Nvm Got An Idea Based Around A Fic By @jamesdeanbby (I’ll Link It When I Post) ‼️

sobs due to violent writers block 💔

no this shit is so real give my boys some attention 😓🥀💔

guys why is nobody writing for johnny cade or daniel larusso. I haven't read a fic for either in like 3 days I'm actually so deprived rn 💔

tbh I kinda rlly wanna write smth for hiccup from httyd….😓

ᯓ⭒Fight like wolves,

but flee like birds .ᐟ

“There’s Darry, Sodapop and Ponyboy — and then there’s their baby sister. She’s loved, sure, but do they truly ever show it? Or do they just say so and hope that it’s enough?”

Warnings ~ cursing, arguing, insinuation of sh and mental health struggles

･ ⟢ ⋮ a/n ~ This little fic is based around this fic by @jamesdeanbby !! I tried my best to make sure it isn’t the exact same, but the store scene is rlly similar 😓 🙏 also yes I am making this two parts…

w/c: 1,000+

──── ₊˚⊹ ♰ ⊹˚₊ ────

Life would never be easy for someone like you.

A teenage girl, living in a house constantly full of boys.

Before your parents died, it was fine; sure, you didn’t always get the newest clothes or cutest makeup, but it was enough. Because you had your mom.

Now you don’t.

And Darry is the one bringing you shopping. Darry is the one supervising what you buy. Darry, a twenty-year-old boy — no, man — is the one who watches you eye the frilly, cute dresses in the store and is the one who says no every time.

It feels as though he never even tries to understand you. He gets along with Soda and Pony just fine, because they’re boys, but you?

You’re a girl. And therefore, lesser than.

At least that’s how it feels.

Soda can go to as many rodeos as he wants, stay out as late as he wants. Pony gets praised for his smarts, he can smoke in the house whenever, he can stay at the lot and not get grounded.

You?

At the age of sixteen, you can’t stay out past 8:30. You can’t get cute skirts because they’re too expensive. You can’t go anywhere without telling Darry. You can’t get anything cute or girly. You can’t do anything.

You feel like a rat trapped in a cage. Like a bird with clipped wings.

It’s hell.

Darry never understands you. Never tried to understand you. Not before your parents died and certainly not after. He never knew what you did in your room, late at night — why your arms would suddenly be covered by sleeves despite the blistering summer heat. He never put in the effort.

───〃★

Beeps from cash registers, the pungent smell of cleaning products and terribly bright fluorescent lights overwhelm your senses. Darry’s footsteps echo beside you. Loud. Heavy. The total opposite of your own.

As you walk past the girl’s clothing section, your eyes catch on something. A skirt; pink with ruffles and lace. Your steps falter, and of course, Darry notices. His response is almost immediate.

“No.”

You look up at him, your expression shifting. That spark of excitement in your eyes burning out. He notices, but doesn’t show it.

“You know we can’t afford it, kid.” His voice is firm. Cold. That’s all it ever is around you. Not warm like it is with Soda, not calm like with Pony. He’s never treated you the way he does them.

“I know.” You reply, your own tone taking on an edge by default. But Darry, of course, can’t help getting mad.

“Would you quit that? You’re actin’ like a brat. You can’t always get what you want.”

He stares down at you, eyes stormy and voice like thunder; expecting you to argue, to make a scene like Pony would or scold him right back like Soda might.

But you don’t.

You can’t.

You just stand there, tears welling up but never falling.

He knows you’re not like Pony and Soda. You’re a girl. You’re different. Your brain is just wired differently, and he can’t seem to grasp onto the fact.

The rest of your time in the store is tense, like a taught string waiting to snap in half. Not a word is spoken from either of you; only subtle glances.

The drive home is worse.

───〃★

“You listen here young lady–!”

Darry’s voice roars throughout the small space of the living room. Moments earlier, you’d burst in, tears welling in your eyes, your expression full of frustration and betrayal.

“No! Why should I listen to you when you never listen to me?!” You yell back.

The others all stare on, the entire rest of the gang – Soda, Two-Bit, Pony, Steve – they all watch on as you and your brother argue like angry dogs.

Darry huffs, shaking his head disapprovingly. Like a dad would. Not a big brother. “Would you quit sayin’ that?! You’re actin’ like a damn child, y’know that?”

It’s like seeing someone argue with their reflection. Two people, both too stubborn to understand the other, but equally struggling. You, unheard and unseen, and Darry, placed in the position he is by chance, not choice.

“You never let me do anything! You treat me like a pest, not your sister!” You argue back.

He doesn’t say anything. Just stares. Too frustrated to snap back and not say something he’ll regret.

But you continue on; cracks in your voice, but not a single stutter.

“You don’t treat me like you do Soda and Ponyboy! You treat them like brothers, while I’m nothing but vermin!” The tears finally start falling, hot and salty against your cheeks. “You let Soda do what he wants, you praise Pony for being a genius, but what do I get? Nothing! Not a word of kindness or affection! ‘Stop pouting,’ ‘Don’t give me that look,’ ‘Calm down’! That’s all I hear—”

All Darry can do is stare at you. The room is silent aside from your rambling, each pair of eyes looking anywhere but you and Darry from their scattered positions.

