a stick in the mud! Cake is a well-rounded meal-" Two grins, puts his elbows up on the table, drops his head into his hands, 'n blinks up at Darry.

"Save it." Darry knocks his arms off, slides both Dallas' 'n Two's plates in front of them. Two pouts for a half second before tuckin' straight in, half standin' to snatch the barbeque sauce from in front of Steve.

Dallas scowls down at his plate. Half of it covered with mushy collards whose smell is enough to put him off everythin' else. There's coleslaw shoved up into the corner thanks to Steve's insistence, the chicken takin' up the leftover space.

Jesus Christ, Darry had really gone for it.

Johnny accidentally elbows him in the side but the bench seat probably was never intended for three people so he really couldn't blame him. Dallas glances up to Johnny's big, dark eyes studyin' him quizzically. "What, you ain't hungry or somethin'?"

His voice is all quiet so his question slides right under the vehement argument Steve, Pony, Soda, 'n Two are holdin' regardin' whether you could put barbeque sauce on pasta.

"Naw, it ain't that." (It's got tomatoes in it! It's basically marinara!)

Johnny raises an eyebrow when Dallas picks his fork up, pushes the coleslaw back 'n forth on his plate. (What the hell does that hafta do with anythin'? Next you're gonna be tellin' me you can put ketchup on pasta 'n it's basically the same.)

Dallas glances over, Darry's back still turned as he finally gets his own dinner together. (Well...) Johnny's already housed most of his, but he always ate like a man half-starved. (EW! My God, I'm arguin' with a savage.)

He doesn't wait a moment more, pushin' his plate against Johnny's 'n scrapin' a decent helpin' of both the coleslaw 'n greens. So, of course, Soda picks just that moment to take a break from the heated debate 'n slap a palm against the table, grabbin'.

"Hey! If we're sharin' slide some my way!" Dallas kicks him under the table, hard. Soda yelps but it's already too late.

Darry turns, plops his food at his seat, rasies an eyebrow over at Soda, then Dallas, fork still hoverin' over Johnny's, plate slid up shotgun.

"Dallas Winston." 'N Darry's got that scoldin' tone in his voice he usually saves for Pony. Or Two. "Eat your food or so help me I'm gonna make you have double."

Dallas scowls down at the table, can see Pony lean forward to peek around Johnny, Steve 'n Soda sharin' a confused look. "I dunno what y'all are lookin' at." Darry cuts in, mercifully drawin' the group's attention away as fast as he had focused it. "Also. Barbeque sauce can't go on pasta. 'Cause that's real vile." He says with finality 'n Two 'n Steve both jump to argue.

Dallas pushes the coleslaw around. Goddamn, he didn't know how people could like this stuff.

Here's the thing. Dallas wasn't picky. Picky was for toddlers 'n Pony insistin' for an entire summer that sweet potatoes were disgustin'. Dallas would eat anythin'. Or at least he used to.

"Can I have s'more Dar?" Pony 'n Soda have both cleaned their plates thoroughly enough it looks like they licked 'em. Hell, they might've.

"Go for it, kid." Darry idly glances over, raises an eyebrow at Dallas, nods pointedly, goes back to whatever he'd been shootin' the shit about.

He sighs, comes to terms with the fact he ain't gettin' outta this. The chickens probably his best bet so he sighs, sticks his fork into it.

"Goddamn, no sauce Dal?" Steve cuts in 'n Dallas rolls his eyes, lets out an aggravated scoff.

"Can't a man do a fuckin' thing around here without gettin' the peanut gallery?" Dallas shoves the bite into his mouth, flips Steve off when he just grins haughtily. "Also barbeque sauce tastes like shit so-"

"Woah woah woah! No need to start throwin' around insults!" Two cuts in with an indignant wail.

Dinner goes on like that for another twenty minutes or so. Soda 'n Pony damn near come to blows over the last of the collards, Johnny polishes off the rest of the chicken when no one's lookin', Steve's got the whole bowl of leftover coleslaw in his lap, 'n Two's waitin' as patiently as he can for Darry to cave 'n pull out the chocolate cake.

