Make 'em Pay

Make 'em Pay

Summary: Dally and Reader get into an argument and Reader leaves so he can calm down, but this action has consequences.

Contains: Dallas x Reader, no use of y/n, reader’s gender is unspecified, Tim Shepard and his gang mentioned

Warnings: Mentions of arguing, mentions of violence, Dally may be a bit out of character, Dally calls the reader ‘mine’ once

Prompts: N/A

A/N: This is kinda cringey, mb

You and Dally had gotten into some insignificant argument over something dumb. It got heated quite quickly. You had left to give Dallas time to cool off.

A bit of time had passed, a good hour or two, and you decided that it was alright to go back. You were walking down on the sidewalk, minding your own business and whatever, when you heard the familiar rumble of a car. It stopped nearby behind you and you heard car doors slamming shut. Before you knew it, you were grabbed by some Socs and they had quickly shoved you down to the ground. They had got on top of you and punched you a few times, pulling out a blade and bringing it dangerously close to your face. They all looked similar - all Socs look rather cut from the same cloth than not - with their slicked back hair, smell of English Leather shaving lotion, and tacky, fancy clothes. They’d hit you a few more times real hard and you were out cold.

When you came to, you were laying there on the sidewalk, and you felt a sharp pain thrumming throughout your whole body when you moved. You carefully got up after a minute of just sitting there and processing all the pain in your body.

You stumbled through the streets. Nobody really batted an eye at your state. When you had finally reached Buck Merril’s place, you opened the door, walking through the bar and up the stairs into Dally’s room. When you had hobbled in with forming bruises and a bloodied lip, Dally looked over at you. His eyes kind of widened and he stood from where he was on the bed, muttering a curse or two.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked incredulously, sitting you down and rummaging around for something to clean you up with - something like that. You told him what happened from when you were walking back here and heard what you assumed to be a Mustang behind you to when you limped back here. Dally made a noise mixed between a scoff and a groan - both out of frustration. He left the room and presumably went down to the bar. When he came back, he tossed you an icepack for the bruises, then set down a med kit with disinfectant and some Band-Aids and stuff, along with a clean-looking rag. Well, you hoped it was clean, at least; you weren’t sure that all of the stuff at Buck’s was actually clean. He wet the rag with a bit of water and took your face in his hand, wiping your lip with it and cleaning up the cuts there on your face. That was about all he did to help you, though - he didn’t care much about other people. He was hardened beyond feeling and care. But you could tell he was a bit pissed off by the mean look in his eyes. He didn’t seem too pleased that you’d been jumped.

Dally was grumbling about something, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying other than stuff like, “Gonna find who did this” and “They’ll regret it”, but he sat down next to you on the bed and slung an arm ‘round your shoulder. He let out a light scoff and held you a bit closer. He asked you what the Socs looked like and you did your best to describe them to him, but that was about it. He would damned well make sure that they’d pay for jumping you; someone who the whole town knew was under his protection.

Before you knew it, you were dead asleep. Dally had left to “make a call” or something, and you kind of just crashed out on his bed. Hours passed by like a breeze. Sometimes you drifted in and out of consciousness and you’d hear somewhat familiar voices like Dally’s and Tim Shepard’s and some of his outfit nearby but couldn’t articulate what they were saying, then just fell back asleep.

The next time you came to, there was Tim Shepard and his outfit sitting around nearby, probably some of them downstairs at the bar, too. Music was still playing on the radio - Hank Williams - and there was some commotion down stairs other than the bits of conversation in the room. When your eyes landed on Dally, he was a bit busted up and his knuckles were bloody. You came to realize that the Shepard’s gang was all roughed up, too. Dally had this wild, reckless grin on his face, same with some of the others. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, which garnered Dally’s focus and attention.

“Hey.” He greeted, his eyes trained on you. You mumbled out some form of an inquiry on what happened to them.

“Jumped a few Socs with the Shepard gang, no big deal.” He answered while he was taking care of his battered knuckles. So he’d organized a fight on my behalf with the Shepards, you thought.

