celeste

Sorry this took so long! I hope you like it!

Masterlist: here

Warnings: Grief?

Cursed Sodapop Curtis 

@sixties-sodapop ! Hopefully it tags you this time. This prompt brought to you by the scene in The Outsiders movie where the family is visiting the country in Ponyboy’s dream, and they have a dog with them.

Masterlist: here

Warnings: I mean, it’s adorably cute, so if you have a problem with that, well, here’s your warning.

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When Darrel Curtis Jr. woke up on Christmas morning, he looked out his bedroom window. The ground was dusted with white and the clouds above threatened to dump more snow on top of them.

Excitedly, he threw on some warm socks and quickly made his way to the front room. The snow reflecting in the morning light shone brightly, illuminating the entire room. Brightly wrapped presents sat under their decorated tree, the multicolored lights left on from the night before to help guide Santa to their house. 

The glass of milk sitting on the coffee table was drained, and nothing but a few crumbs sat on the plate that he and Soda had left their homemade cookies on. They didn’t have a fireplace, but his mom had assured them every year that Santa definitely would come in through the front door instead. To check, Darry walked around the small table and sure enough- wet footprints led from the front door to the table, and over to the tree. 

He almost squealed and took off running towards his parents’ room. 

He jumped onto their bed, trying to wake them up.

“Mommy! Daddy!” he screeched, bouncing up and down on the mattress. He heard Ponyboy roll over in his crib and start getting fussy. “It’s Christmas! Wake up!” His mother reached out to calm his movement.

“Okay, okay, honey,” she said, sleepily. “We’re up.”

His father sat up in bed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision. He finally turned to his oldest son.

“Christmas you say, huh?”

“Well, yeah.”

“It can’t possibly be Christmas yet. I’m goin’ back to sleep.” When he dramatically made to lay back down, Darry tackled him. 

“No!” he whined. “It’s Christmas! There are tons of presents under the tree! And Santa’s footprints are by the front door!”

Darrel Curtis Sr. caught his son as he was jumped on and laughed.

“Oh, well, in that case, I guess you’re right.” His dad slid himself out of bed and threw his blanket over Darry’s head.

“Hey!” he cried, trying to find his way out of the bedspread. He felt hands grasp his sides, tickling him. He started giggling, but it soon turned into squealing and he thought he was going to pee his pants. “Daddy, s-s-s-stop!” 

Beside him, his mother chuckled. 

The tickling stopped and he threw the covers off. His middle brother, Sodapop, was now standing in the doorway, bleary eyed, wearing one of Darry’s old shirts. It swamped him. 

“What’s goin’ on?” he asked, trying to stifle a yawn.

“It’s Christmas, baby,” his mom answered as she was making her way over to Pony’s crib to pick him up. 

Instantly, Soda was awake, his eyes wide.

“It’s Christmas?” he yelled. “Why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

His dad came around and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“We were gonna in a few minutes. Why don’t you any Darry go out to the tree and get everything ready while Mom changes Ponyboy?”

Instantly, Darry had his hand around his brother’s, forcefully pulling him to the front room. Not like he needed much encouragement. 

Soda gasped when he saw the amount of presents under the tree, his big, brown eyes roving over everything. Darry released his brother’s hand and went to take the plate and glass into the kitchen. 

By the time he’d returned, his father and mother were coming down the hallway. 

Half an hour later, the living room was an explosion of bright paper, bows, and ribbon. Darry sat at the coffee table with a dress-up cowboy hat on his head, forcing his new Matchbox cars to ram into each other, making crash noises with his mouth. Soda sat by the tree, his new View-Master glued to his face and he clicked the button, making surprised “whoas” as the pictures circled around. Their mother sat on the carpet with Ponyboy between her legs, playing with a set of plastic keys and some wooden blocks.

His father pulled on his shoes and coat. The sly nod he gave his mom didn’t escape Darry’s notice.

“Where ya goin’?” he asked as the older man made his way to the front door. 

“Oh, just a smoke. Be right back.”

The oldest Curtis brother shrugged it off until a few minutes later when his dad returned with one more large box, red and green decorations. Soda finally lowered his toy and looked up.

“Whoa, what is that?” he asked, his high-pitched voice loud and amazed.

His father set the box down on the floor in front of him and shrugged out of his coat. He laid it on the arm of the couch and knelt next to the box.

“Why don’t you and Darry come over and open it? It’s gonna take both of ya.”

The two brothers looked at each other and hopped up. They each took a side of the box. 

“Okay, ready?”

They nodded, eagerly.

“Okay, liiiiift,” his father dramatized, and they both pulled up. The oldest brother took the lid when it was off and toss it away from them. 

Inside laid a little beagle puppy. It yawned, letting out a tiny little whine. 

Darry could not believe his eyes. He and Soda had been begging their parents for months for a pet and he didn’t think they’d even budged on their stance. 

“A dog!” his younger brother screamed and started jumping up and down, holding on to the top edges of the box. 