Dallas has managed about six more bites.

"Jesus Christ, Dal. You gonna finish that today or...?" Soda eyes the mushy, untouched, cold pile of greens like a five-dollar bill on the sidewalk.

"Glory, y'all are like vultures. Take your cake 'n go put on Mickey. You're crowdin' up my kitchen." Darry shoos them out, dumps an arm full of dishes into the sink. Two shoots straight up, balances the whole heapin' cake in his arms 'n a fork 'n vanishes into the livin' room, Steve 'n Soda hot on his heels. Pony 'n Johnny linger only long enough to help Darry stack the cups up 'n then follow.

Dallas shoves his plate away, goes to get to his feet. Darry's hand comes down hard on his shoulder, pushes him back into his chair. "Nuh-uh. Not you."

"What the hell, man." He makes to twist away 'n Darry easily holds him in place. "You can't make me fuckin' finish my dinner like I'm four."

"Naw, I can't." Dallas turns to glare at him over his shoulder.

"Glad we've come to the same conclusion. Now got offa me." In one smooth motion, Darry pushes his chair back in, pulls Dallas' plate closer to him.

"I wasn't done. I sure can't make you eat 'em but I can make you sit here all night. Choice is up to you." Darry grins, turns to flip the tap on. Dallas' glare bores holes into his back.

"This is bullshit. I ain't a kid." Darry hmms vaguely to himself, lifts the record needle 'n starts the album again.

"Really? Coulda fooled me." Dallas grits his teeth, grips the chair til his knuckles are white.

They lapse into silence, Darry washin' the dishes, hummin' absently to himself, Dallas scowlin' down at the table, then turnin' his fork around 'n around, then resortin' to draggin' it across the plate so it shrieked.

Darry pointedly ignores him, reaches over 'n crankin' the volume. He goes on for another minute before a throw pillow comes careenin' through the doorway, beamed at Dallas' head.

"Can you keep it down in there? God damn!" Steve hollers 'n Dallas shoves his chair back, squealin'. Unfortunately, Darry's quicker.

"Y'all know you have a volume dial on that TV, right?"

"But-"

"Good Lord, don't make me kick y'all out." Darry crosses his arms 'n Steve, after a moment's glarin', backs down.

"Fine, fine. Don't get your panties in a twist." Darry fixes Steve with one last look before he trudges back to the sink, stickin' his hands back into the soapy water. The moment he's outta the doorway Steve flips Dallas off 'n he happily returns the gesture.

"Dallas. Eat." Dallas scowls, props one elbow on the table, leans down to try to watch whatever Western they had rerunnin' on the tube. Darry clears his throat without turnin' around, the bastard, 'n Dallas sits back up.

He turns the plate 'round. Just do it. Just bite the bullet. He scrapes a forkful of the greens, somehow even mushier now then they'd been hot, together. Lifts it up to his mouth. Pussies out. Why couldn't he just fuckin' eat? Like he used to? Jesus. Back in New York he'd-

The tap flips off 'n Darry wipes his hands on his jeans, twists around to look at Dallas. God, why were the Curtis' always doin' that? Just lookin' at you like they could pick you right apart.

"C'mere." Dallas jolts to his feet, happy for an excuse to finally escape the goddamn table. "'N bring your plate." He makes a face 'n Darry just quirks an eyebrow, puts his hands back on his hips. Dallas kicks at the floor balefully, but snatches the food up, trudges behind Darry out to the porch.

It's a mild night. The kind they would migrate out into once everythin' good had stopped playin' on the TV. Spillin' over the porch steps 'n the swingin' chair. Pony scratchin' away at some drawin' in the low light of the street lamps or readin' somethin' Dallas couldn't make heads or tails of. Johnny wipin' the floor with whoever he could convince to play cards. Darry rockin' all slow back 'n forth. Soda twistin' those bracelets outta the high summer grass. The cicadas hissin' 'n singin'.

But for now, Darry just eases down onto the steps, jerks his head for Dallas to sit next to him. He does, reluctantly, droppin' his plate down between them.

