"No don't kill him! He's pretty!" You shouted at the TV screen. Ponyboy laughed at you. You smiled at him. He didn't mind you had the biggest crush on the actor. He knew you loved him. "No! No! No! Are you kidding me?! Why would he go in the door?!" You said. You got up mad at the movie. Ponyboy watched as you got up and walked into the kitchen. "Hey babe, what are you doing?" Pony called. "He was too pretty to die! It's not fair! Life isn't fair! I don't like it!" You said as you opened the fridge. Pony made his way into the kitchen with you. "Is he as pretty as me?" He asked winking. "No.... But he was pretty." You huffed. Ponyboy laughed and walked over to you. He snaked his arms around your waist and kissed your lips lightly. You smiled and placed your hands lightly on his shoulders. You leaned in slightly and met his lips. The kiss was passionate and loving. When Pony pulled away he smiled. "You still mad he died?" He asked. You scrunched up your nose making Pony chuckled. "I have you. You're prettier than Jenson Ackles." You said. Pony smiled and leaned in for another kiss. He was the only one you needed and the only one you would ever need. He was your night in shining armor.
The Outsiders is all about two gangs.The greasers and the socs.In the book the greasers are located on the east side of town and the socs are located on the south side of town.Some of the greasers are Ponyboy,Johnny,Dally,Darry,Steve,Sodapop,and Kieth(aka Two-Bit).Some of the socs names are Randy,Bob,and Cherry.Even though some of us don't like them I still have to put them in.It is a really good movie and book.this book has happy parts and sad parts,but,we all just have to get through it together.Like when Johnny kills Bob.Thats a happy part.the sad parts are when Johnny and Dally die.well that is all about the outsiders to learn more read the book and watch the movie.
Ponyboy’s Perspective
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Scar?” I say, looking away from the football game I was watching. I was holding Ella, she was 4 months old now.
“How did you and Mom meet?” The 12 year old asked.
“I bet it was an epic love story.” Eight year old Rhett says sarcastically.
“Was Mommy pretty when you met her?” Charlie, who was five now, asked.
“The prettiest girl I’d ever seen.” I smiled down at him. “Until Scar and Ella came along. Now I know the three prettiest girls in the world. Anyways, there’s not much to tell. I saw her one day, and I fell in love. I thought she didn’t like me…”
“Nah, I like you a lot.” (Y/N) grinned from the doorway.
Seventeen.
Seventeen bottles of beer I have drunk in the past 37 minutes.
Seventeen.
I pick up number eighteen, twist the cap off, and pour it down my throat. It’s tasteless.
I lean my head back against the wall from where I sit on the floor of my basement.
I see a football. Danny’s football. It used to be Danny’s football. Now it’s just some football my son used to hold, used to play with. It probably smelled like him. Part of me wanted to go pick it up, the other part of me didn’t wanted to be reminded of the last time we played football together.
I pick up number nineteen, and out of the corner of my eye see (Y/N)’s old dolls, something we thought we could use for our little girl someday.
But that’s not going to happen.
I know what happened. I saw their mangled, bruised, broken, dead bodies after their accident.
I pick up number twenty.
Oh God how was I going to say this.
The rest of my life depended on this.
She was just perfect. In every way possible. She was beautiful. Kind. Sweet. Funny. Understanding. Just (Y/N).
And I needed to tell her.
Tell her how much I needed her, wanted her, and had to have her. It was a feeling beyond comprehension. It was love.
I needed to tell her I loved her.
So here I am, sitting in the lot, looking at the stars with (Y/N). Doing something I love with the one I love.
I look over at her, her eyes gleaming from the light of the fire.
“(Y/N)?” I ask as I grab her hand.
“Yeah?” She turns to face me.
“I-I think…” I start.
“Just say it,” she smiles.
“I love you.” I blurt out.
She looks surprised for a second. But then she grins.
“I love you too.”
“This was my mom’s,” he mutters. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), will you marry me?”