“— and nothing else! I bet you wished I was in an orphanage, huh? So you wouldn’t have to deal with me an’ all my ‘childish’ wants?!”

This is what makes him snap. The idea that you think he doesn’t love you; that he doesn’t care.

“Would you shut your goddamn mouth?! You act like I don’t care, when that’s all I do! It ain’t my fault we’re broke and can’t afford your stupid skirts and dinner!”

There he goes again. Placing the blame on you, as if you aren’t the one being neglected. Tears stream down your cheeks like waterfalls, your bottom lip quivering as you try your hardest not to let out a sob; brows furrowed in a scowl. A mirror image of Darry himself.

And then you say the three words he would never wish to hear – three words that send him spiraling.

“I hate you, Darry! I wish I was never born, goddamnit!”

He freezes. Everyone does. The tension in the room reaches its peak, your words causing everyone to stop and hold their breaths.

But before he can reply, before he can apologize or argue, you’re gone. Leaving nothing but a door swinging in your wake.

Darry stares at the open door, eyes wide with emotion; regret, anger, frustration, betrayal. This is his fault and he knows it. He never made an effort to understand you. To make you feel loved. To love you in general.

Moments later, Dally and Johnny step inside, quickly noticing the tension and quietness.

“The fuck happened here? Did the girl throw another fit?” Dally drawls, a sick grin on his face.

His words are like a knife to Darry’s heart. Everyone’s silence tells him all he needs to know.

“Oh.”

“Oh.”

The realization appears on his face as quick as a lightswitch flipping on.

“Oh, shit, man. What did you do, Darry?” He immediately asks, stepping further into the quiet house.

“Not enough.” Is all he can reply.

──── ₊˚⊹ ♰ ⊹˚₊ ────

dare I say me… everyday……

hey so might’ve just napped for three hours instead of writing or packing for my trip in two days…..!

thank you @marilyn-girly for the tag!! (no I did( just change my user name what are you talking about…)

c - calypso, current joys

o - only you, mac demarco

z - zombie, the cranberries

m - methatonin, destroy boys

i - it’s okay to punch nazis, cheap perfume

x - xanny, billie eilish

x - xerces, deftones

i - i know it’s over, the smiths

e - east coast, alex g

z - zombie girl, adrianne lenker

tags: @eepy-weepy-silly

(I kid you not that is the only person I can tag I have zero moots 🥀💔)

♱ *ೃ.⋆ username tag game!

pick a song starting with each letter of your username ♡

j → jesse's girl by rick springfield. a → army dreamers by kate bush. m → más duele by andrés calamaro. e → elevator man by oingo boingo. s → spanish eyes by elvis presley. d → doll parts by hole. e → everybody loves somebody by dean martin. a → all shook up by elvis presley. n → nope your too late i already died by wifiskeleton. b → boarding school by lana del rey. b → beautiful boy (darling boy) by john lennon. y → yes sir, i can boogie by baccara.

tagging : ( @johnnycadesmuse , @johnnycadesslut , @twobitsblade , @r0seb100d , @kahkie )

guys I know it’s been a fat second since I’ve posted but I pinky swear I have something cooking 😓🙏 I have literally two days left of school on my life I’ll finish it soon 😖

⭑𓂃˗ˏˋ CARS AND STARS ˎˊ˗𓂃⭑

˗ˏˋ aka: when Johnny and Francis met! ˎˊ˗

─ ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ ─

Synopsis…! one night, johnny sneaks around in an attempt to meet his idol, only to make a shocking discovery

Featuring…! @eepy-weepy-silly ‘s oc, Sergei Volkov!

── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ──

The breeze is soft and the night cool, as Johnny Cade sneaks quietly into the busy stands of the local drag racing arena. Dallas and Sergei follow behind him closely, glancing around to ensure nobody is following them. Once they’re in, they take their seats in the stands, trying to get the best possible position so they can actually see. Nights like this are important to Johnny, since racing is one of his favorite past times and very rarely does he get this good of seats.

They watch as the cars pull onto the track, lining up side by side, cheers roaring throughout the hundreds of greasers in the bleachers. Johnny’s eyes light up upon seeing his favorite racer — and his idol — stepping out of his car. Frank Turner, an infamous person in the Tulsa racing community. Nobody knows what he looks like nor his identity, only that he’s better than the rest. Cocky, arrogant, smug, all things that you wouldn’t expect Johnny to admire.

And yet, he does; quite significantly, to be totally honest. He watches with a grin on his lips as Frank waves to the crowd, a ski mask covering his whole head aside from a pair of smug eyes and an even more smug grin.

Johnny spends hours watching the cars speeding around the track, the sun falling over the treeline as time passes. As anticipated, Frank wins each one by a long shot. Cheers echo throughout the stadium each time he surpasses another racer, especially from Johnny.

