Jun 28
for those who don’t have instagram.
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for those who don’t have instagram.
The Curtis household was always full on weekends, whether is was Steve crashing on the couch or the whole gang coming around. Whatever it was, the night always seemed just a bit brighter in each other their lives. — Their eyes would shine just a bit more whenever the yelling wasn't filled with anger, and fighting only meant wrestling.
The last day would be 3 weeks before the events of the book. The last time the group would ever be around together. The last night Dally stayed. The last night Johnny wouldn't flinched by the touch of Two-Bit's hand. The last time the living room would be filled with the stupid, jolly filled laughter instead of screaming and fighting throughout the night.
Me with my friend (I’m a lesbian he’s gay)
Now that the winners have been announced, I’m proud to share my emailed submission for the Playbill design contest. I had a lot of fun coming up with this composition and placing all the little finishing details. I’m thinking of mailing a hard copy to the Jacobs with a Broadway Cares donation and an SASE and asking them to sign it. Thoughts?
She's so cute I literally can't
Soda and Ace I’m obsessed with you in every universe 🤍
Just two friends
{Author's note: well ummm…… two in one day is kinda wild but here we are…… This is about Soda and Steve becoming friends and how he got added to the gang. It's not exactly sad but it's not very happy either. (im not capable of writing happy things)}
{Happy reading!}
Sodapop Curtis wasn’t supposed to be wandering this far from his block, but he’d gotten it into his head that he could find the perfect stick for a sword fight with Darry later. He was humming to himself, kicking a rock down the sidewalk, when he spotted a kid sitting on the curb outside the corner store.
At first Soda thought the boy was just sulking. Kids did that all the time. But then he saw the way the kid’s shoulders were curled in, the way he kept wiping at his face like he didn’t want anyone to notice he’d been crying. And then Soda saw the bruise, dark, ugly, blooming across the boy’s cheek like someone had pressed a fist there and held it.
Soda froze.
Eight-year-olds weren’t supposed to look like that.
He walked over slowly, like approaching a scared dog.
“Hey,” Soda said, voice soft. “You okay?”
The boy flinched at the sound. Actually flinched. “No,” he muttered, staring at the ground. “M’fine.”
Soda sat beside him anyway. “You don’t look fine.”
The boy sniffed. “Don’t matter.”
Soda studied him, skinny, scraped-up knuckles, shirt collar stretched like someone had grabbed it. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the sidewalk.
“What’s your name?” Soda asked.
“Steve.” He said it like he expected Soda to laugh at him.
“I’m Sodapop,” Soda said proudly. “But you can call me Soda. Everybody does.”
Steve blinked at him, confused. “Your name’s… Soda?”
“Yep.” Soda grinned. “My brothers say it fits me.”
Steve didn’t smile, but his shoulders loosened a little.
After a moment, Soda asked, “Who did that to you?” He pointed gently at Steve’s cheek.
Steve hesitated. His lip trembled. “My dad,” he whispered.
Soda’s grin vanished. He stared at Steve like he’d just said the sky was green.
“Your dad?” Soda repeated, stunned. “Dads don’t do that.”
Steve shrugged, but it wasn’t a real shrug, it was the kind kids do when they’re trying not to cry again. “Mine does.”
Soda shook his head, baffled. He couldn’t imagine it. Darry got mad sometimes, sure, but he never hit. And their dad was loud and goofy and warm. The idea of a dad hurting his kid felt wrong in a way Soda didn’t have words for yet.
“That ain’t right,” Soda said firmly. “You shouldn’t get hit for nothin’.”
Steve didn’t answer. He just stared at his shoes.
Soda thought for a second, then nudged Steve’s arm. “Wanna come to my house? Darry’s real strong, but he’s nice. And Pony’s little, but he’s funny sometimes. Momma made cookies today.”
Steve looked up, startled. “You don’t even know me.”
“So?” Soda said, like that solved everything. “You look like you need a friend.”
Steve’s eyes filled again, but this time it wasn’t from fear. “You… you really don’t care?”
Soda shook his head. “Nope. C’mon. I’ll walk with you.”
Steve hesitated only a moment before sliding off the curb. Soda walked beside him, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Steve didn’t pull away.
And just like that, without either of them knowing it yet, the kind of friendship that lasts a lifetime began, born on a hot sidewalk, with one boy who couldn’t understand cruelty and another who’d never known anything else.