"You don't like it?" Darry waves a hand absently 'n Dallas' stomach twists up. He doesn't sound upset, really. Just curious. But it makes somethin' like sick slide down Dallas' throat.

'Cause Darry's been real good to him. He'd admit it. When he wasn't naggin' him 'n fussin' like an old maid, Darry was a real good guy. 'N it's so stupid 'cause Dallas won't even do him the favor of eatin' his fuckin' food.

"You can be honest." Dallas swallows thickly. Shakes his head. Fiddles with the loose step. "Well, alright."

Dallas whips up 'n Darry just tilts his head, looks at him evenly. "That's it?"

"Well, no." A car passes by, briefly lights up the lawn with its one workin' headlight. "We gotta find somethin' you'll like."

'N it's stupid. It's so goddamn stupid. Stupid that someone cares enough to make sure he fuckin' likes his food. Stupid that Darry Curtis is probably the first person to ever care. "Oh."

Darry turns to look at him, furrows a brow, rests a hand on Dallas' shoulder he doesn't even think to knock away. "I ain't gonna let you go hungry. Not on my watch." Oh. God, it was so stupid. Dallas makes a low noise down in his throat he didn't ask for at all. Darry doesn't hesitate, just hauls him across the step to his side. 'Cause Darry was a good brother. To all of 'em.

There's a moment's pause. The crickets hop across the sidewalk, the street lamp flickers 'n buzzes, the cicadas screech.

"Hey, Darry?"

"Yeah, kid?"

"Do I gotta eat those greens?" 'N Darry blinks down at him once, snorts, chuckles, 'n then dissolves into the kinda laughter that makes Dallas just open his mouth 'n join right in despite himself.

"I'll make you a deal." He grins, catches his breath. "You eat two bites 'n I won't make 'em for a month."

Dallas scowls but he doesn't mean it. Not really. Not at all. "Soda might just die."

Darry smiles, squeezes him once on the shoulder, twists to grab Dallas' plate 'n put it back in his hands. "You know, I think he'll live."

'N they're gross. They really are. But he swallows them back quickly, like a shot. 'N maybe doesn't even mind that much when Darry clears his throat at him tryin' to get the smallest bite he possibly can. 'Cause he cares. 'N that makes it that much easier.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

hey y'all!! little story brought to you by @outsiders-gift-exchanges that I had an absolutely DELIGHTFUL time bein' a part of!! My giftee was @kaiskornerart 'n the prompt I went with was the Curtis brothers!! Hope y'all enjoy!! This was SO much fun!! fic under the cut!!

Darry wakes up with an ache in his chest. The kind he crawled into bed with every night with 'n woke up in the company of every mornin'. The kind he spent his days too busy to think about though it was always there. Just out of view. Which is to say, nothin' new.

The sun ain't up yet, street lamp light crawlin' under the curtains too short in the windows like Pony's jeans even uncuffed 'n low on his hips 'n God when did they stop growin'? If someone would send him a memo with the time 'n date he'd wait to go buy new clothes til then. Even Soda's hand-me-downs ended high around his ankles. 'N Pony was nothin' if not vain in that way kids always were 'n in firm denial of. It wasn't tuff for your jeans to not be long enough. 'N he wants to roll his eyes but he remembers bein' fourteen. It wasn't so long ago.

Darry sighs, rolls over to touch the picture of their parents on the end table, brushin' calloused fingers over their mama's cheek 'n across the strong plains of their father's face like he does every mornin'. He squeezes his eyes shut. Remembers the sound of their daddy's laugh, their mama hummin' to herself absently as she helps Soda pick out a new recipe, their-

A pan crashes to the counter 'n Darry's eyes snap back open. A pair of hushed giggles, smothered behind hands. Darry sighs, runs a finger along their parents' joined hands.

Glory, how did y'all do it?

He should get up 'n see what those boys were up to. He should. But no one cries 'n nothin' shatters so he gives himself just enough grace to pull his knees up to his chest, drop his forehead down.

