I’m Down Bad

Happy pride to the "brotherly" characters who's actors insist there's nothing going on between them.

Happy pride to the characters whose actors DO think they're queer but someone in management denies it.

Happy pride to all the ships that have literally no subtext in canon but in fanon they thrive (rarepairs even)

Happy pride to the dead poets.

Angela: "Curly I think Curtis is cheating on you"

Curly: "Huh?"

Angela: "Yeah...he was getting all cozy with Mark"

Curly: "Oh...ok whatever"

Angela: "Why-what? What do you mean whatever!?"

Curly: "Girl where have you been I'm dating both of them."

planning to go to the caribbean is hell on earth due to ticket prices. when Tim says he’ll be out the country soon, just know that mf is lying out his ass LMAOO

Curly jumps in on it too sometimes so all you’ll hear for days straight is “PHEW glad I’ll be out of here and leave all u mfs to go to HAITI”

one time Curly tried to cross the road and immediately yelled out “MAMAGUEVO” at a truck driver who stopped his truck in the middle of the crosswalk (Curly took off when he saw the guy reaching to unbuckle his seatbelt)

“what no, that’s a plátano it’s literally shaped like one???” Angela argued w her friend when the plátano in question is clearly just an unripe banana

all of them clap loud asf to anything it’s actually impressive. don’t make these guys laugh cuz it’ll sound like thunder within a 50mile radius

Tim asks racially ambiguous looking ppl if they’re Latino and start speaking in only Spanish if they say yes. he does not gaf if u speak it or not

even tho she isn’t actively religious anymore, Angela keeps the bible in her school bag cuz she reads it like it’s a story

“ok wait pero like my accent is so good” says Curly in Spanish class

It gets one like, (Tim likes his own stuff) (Darry liked it, then blocked Tim so he can post his own version with his brothers)

(Angela sends it to her friends, no like)

It gets one like, (Tim likes his own stuff) (Darry liked it, then blocked Tim so he can post his own version with his brothers)

(Angela sends it to her friends, no like)

It gets one like, (Tim likes his own stuff) (Darry liked it, then blocked Tim so he can post his own version with his brothers)

(Angela sends it to her friends, no like)

It gets one like, (Tim likes his own stuff) (Darry liked it, then blocked Tim so he can post his own version with his brothers)

(Angela sends it to her friends, no like)

A/N: i wanted to make yall cry so

The house felt like a thundercloud with walls.

Not loud anymore. That was the worst part.

Just… quiet.

The kind of quiet where the clock ticks too hard and every cabinet door sounds angry.

Ponyboy sat on the edge of his bed, arms folded tight, jaw clenched so hard it hurt. The argument with Darry still rang around his skull like a church bell somebody wouldn’t stop hitting.

You never think. You never listen. You act like a little kid.

And then Pony had snapped back. Hard.

Maybe too hard.

Now the whole house felt crooked.

The bedroom door creaked open slowly.

Sodapop stepped in, shutting it behind him with his foot. His hair was still damp from the quick shower he’d taken after work, curls messy around his forehead. Usually he was smiling.

Not tonight.

Tonight he just looked tired.

“Can I sit?” he asked softly.

Pony shrugged without looking at him.

Soda sat beside him on the bed. The mattress dipped warm against Pony’s side.

For a minute neither of them talked.

Then Soda rubbed both hands over his face and sighed shaky through his nose.

“You know he didn’t mean half that stuff.”

Pony laughed once. Bitter. “Sure sounded like he did.”

“He was scared.”

“He’s always scared.”

“No,” Soda said quietly. “He’s always trying.”

That made Pony finally look at him.

Soda’s eyes were already glossy.

Aw, hell.

Pony’s anger stumbled a little at the sight.

“He don’t know how to say things right,” Soda continued, voice wobbling. “Darry ain’t good at… soft stuff. Never has been.”

“He sure is good at yelling.”

Soda swallowed hard.

“You think he likes it?”

Pony didn’t answer.

From downstairs came the faint clink of dishes. Darry cleaning the kitchen because he cleaned things when he was upset. Like if he scrubbed hard enough he could polish problems away.

Soda stared at the floor.

“When Mom and Dad died…” he started slowly, “Darry was twenty years old, Pony.”

That hit different when Soda said it.

Twenty.

Not old enough to know how to raise two brothers. Barely old enough to breathe.

“He gave up everything.” Soda’s voice cracked now. “Football, college, sleep, money, friends… all of it. For us.”

Pony looked away again.

“He coulda left,” Soda whispered. “People forget that part. He coulda let the state split us up and gone off and had his own life.” His eyes filled completely then. “But he stayed.”

A tear slipped down Soda’s cheek before he could stop it. He wiped at it fast, embarrassed.

“He stays every single day.”

Pony’s chest tightened painfully.

“But he acts like he hates me sometimes,” he muttered.

Soda shook his head immediately.

“No. No, baby, no.” His voice broke on the words. “Darry loves you so much it scares him.”

Pony blinked.

Soda laughed weakly through tears. “You know what he does when you ain’t home on time? He walks past the window every five seconds like some worried old housewife in a movie.” Another shaky laugh. “He pretends he’s not watching for you, but he is.”

Pony felt something awful and heavy twist inside him.

“He keeps your report cards folded in his dresser drawer,” Soda said. “He brags about you at work. Did you know that? Steve says half the garage already knows you’re smart as hell.”

Pony stared at him.

“And every time you get hurt,” Soda whispered, tears falling freely now, “Darry looks like somebody reached into his chest and squeezed.”

The room went blurry around the edges.

Soda scrubbed at his face again, frustrated at himself for crying.

“He ain’t good with words, Pony. Me neither, sometimes.” His voice turned small. “But Darry loves you. God, he loves you.”

Downstairs, a cabinet shut.

Heavy footsteps crossed the kitchen.

Then silence again.

Soda sniffed and looked toward the door before leaning closer.

“You remember when you got pneumonia?”

Pony nodded slowly.

“Darry didn’t sleep for almost three days.” Soda smiled faintly through wet eyes. “I woke up one night and he was just sittin’ beside your bed staring at you like if he looked away for one second, you’d disappear.”

Pony’s throat burned.

“He already lost Mom and Dad,” Soda whispered. “He can’t lose you too.”

That did it.

Pony ducked his head hard, eyes stinging.

Soda immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close like instinct.

And Pony let him.

For a while they just sat there together while the house creaked around them.

Then, very quietly:

“I hate fighting with him.”

“I know.”

“Does he hate me?”

Soda pulled back just enough to look him dead in the eyes, tears still clinging to his lashes.