Some of Tim Shepard’s buddies gave little snickers and chuckles at the memory of presumably beating the group of Socs real good, but they eventually left to go downstairs to the bar with the rest of their pals, leaving you and Dally alone. You mumbled out some sort of thanks to him as you watched him patch up the cuts on his knuckles and the other minor cuts and scrapes. A few minutes later, he padded over and climbed into the bed next to you, lazily draping his arm over you. He was mumbling something but you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“That’s what they get for messin’ with what’s mine. Should’ve known better..” He scoffed.

@lizzy019 This has been sitting for a while cuz I wasn't sure if I should post it lmao

Someone please send me requests D: I'm so bored and I wanna write more Outsiders stuff '-' Requests are always wide open!!

YAYAYAYAYAAYAYAYAY *giggles and kicks feet while twirling phone cord*

Make 'em Pay

Summary: Dally and Reader get into an argument and Reader leaves so he can calm down, but this action has consequences.

Contains: Dallas x Reader, no use of y/n, reader’s gender is unspecified, Tim Shepard and his gang mentioned

Warnings: Mentions of arguing, mentions of violence, Dally may be a bit out of character, Dally calls the reader ‘mine’ once

Prompts: N/A

A/N: This is kinda cringey, mb

You and Dally had gotten into some insignificant argument over something dumb. It got heated quite quickly. You had left to give Dallas time to cool off.

A bit of time had passed, a good hour or two, and you decided that it was alright to go back. You were walking down on the sidewalk, minding your own business and whatever, when you heard the familiar rumble of a car. It stopped nearby behind you and you heard car doors slamming shut. Before you knew it, you were grabbed by some Socs and they had quickly shoved you down to the ground. They had got on top of you and punched you a few times, pulling out a blade and bringing it dangerously close to your face. They all looked similar - all Socs look rather cut from the same cloth than not - with their slicked back hair, smell of English Leather shaving lotion, and tacky, fancy clothes. They’d hit you a few more times real hard and you were out cold.

When you came to, you were laying there on the sidewalk, and you felt a sharp pain thrumming throughout your whole body when you moved. You carefully got up after a minute of just sitting there and processing all the pain in your body.

You stumbled through the streets. Nobody really batted an eye at your state. When you had finally reached Buck Merril’s place, you opened the door, walking through the bar and up the stairs into Dally’s room. When you had hobbled in with forming bruises and a bloodied lip, Dally looked over at you. His eyes kind of widened and he stood from where he was on the bed, muttering a curse or two.

“What the hell happened to you?” He asked incredulously, sitting you down and rummaging around for something to clean you up with - something like that. You told him what happened from when you were walking back here and heard what you assumed to be a Mustang behind you to when you limped back here. Dally made a noise mixed between a scoff and a groan - both out of frustration. He left the room and presumably went down to the bar. When he came back, he tossed you an icepack for the bruises, then set down a med kit with disinfectant and some Band-Aids and stuff, along with a clean-looking rag. Well, you hoped it was clean, at least; you weren’t sure that all of the stuff at Buck’s was actually clean. He wet the rag with a bit of water and took your face in his hand, wiping your lip with it and cleaning up the cuts there on your face. That was about all he did to help you, though - he didn’t care much about other people. He was hardened beyond feeling and care. But you could tell he was a bit pissed off by the mean look in his eyes. He didn’t seem too pleased that you’d been jumped.

Dally was grumbling about something, but you couldn’t make out what he was saying other than stuff like, “Gonna find who did this” and “They’ll regret it”, but he sat down next to you on the bed and slung an arm ‘round your shoulder. He let out a light scoff and held you a bit closer. He asked you what the Socs looked like and you did your best to describe them to him, but that was about it. He would damned well make sure that they’d pay for jumping you; someone who the whole town knew was under his protection.