………………
Sodapop kept glancing sideways at Steve as they walked, like he was afraid the boy might disappear if he blinked too long. Steve walked stiffly, like every step hurt, but he didn’t complain. He didn’t say much at all.
When they reached the Curtis house, Soda bounded up the porch steps and held the screen door open. “C’mon. It squeaks, but it don’t bite.”
Steve hesitated. He looked at the house like it was something he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch.
Inside, the place smelled like laundry soap and something baking. Mrs. Curtis was in the kitchen, hair pinned up, apron dusted with flour. Ponyboy was sitting on the floor with a stack of books, humming to himself.
Pony looked up first. “Soda, who’s that?”
“This is Steve,” Soda said proudly, like he’d discovered him. “He’s my friend.”
Steve blinked. Friend. No one had ever introduced him like that before.
Mrs. Curtis wiped her hands on her apron and came over. “Well hello there, sweetheart.” Her voice was warm, the kind that wrapped around you like a blanket. Then she saw the bruise. Her smile faltered, just a little. “Are you hurt?”
Steve froze. Adults noticing things never led anywhere good.
Soda jumped in. “He’s okay, Mom. He just needs cookies.”
Mrs. Curtis gave Soda a look that said we’ll talk later, then crouched down to Steve’s height. “You’re safe here, honey. You want something to eat?”
Steve nodded, tiny and quick.
Pony scooted closer, staring at Steve with big curious eyes. “You wanna read with me?” he asked, holding up a book with a dog on the cover.
Steve didn’t know what to do with that kind of kindness. “Maybe later,” he whispered.
Before anyone could say more, the front door banged open and Darry walked in, sweaty from playing football in the park. He was only ten but already built like he’d been carved out of a tree trunk.
“Hey, Soda, who’s your friend?”
“This is Steve,” Soda said. “He’s stayin’ for cookies.”
Darry took one look at Steve’s face and his jaw tightened. “Who did that?”
Steve’s stomach dropped. He braced for anger.
But Darry wasn’t mad at him. He was mad for him.
Soda answered before Steve had to. “His dad.”
Darry’s eyes softened. “Well, you’re safe here. You need anything, you tell me. Got it?”
Steve nodded again, slower this time.
A knock rattled the doorframe. Two‑Bit, ten years old and already a menace, poked his head in without waiting to be invited. “Heard there were cookies.”
Behind him were Ace and Johnny, both trailing in like stray cats who’d learned the Curtis house was always warm.
Two‑Bit spotted Steve instantly. “Hey! New kid!” He plopped down on the couch like he lived there. “I’m Two‑Bit. That’s Ace. That’s Johnny. We’re the fun ones.”
Johnny gave a shy wave and darted over to Ponyboy. Ace nodded like she was too cool to wave before plopping down next to Two-bit.
Steve stared at them all, overwhelmed. “There’s… a lot of you.”
“Yeah,” Soda said cheerfully, “but we’re good people.”
Mrs. Curtis came back with a plate of cookies, still warm, chocolate chips melting. She set them on the table. “Everyone gets one. Soda, don’t you dare take three.”
Soda grinned guiltily.
Steve reached for a cookie, then paused, waiting for someone to slap his hand away. No one did. Pony even pushed the plate closer to him.
And something in Steve’s chest loosened, just a little.
Two‑Bit nudged him. “You stick with us, kid. We’ll teach you all the important stuff.”
“Like what?” Steve asked.
“Like how to steal the last cookie without Darry noticing,” Two‑Bit whispered loudly.
Darry threw a dish towel at him.
Steve laughed, quiet, surprised, but real.
Soda beamed. “See? Told ya you needed a friend.”
Steve looked around the room at Pony giggling on the floor, Johnny leaning against the armchair, Ace pretending not to smile, Two‑Bit already reaching for a second cookie, Darry watching over all of them, Mrs. Curtis humming in the kitchen.
Warm. Safe. Impossible.
“Yeah,” Steve said softly. “I guess I did.”
…………………….
Steve didn’t mean to start coming over every day. It just… happened.
At first it was little things. Soda would find him sitting on the curb after school, backpack hugged to his chest, eyes darting toward the street like he was waiting for something bad to turn the corner. Soda would wave him over, and Steve would follow him home without a word.
Then it became routine. If the sun started going down and Steve wasn’t at the Curtis house yet, Soda would get restless, pacing the porch until he spotted that small, tense silhouette walking fast, like he was outrunning the evening.