He's got a naggin' feelin' he's forgettin' somethin'. A friday. Pony's got a track meetin' 'n Darry had ironed his uniform last night. Soda's got off tonight but only 'cause he's got a double tomorrow. Dallas' got a race tomorrow 'n he's down at the stables tonight. Steve 'n Johnny workin'. Two's at his mama's.

There's more rustlin' around in the kitchen 'n Darry sighs, twists to put his feet on the cold floor. His bedroom door whisper swishes open, big eyes blinkin' around the corner 'n Darry has to press his palms into his eyes 'n rub the sleep from 'em 'cause he swears for a second Pony is seven again, hair stickin' up in every direction 'n grin missin' his two front teeth. "Dar, you awake?"

"Yeah, kiddo. I'm up." When he sticks his head in 'n finds Darry already lookin' back, hair fallin' in his eyes 'n a plaintive raised brow he drops the charade of sneakin' 'n instead ducks in, pressin' back on Darry's shoulders to get him back in bed.

"No, you're not." Darry catches him by the wrists 'n Pony giggles. He stops, studies his kid brother. God, he couldn't remember the last time Pony giggled.

"Fine, I'm not." Darry easily grabs Pony around the waist 'n manhandles him up onto the bed. "But you aren't either." Pony shrieks, wiggles fruitlessly for another moment before Darry jabs him in the ribs 'n he hollers 'n presses against Darry's chest.

"Asshole." He huffs, but his voice is all slow 'n quiet 'n tired 'n Darry glances to the end table at the clock. Glory, it wasn't even six am yet.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, kid." Pony scoffs but curls up closer. His sweats, too big, trailin' down over his feet, were once Darry's, 'n his shirt one stolen from a supply closest at the DX, a tee that used to be part of the uniform. He makes a low noise, presses his ear to Darry's chest 'n Darry knows his listenin' for his heartbeat.

God, it felt like a hundred years ago their mama had taught Soda that. When he was real little. If you could listen to the steady bump bump bump then that meant everythin' was just fine. You didn't need to worry. Everyone was ok.

She'd taught it to Pony too. When he was younger 'n used to get those nightmares no one knew what to do with. You could always tell who he'd been dreamin' about by who woke up with Pony tangled against them, his head smashed to their chest.

Darry's forgettin' somethin'. Right down there next to the ache.

He turns, looks back over at their mama. She's smilin' a real smile in that picture. Her eyes bright 'n shinin', the dimple she would give both Pony 'n Soda etched into her cheeks. Their daddy's laughin'. Wide 'n sincere 'cause their Daddy was real 'n true 'n honest all the way down to his soul.

Pony shifts 'n Darry subconcously brings his arms up tighter around his kid brother. But he's not tryin' to wriggle away. Instead he just turns to see what Darry was lookin' at. He sighs when he sees the picture 'n for a moment, neither of them say anythin'.

"Hey, Dar?" Darry runs a hand absently over the scar on Pony's shoulder he got when he was nine, jumpin' off the swings 'cause he 'n Soda had convinced him he could fly.

"Hmm, Pone?"

"Do you know... when they took that picture?" Darry picks it up, brushes his fingers against the frame, hands it to Pony.

"Had to be sometime after they were married. But not long." The way they're holdin' each other 'n grinnin' they looked like newlyweds. But they never stopped lookin' at each other like that. They had the realest kinda love any of them had ever seen. The kind that made you hope you could one day find someone like that. That looked at you like you hung the stars.

Their Mama was bundled up, that big fur jacket their Daddy had bought for her as a weddin' gift that still hung in the closet. Their Daddy wrapped around her like if she was warm it was enough for the both of them.

"They were married in January, remember?" Pony frowns for a moment, touches the picture in a way that gives Darry deja vu, nods.

That forgettin' nags at him. Presses right up beside him.

"So I figure it was around the same time. Maybe a month or two later." He gently eases the frame from Pony's hands, pops the back off with tender, slow movements.

Their Daddy's handwritin' is scrawled on the back 'n it twists in Darry's chest.

Feb 14, 1948 Valentine's xxx

Oh God. Friday, February, the fourteenth. Jesus. He'd forgotten.