Before you knew it, you were dead asleep. Dally had left to “make a call” or something, and you kind of just crashed out on his bed. Hours passed by like a breeze. Sometimes you drifted in and out of consciousness and you’d hear somewhat familiar voices like Dally’s and Tim Shepard’s and some of his outfit nearby but couldn’t articulate what they were saying, then just fell back asleep.

The next time you came to, there was Tim Shepard and his outfit sitting around nearby, probably some of them downstairs at the bar, too. Music was still playing on the radio - Hank Williams - and there was some commotion down stairs other than the bits of conversation in the room. When your eyes landed on Dally, he was a bit busted up and his knuckles were bloody. You came to realize that the Shepard’s gang was all roughed up, too. Dally had this wild, reckless grin on his face, same with some of the others. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, which garnered Dally’s focus and attention.

“Hey.” He greeted, his eyes trained on you. You mumbled out some form of an inquiry on what happened to them.

“Jumped a few Socs with the Shepard gang, no big deal.” He answered while he was taking care of his battered knuckles. So he’d organized a fight on my behalf with the Shepards, you thought.

Some of Tim Shepard’s buddies gave little snickers and chuckles at the memory of presumably beating the group of Socs real good, but they eventually left to go downstairs to the bar with the rest of their pals, leaving you and Dally alone. You mumbled out some sort of thanks to him as you watched him patch up the cuts on his knuckles and the other minor cuts and scrapes. A few minutes later, he padded over and climbed into the bed next to you, lazily draping his arm over you. He was mumbling something but you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

“That’s what they get for messin’ with what’s mine. Should’ve known better..” He scoffed.

@lizzy019 This has been sitting for a while cuz I wasn't sure if I should post it lmao

School Projects

Started: August 11, 2024

Finished: August 12, 2024 Summary: A month long partner project in class. Ponyboy and Reader are paired up and find themselves growing closer as time goes on. . . Contains: Fluff, Second-person PoV, Reader's gender is unspecified, Strangers(?) to Lovers, Reader x Ponyboy, no use of Y/N Warnings: Reader is (at least) decent at writing essays, very little dialogue

You were in your History class, listening to your teacher drone on and on about something you’d started to tune out a while ago by now. Idly tapping the end of your pencil on your desk while your head was resting on your arm, only little snippets of the teacher’s rambling came into your brain like, “assigned partners”, and “month-long project”. The class was quiet, really, with some girls gossiping in hushed whispers, some doodling in the margin of their papers or fidgeting with obvious boredom like yourself, some guys discreetly mocking the teacher and making their friends snicker. Only a few kids actually listened or took notes of what Ms. Thompson was saying. Your eyes scanned the classroom, watching everyone do their own thing, then your eyes went to Ponyboy. You knew him to some degree, but you were really strangers, only knowing what each other’s names were but never really interacting at all. You knew he was a quiet kid, that he was a Greaser, and that he liked to read from what you’d seen, but nothing more than that.

When you finally tuned back in to Ms. Thompson’s ramblings, she said, “I will write the pairs on the board. Once you find your and your partner’s names, you will sit next to your partner and take notes and come up with an essay and a visual presentation, including drawn images and excerpts from text books and other resources on the rise and fall of the Roman Empire and how it impacted society. This project is due a month from now; if it is overdue, you will get an F on it and it will impact your final grade in this class.”

Ms. Thompson began writing the pairs and the instructions on the chalkboard, your classmates either looking at it in anticipation or murmuring to one another, presumably about who they hoped their partners would be. When Ms. Thompson finished writing on the chalkboard, she sat down at her desk and began to work or grade things from other classes, and there were audible groans or excited ‘yes’s from your classmates as they read the list of pairs. You scanned the list for your name, and you were paired up with Ponyboy Curtis. You just hoped that you both could relatively get along.