Mrs. Curtis never asked questions. She’d just say, “Hi sweetheart,” and hand Steve a plate.
Johnny started showing up more too, because he would get the same look in his eyes, that quiet, scared‑to‑breathe look. They’d sit on the floor together, building little towers out of Pony’s blocks while Pony narrated stories about dogs and cowboys.
Two‑Bit would burst in with jokes and noise, trying to make Steve laugh. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. But he kept trying.
Ace would lean against the wall, arms crossed, pretending she wasn’t watching out for Steve. But she was.
And Darry… Darry kept an eye on everything. He didn’t hover, but he noticed. He always noticed.
…………………..
One night, Steve showed up with a split lip and a bruise blooming under his eye. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.
Soda opened the door, took one look, and his face crumpled. “Steve… did your dad?”
Steve flinched. Soda stopped talking immediately.
Mrs. Curtis stepped in, voice soft but firm. “You’re staying here tonight.”
Steve nodded, tiny and grateful.
Soda dragged out blankets and made a little nest on the floor beside his bed. Steve curled up in it like he was afraid to take up too much space.
Soda lay awake long after Steve fell asleep, staring at the ceiling.
“Darry?” he whispered into the dark.
Darry, who was sitting in the doorway keeping watch, answered quietly. “Yeah, kiddo?”
“Why would a dad do that?” Soda’s voice cracked. “Dads ain’t supposed to hit. They’re supposed to… y’know… love you.”
Darry didn’t answer right away. He looked at Steve, small, bruised, breathing unevenly even in sleep.
“Some people shouldn’t be parents,” Darry said finally. “Some people hurt others because they don’t know how to be anything else.”
Soda shook his head fiercely. “But he’s Steve’s dad.”
“I know.”
“It ain’t right.”
“I know.”
Soda’s eyes filled. “I don’t get it.”
“You’re not supposed to,” Darry said gently. “You’re a good kid.”
Soda rolled onto his side, watching Steve’s face in the moonlight. “I’m gonna take care of him,” he whispered. “He’s my friend.”
Darry smiled sadly. “I think he needs you.”
…………………
After that night, it became understood, not spoken, but understood, that Steve could stay whenever he needed. Sometimes he’d show up with a small bag of clothes. Sometimes with nothing at all. Sometimes he’d just knock once and stand there, shaking.
Soda always let him in.
Pony would crawl into Steve’s lap with a book. Johnny would sit beside him quietly. Two‑Bit would shove a cookie into his hand. Ace would sit on the porch steps with him until he calmed down. Mrs. Curtis would brush his hair back and say, “You’re safe here, honey.”
And every time, Soda would look at Steve’s bruises with the same expression, hurt, confused, angry in a way he didn’t have words for yet.
One night, after Steve had fallen asleep on the couch, Soda whispered to Darry:
“I still don’t get it.”
Darry put a hand on his shoulder. “You don’t have to understand it to help him.”
Soda nodded slowly, eyes softening as he watched Steve sleep.
“I’m gonna be his best friend forever,” he said with absolute certainty.
And Darry believed him.
…………….
Steve didn’t remember when the Curtis house stopped feeling like “Soda’s place” and started feeling like something else, something steadier, warmer, almost like a heartbeat he could step into whenever his own home went silent or dangerous.
It happened slowly, then all at once.
He’d show up after school and Pony would already be waiting at the window, waving like Steve was a celebrity. Johnny would scoot over on the couch without being asked. Two‑Bit would shove a comic book into his hands. Ace would mutter, “You good?” in that quiet way of hers that meant he cared more than he’d ever admit.
But the person who made it all make sense was always Soda.
………………..
One night, Steve showed up without knocking. He didn’t even realize he’d done it. His hands were shaking too hard. His cheek was red, not bruised yet, but it would be. His dad had been drinking. Loud. Mean. The kind of mean that made the walls feel too thin.
Soda was on the couch, sorting baseball cards. He looked up, saw Steve’s face, and the cards slipped right out of his hands.
“Steve,” he breathed, like the name hurt to say. “He did it again?”
Steve didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
Soda crossed the room in three steps and wrapped his arms around him. Steve stiffened, he always did, at first, but then he melted into the hug, shaking.
“I don’t get it,” Soda whispered into his hair. “I don’t get how a dad could do that. I don’t get it at all.”