The door to the bedroom bangs open 'n Soda tetters wildly back 'n forth, tryin' vainly to balance a makeshift tray. The smell of pancakes wafts in, a bowl flipped over 'n coverin' them, three glasses of orange juice slide from one end to the other, a fork breaks free 'n bounces to the ground.

Pony dives off the bed, grabs Soda by the elbow 'n quickly begins unloadin' food 'n silverware 'n cups. "Glory, Soda! Good thing you were never a waiter!"

Pony rolls his eyes, elbows Soda for room 'n crowds up beside him. "Stick to the entertainment staff, Soda."

Soda grins, drops the tray down to the bed 'n clambors up. "Pony, you wound me! I would have done damn good in a restaurant."

'N then they're both wrestlin', fallin' to the floor 'n howlin', a mess of elbows, 'n too big t-shirts, 'n flour stained hands.

'N Darry wants to grin. He wants to laugh 'n holler at them that is was too early to be actin' a fool 'n not mean it at all but he can't. 'Cause he forgot.

He forgot that they would always get up early with their Daddy on Valentine's Day to make their mama breakfast in bed 'n he would help hold the bowl steady with Pony so he could make the pancakes into lil' hearts. He forgot to help Soda find the food colorin' so they could make them blue 'cause that was their mama's favorite. He forgot to pick a flower from the garden 'n to hush shush them all so they could sneak down to their parent's room where their mama would always be pretendin' to still be asleep like they hadn't made enough racket to wake the dead.

He'd forgot.

"Dar?"

But Soda 'n Pony hadn't.

"Darry? What is it?" They're both on their knees, chins restin' on hands at the edge of the bed 'n God they look two feet tall. When had they gotten so big? When had they all grown up so much?

The hot press of tears is against the back of Darry's throat 'n Soda 'n Pony exchange a wide-eyed glance.

"C'mon, Dar. Tell us." Soda climbs up, slots himself against Darry's side, drops his mess of blonde waves down to Darry's shoulder. Pony's right behind him, blinkin' at Darry with those wide, storm-green eyes he hates so much.

He scrubs his palms over his eyes, drops a hand to each of his kid brother's shoulders 'n pulls them against his chest. Over Soda's shoulder, he can see the tray still sittin' hodge-podge on the tangled-up covers. The bowls' been knocked off the pile of pancakes 'n Darry chuckles, low 'n keenin'.

They're heart-shaped. 'N blue. His favorite. 'N his mama's. 'N the picture rests near his knee. His Daddy grinnin' up at him.

"Nothin's wrong, hon. I just love you both is all." More than you'll ever know.

[ask-the-curtis-gang]

breath- breath. In and out, in and out. That’s what Lolly tells him to do before letting his emotions cloud his actions right? Well Jack was never good at following instructions because in less than a second he stops breathin, stops thinkin, and just runs. Runs as fast as he can, and boy is there a reason he’s only a pitcher cus’ he ain’t a fast runner at all. But all his can think about is what the kid said- telling his mom and telling his Father, mom would die. Genuinely fuckin die. And father only likes Lolly- god, Lolly! Breath. In, out, in, out- He can beraly see three feet infront of him, can’t hear anythin either because of the stupid wind. Hell he doesn’t even know if Curly is following him. All Jack can think about is-

“LOLLY-!?”

Curly doesn't think. He just moves. He reacts before Jack. Head rippin around to the source of the noise. Jack freezes, breath rippin in n out of him in strangled gasps. He doesn't move.

Lolly screams again. Curly ain't sure how he knows it's her but he's absolutely, resolutly sure. Jack shoots to his feet n runs. N all that shit Curly had said? Means nothin. Cause before he can think he's after him.

Years of out runnin cops n Socs n, occasionally, Tim, have made him quick on his feet n he overtakes Jack in less then a block. When he turns the corner he skids to a sudden, forceful halt. Jack nearly slams into him.

A tree's come down in the lot. The big oak. The one littered with the remains of kites n empty plastic bags. The one Curly once broke his leg fallin out of. The one older then Tim or Dallas or even Darry. There's somethin tangled in one of the branches blockin the street. A single lavender ribbon.

N there's only the sound of the wind.