The students began to go to their partners and began chatting about what they would be doing for the project, how they’d design it, and who’s doing what. Ponyboy soon came over to your desk and pulled up a chair, sitting across from you with his notebook put on the desktop. The awkwardness almost palpable. ”So. . . What should we do for the project?” He asked, awkwardly breaking the silence, opening his notebook to a blank page and jotting down the instructions, due date, etc. ”I don’t know. . . Maybe a tri-fold poster or something?” You suggested. “Sure. We can do that.” Ponyboy replied, jotting it down.

After a bit more discussion, you came to the agreement that Ponyboy would do the art and visual bit of the tri-fold poster and you would write the essay. You agreed to meet up at Ponyboy’s house after school to start working on the project and that would be the main plan for meetups unless you both went to the library or something.

You walked with Ponyboy after school to his house, and you went to his shared bedroom and began studying, having taken out a few history books on the time period of the Roman Empire and the rise and fall of it, etc. You both started working and were chatting together. You found out that Ponyboy is actually a really nice guy; that he enjoyed watching sunsets, about his family life, and he found out more about you in turn. You both started to bond over time as you both worked on this project, and when you finished writing the essay you began to help him with the tri-fold poster and wrote down excerpts from the resources you had and maybe adding the occasional drawing or detail to the poster or maybe helped him with coloring it.

Before long, Ponyboy had started inviting you to hang out together outside of working on the project, like going to Dairy Queen together or maybe walking around town together, and you had quickly become friends with him. It was great. Ponyboy was a great friend and a great partner for projects, albeit you started to get a warm, almost fuzzy feeling around him; finding yourself looking at him for a few moments more than the casual glance in classes, taking in the details of his appearance. . .

Time flies by, and that definitely applied to the month to do the history project. You’d finished and the due date had come up quickly, but you both were content with how the final result came out. You’d ended up doing a small presentation for the tri-fold poster, along with your other classmates for their own visual presentations. Some kids even went to the lengths of making a class interactive bit and made handouts for the class. You’d ended up getting an A on the project, which you were both proud about, obviously.

You decided to hang out together over the weekend and went to a local diner that had affordable, cheap prices, and you’d had a good time there with him like always.

Once it got later, he walked you with you home and the walk was relatively quiet, only minimal talk happening between the two of you.

After a bit, Ponyboy had broken the somewhat comfortable silence by saying, “Hey, uh, can I tell you somethin’?” with a bit of a shy look in his eyes. “Yeah.” You answered him, looking over at him while you waited for him to tell you whatever he wanted to tell you. You’d gotten pretty close to your house by now.

“I, uh, really like you. A more-than-friends kind of like.” Ponyboy admitted.

You stood there for a moment, processing the new information while he waited for your response with bated breath. He had a crush on you. . .

“I really like you, too, Ponyboy. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.” You told him, to which he let out an exhale of relief.

You both kept walking back to your house, and when you finally got there, you stopped at the front of your house, pulling away from Ponyboy and going to back into your house before you gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek, “See you on Monday, Ponyboy.” You told him, then turning and walking into your house, leaving Ponyboy struck dumb with a lovestruck smile on his face as he watched you open the front door and go in. He couldn’t wait ‘till Monday. . .

Sorry if this is bad; I'm a bit rusty because I haven't done any writing - let alone romance writing - in ages (╥﹏╥) Requests are open :)

I love these so much!!

i decided to make some more dividers similar to this post because I noticed that a lot of people like them and I have some more poems/quotes I can use to make more, hope you enjoy :) a lot of them are from lang leave poems just like the last

please like, reblog, and credit ₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ ♡

This!!

Chat im just gonna be the one to say it and it needs to be because people are being so creepy abt this.

I HATE. The outsiders AUTISTIC head cannons it’s just weird and I work with kids who are autistic who have autism and other things and it’s like can you guys not like it’s a real disability that shouldn’t be glazed as “CUTE.”

Now if head cannons aren’t corny and actually bringing awareness I wouldn’t care that’s fine but if your making them to be cute. SOME PEOPLE ON THIS APP DO. Get out.

(This is just for the ppl making it weird especially on a03.)

It’s just so disgusting and disrespectful