Steve swallowed hard. “It’s just how he is.”
“But it ain’t how dads are supposed to be,” Soda said fiercely. “Not ever.”
Steve didn’t know what to say to that. He’d never known anything different.
Mrs. Curtis appeared in the doorway, eyes soft, voice even softer. “You staying here tonight, honey?”
Steve nodded, small and tired.
……………..
Later, after Steve had changed into one of Soda’s old shirts and curled up in the blankets on the floor, Soda sat beside him, legs crossed, refusing to go to bed until Steve fell asleep.
“Hey, Steve?” Soda whispered.
Steve blinked up at him.
“I’m gonna keep you safe,” Soda said. “Even when I don’t understand why he hurts you. I’m still gonna keep you safe.”
Steve’s throat tightened. “You can’t stop him.”
“Maybe not,” Soda said. “But I can make sure you got somewhere to go. And someone who cares.”
Steve stared at him for a long moment. Then he whispered, “Why?”
Soda smiled like it was the easiest question in the world. “’Cause you’re my best friend.”
Something in Steve cracked open, not in a painful way, but in a way that let light in.
…………..
From then on, it wasn’t a question. If Steve didn’t feel safe, he slept at the Curtis house. If he needed quiet, he sat with Johnny. If he needed noise, he sat with Two‑Bit. If he needed someone steady, he found Darry. If he needed softness, he found Mrs. Curtis.
And if he needed someone who loved him without ever saying the word, he found Soda.
One morning, months later, Steve woke up on the Curtis living room floor to the smell of pancakes and the sound of Pony giggling. Sunlight spilled across the room. Soda was snoring on the couch above him, one arm dangling off the side like he’d fallen asleep guarding him.
Steve lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, realizing something he’d never let himself think before:
He wasn’t alone anymore.
He had a place.
He had people.
He had a family, not the one he was born into, but the one he’d found.
And that was the real beginning of everything.
{good job! You get a cookie 🙃}
@jenevawashere @i-am-a-guest @ferretnomsthings @scribbledstars16 @chrisisoverit @bardorsomethinglikethat @patroclus-is-the-bigger-person @brody-grant-my-beloved @numb3r1br1llf4n @faultycoldstars
IM GOING INSANE SO THE OUTSIDERS TRAUMA RESPONSES
(this is gonna get sad guys, i’m psychoanalyzing)
Pony - fight/flight, he lashes out and gets angry, usually at himself, he places blame for everything that goes wrong and tries to punish whoever he deems responsible though it’s usually him, if he can’t fight his way out of a scenario he runs for his life (i.e. resolving to run away after Darry got pissed at him)
Soda - fawn, he acts like nothing’s wrong and latches to people bad, he shrinks the issues to make himself palatable for others and it often makes things worse for him in the long run
Darry - freeze/flight, everything stops feeling real, he shut down entirely, he didn’t talk for multiple days after his parents’ death, when he does react it’s by overburdening himself as not to think about it, he doesn’t let himself have free time, just work
Johnny - flight/flop, he physically runs from bad situations unless he’s in the worst kinds of corners, most of the time when he can’t run he just gives up (the time at the fountain was an exception), if his parents get upset with him he just gives up and sometimes just finds himself near physically incapable of moving
Steve - fight, something goes wrong and he will start swinging, he lashes out at everyone when he’s upset and his friends are genuinely the only people who can put up with him when he gets like this (these outbursts have ended multiple relationships of various natures)
Two-Bit - fawn/fight, ok that sounds contradictory but hear me out, they belong in different situations, he tries to please and fix almost everything to a point that it hurts himself sometimes with people he cares about, once he can’t care anymore he faces the threat with his fists (it takes a lot to get him mad but damn can he fight)
Dally - flight, the go-to answer would be fight but i thought about it, when things went really wrong for him, he didn’t stick around to fight, he just ran away, like how many times he’s hitched trains and how he’s never gone back anyplace, that is a flight response
Ace - freeze/fight, if something really bad happens she physically freezes up, her mind goes someplace else and she shuts down, but if anyone else is in distress she starts lashing out in defense of them, she started fights within the gang when Pony and Johnny ran away because Soda started crying and that was her knee jerk reaction when anyone tried to talk to him
this was actually really fun to think about, i love yapping about the outsiders
this is definitely something normal and well adjusted people do with their free time