Darry reached into and picked the puppy up, gently hugging him to his chest. His face turned hot and his eyes welled with tears. He sniffled.

“Was this a good Christmas, baby?” his mother asked, coming up behind him and taking a knee. She put a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, vigorously.

“T-thank you,” he said, his voice cracking. “He’s perfect.”

“Oh, honey,” she said and wrapped him in a loose embrace so they couldn’t crush the dog. “I’m so glad you’re happy.” He let out a half sob-half laugh and buried his face in her shoulder. 

“What are ya gonna name him?” his father asked, moving the box closer to the tree. Darry pulled away from his mom and lifted the beagle so he could clearly see it’s face.

“I think John’s a good name,” he stated.

“John?”

“Yeah, ya know.” He tipped his cowboy hat. “After John Wayne.”

His dad smiled from ear to ear. 

@sixties-sodapop​, I think this ones yours. It was pretty tough, but I think I had a decent idea. 

Masterlist: here

Warnings: maybe a curse

—-

The first time Dallas Winston went to jail after he’d moved to Tulsa, Darrel Curtis Sr. had been there to bail him out. He was the first person the kid had called since he couldn’t rely on his own father to do shit for him.

When he pulled into a parking spot at the police station, he sat in his car for a few minutes before going inside. He’d tried to help this boy- who was so like him when he was that age. Wild, mouthy, a real punk. He’d really tried to help Dally calm his urges and violent tendencies.

Obviously. it wasn’t working. Obviously, he was doing something wrong. His own sons were nowhere near this bad- but then again, Winston wasn’t his actual kid no matter how much they pretended. He’d grown up on the rough streets of New York- a place he never should have had to experience at such a young age.

With a sigh, Darrel went inside to pay the fine, and all but dragged his pseudo-son out of the building by the ear.

“Thanks, Mr. C.,” Dally said, rather meekly, after he’d dropped himself into the passenger seat of the car. He slammed the door closed. The older man slid into his own seat and started the engine.

The drive back to the Curtis house started out silent. Dallas looked upset- mad, even, but Darrel had no idea where to start. He wanted to yell, he wanted to console. He wanted to express his disappointment, but he also wanted to encourage this boy to do better from now on.

Fuck, being a parent was hard.

Finally, Dally spoke up.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Curtis,” he mumbled, barely audible. Darrel chewed on the inside of his mouth for a few moments.

“I can only blame myself, I think.”

“How could you say somethin’ like that?”

“Well, obviously I’m doin’ somethin’ wrong, right?” He sighed again. “I told you about my life before kids. I tried to scare the sense into ya but I guess it didn’t work.”

“It’s not you, Mr. C. I think it’s me.”

They pulled up to the curb in front of the house. The front door was open, the Curtis family waiting for them to come home. Darrel turned the car off and they both just sat.

“Why do you think it’s you?”

“Ev-everythin’ ya told me- I remembered it all and I did it anyway.” Dallas looked down at his lap, shame written all over his face. “I-I know I disappointed you but I just couldn’t help it. What is so wrong with me?”

So it was himself that he was mad at.

“Dally,” Mr. Curtis started, shifting in his seat to face him. “I think that deep down, you want to be a good kid. You can be a good kid, but it takes a lot of effort, ya know?” He paused, trying to find the right words. “You-you’ve had a rough life already, kid. I grew up a hood, too, but you’ve had it worse than I ever did. That-that messes with your head, okay? Makes the wires cross, ya know? I don’t think it’s entirely your fault.”

He wasn’t sure, but Darrel thought he heard a sniffle. Dally looked out the window, quickly turning so his face would be hidden.

“I want to try harder, but I don’t know how,” the poor kid said, quietly. The older man clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing tightly.

“You can always come to me. You know that, right?”

“‘Course I do.”

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Dallas hesitated for a second. Trust. Four little letters than meant so much more than just a word. Darrel imagined the word didn’t have much stock in this poor kid’s life. Abused and neglected by his own father after his mother’s death with no siblings or other family to help care for him. Did he even know what trust was?

“I-I think so, Mr. C.”

Darrel nodded, even if Dally wasn’t watching.

“Hey, look at me,” he ordered. Dallas turned, his eyes lined with red, mouth a thin, drooping line. “Any time. Day or night. Three in the afternoon or three in the morning. You come talk to me. Okay? You can count on me.”

“Okay,” he breathed, a relieved sigh escaping through his lips. He lips tugged upward.

“Now c’mon,” Mr. Curtis started and went for the door handle. “I bet Mrs. C.’s got somethin’ good cookin’ for lunch.”

“Yeah, sure.”

They both finally exited the car. Darrel tossed his arm around Dallas’s shoulders as they walked up the steps to the porch.

“You are a good kid, Dallas. A little misguided, maybe, but a good kid. Don’t you ever forget that and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?”

“Thanks, Mr. C.”

How about both? How about baby Steve and Soda? Eeeeeee. I’m sure it’s not exactly what you were expecting but I really, really love this one. Enjoy :)

Masterlist: here

Warnings: Abuse

—-

Soda was heading home from the fresh produce stand a few blocks down, and bit into the large, juicy peach he’d just bought. The rest of the pennies his mother had given him for doing extra chores jingled in his pocket as he walked. He liked the sound it made and started humming a little song to go with it as he kept munching on his fruit, the liquid dripping down his chin and getting the front of his shirt wet.

As he slowly made his way home, he saw a kid in the distance. He was sitting along the sidewalk, staring at the gravel that had come up from a crack in the road. He thought it peculiar, that this random kid was sitting so close to the road. He couldn’t have been any older than Soda- and he’d never seen him before, either.

When he’d caught up to the boy, he leaned down to get a closer look.

“Hello,” he said, his young voice still high, almost angelic. He sat down on the pavement next to the kid, who didn’t respond. Didn’t even move to act like he’d heard. “You want a bite of my peach?”

“Could you leave me alone?” the boy asked. Soda examined his face. His face was black and blue.

“Hey, are you hurt?” He his his face from Soda.

“No,” he mumbled.

“Then why are there bruises all over your face?”

The kid was silent for a few long moments, then started to stand up and walk away.

“Hey, wait!” Soda called after him and scrambled to get off the curb without dropping his peach. Once he was up, we caught up with the other boy quickly.

“Please, just go away,” he said, angrily, his cheeks turning red. “It’s nothin’. I’m fine, so just go-”

“I’ve ain’t ever seen you around here, I don’t think.”

“N-no, my family just moved here.”

“Oh. That’s cool.” They continued walking down the sidewalk, side by side. The bruised boy didn’t complain again. “What’s your name?”

“Steve.”

“Oh, that’s a nice name. My name’s Sodapop Curtis, but everyone calls me Soda,” he said proudly, chest puffing out.

“S-Sodapop? That’s your real name?” Steve looked confused for a second.

“Well, yeah- my daddy picked it. I got a little brother named Ponyboy, too.” At the mention of fathers, Soda watched him deflate and look down at the ground, shoving his small hands into the pocket of his jeans.

“Is-is that who beat you up?”

Without looking up, he nodded, and looked towards the street again. Sodapop was silent for a few strides, chewing on his fruit. But then, he had a thought and instantly perked up.

“Hey Steve?”

“What?”

“You wanna be friends?”

“Friends?”

“Yeah! We could, ya know, play together and stuff.”

“I don’t- I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend before.”

“We can be best friends! Follow me!” He turned down the street that led to his house where his mother was probably starting on dinner and his father just kicking off his shoes after getting home from work. Where his older brother was probably working on his homework and his younger brother was probably making a mess of himself in the dirt of the small backyard. Steve would love it, he was sure. And his mom would love Steve- he hoped.

“Where are we goin’?”

“My house! You can meet my family and since we’re best friends, they can be your family, too.”

“But- I-,” Steve hesitated, but continued following nonetheless. Before he could finish his thought, Soda started heading up the steps to a porch he’d never seen before. The front door was open, the screen door the only barrier between the outside and inside.

“Mom!” he called. “I found a stray!”

“A stray?” His mother shouted back, then pushed through the door, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. Steve marvelled up at her. Soda pointed at him and his mother’s gaze followed her son’s finger. “Sodapop Curtis,” she chided. “That isn’t nice to say about someone else.”

“Oh it’s okay, mom.” He started skipping up the steps. “We’re best friends.” She crossed her arms, an amused smile spreading across her face.

“Oh you are, are you?”

“Well yeah. Can he stay for dinner?” Mrs. Curtis knelt down in front of Steve. Her smile drooped when she saw the bruises on his face. She moved a lock of him long hair out of his eyes, and smiled again, warmly.

“Of course you can stay for dinner,” she said, kindly, if not a little sadly. “You can come over whenever you want, honey.”

Soda watched as Steve’s expression changed. There was wonder in his eyes- and something else.

“T-thank you, Mrs. Curtis.”

She patted him on the cheek and stood up.

“I want both of you washed and at the table in ten minutes, okay?”

Girl, you give me all the challenging ones! Keep ‘em comin’!

Masterlist: here

Warnings: None

Darry did care about me, maybe as much as he cared about Soda, and because he cared he was trying too hard to make something of me. When he yelled “Pony, where have you been all this time?” he meant “Pony, you’ve scared me to death. Please be careful, because I couldn’t stand it if anything happened to you.“ 

Okay, so, this got a little away from the prompt, I think. But I think it’s my best, nonetheless. Tuesday belongs to @sixties-sodapop. 

Masterlist: here

Warnings: violet trauma, loss, car accident

This request was made by @shadowgirl2237. Enjoy! Under the cut, as usual.

Masterlist: here

Prompt: Johnny is missing from the house during a blizzard and Soda wants to go find him. 

Warnings: uh…maybe some cursing?