However, halfway through the night, Sergei and Dallas run off, finding themselves bored and unamused, leaving Johnny alone. He doesn't mind, however, being content with watching by himself. That is, until the end of the festivities When everyone is leaving, Johnny finds himself desperately wishing to meet his beloved idol. So, he comes up with the bright idea to sneak down to the dugout. He knows it’ll be easy, considering the lack of security. It’s a local thing organized by greasers, for god’s sake, of course there’s no security…

Which is why Johnny now finds himself pressed against a wall, footsteps silent as the wind as he manages to sneak his way to the dugout where the racers hangout. The first sign that things are amiss is the fact there isn’t loud chatter, just two voices having a private conversation. Where the hell are the others? Shouldn’t all of the racers be hanging around, having fun? Alas, he presses on, determined to at least speak a word to his #1 idol.

The second sign, however, should’ve most definitely turned him away: the door leading to the back is completely ajar. Faint music plays behind it, alongside those two voices he heard earlier.

Now, him not seeing the third sign is purely him being an oblivious idiot: the female voice. Johnny doesn't notice it, not until he's pushing the door open, hoping to come face-to-face with this man he’s completely idolized —

— and is met with the face of a woman.

Before him stands a girl, leaning against the hood of Frank Turner’s car, his iconic ski mask and helmet sat on top of it. Beside her is Buck Merril, a cigarette between his fingers, now wearing an expression full of anger. The girl – who for some reason looks to be his age – has pure, terrified shock on her face. Both she and Buck can’t help but ask themselves, “how the hell did he get back here?!” It doesn't take Johnny long to connect the dots, and when he does, he can't keep himself from blurting out:

“I won't tell anyone! I swear!”

The girl simply stares at him, her expression softening at his promise of secrecy. Buck, however, steps up towards him, his brows furrowed and mouth set in a scowl.

“God fuckin’ damn, Johnny- You keep this shit secret, ya hear me, boy? Nobody can know ‘bout her. Not Dally, not Sergei, not fuckass Pony – no one.” His voice is practically a growl as he says this, his tone dripping in anger and frustration. He’s rightfully angry, this chick gets him a hell of a lotta money and he’s not giving that up just because some stupid kid saw who she really is; a greaser girl trying to make ends meet for her siblings.

“I-I promise I won’t tell anyone! Not a soul will know about this!” Johnny stammers out in reply, trembling hands held up in surrender. He glances between the girl and Buck, eyes full of fear, breaths shaky and labored.

Grumbling angrily under his breath, Buck stomps away, leaving Johnny and this random girl who he’s just discovered has been his idol for the past two years. The two stare at each other, wide eyed and confused, the only sound the chirping of crickets and rustle of the breeze. That is, until the girl breaks the silence.

“You seriously won't tell anyone?” She mutters, her voice carrying a pleading tone. Johnny doesn't realize it, but not only her own life and wellbeing but others’ as well rely on her racing job. If she couldn’t do this, she’d probably end up either dead or in the fucked up foster system.

For several moments, all he does is stare, before shakily nodding to her. He can see the way she relaxes, the way her shoulders go slack and her eyes soften. It suddenly hits him that he’s standing before his idol, she’s a girl, and she's speaking to him. Hell, at this point, it doesn't matter that she’s a chick, she's a hell of a good racer and he wants her autograph.

“Can I get your autograph..?” He suddenly blurts, cheeks flushing as he begins to regret his decision. But even as she’s replying, he feels embarrassed.

“D’you want my autograph or the autograph of the character I’ve created?” She says back, her accent making her smugness all the more prominent. She can’t help smirking at him, the cockiness of Frank Turner clearly the least fake part of his (lack of) existence.

Before Johnny has the chance to mumble out a reply, she’s grabbing a napkin and marker out of her pocket. He watches as she scribbles a couple words down on it, puts the cap back on the marker, shoves it in her pocket, then turns to him. Without another word spoken, she hands the napkin to him, grinning ear to ear.

“Have a good night, Johnny.” She drawls, grinning over her shoulder as she turns to walk off, boots crunching against the gravel road, her silhouette soon disappearing into the night. Johnny watches her go, the shock of it all still coursing through his veins, before looking down and reading what she wrote on the napkin;

“Call for a good time. . . just kidding. . . sort of ;)” Scribbled beside it? Not only a phone number, but the signatures of both Frank Turner and Francis Vendelini.

That night, Johnny calls the number, and when a feminine voice with a jersey accent replies, he feels an unfamiliar flutter in his stomach – and unknowingly establishes one of the most important relationships of his life.

── ─── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ─── ──

a/n: reposting this here cuz the link won’t work💔

𐔌 . ⋮ GUESS .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

“Is it showing off my brand new lower back tattoo?”

Synopsis…! Lynn gets herself a new tattoo, but is scared of how the gang will react — but it’s the way Dally reacts that catches her off guard.

─────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰ ─────

She’d meant to tell them — honest — she just forgot.

A week prior, Lynn went out and decided to treat herself, inevitably having the bright idea to get a tattoo on her lower back. She’d wanted one for years anyway, and now that she’s eighteen, she can do whatever the hell she wants.

Somehow, though, she managed to forget to tell the gang. Despite the fact they’re some of her best friends, it just didn't feel like something to speak about with them –Angela Shepard, however, is. She was the first and only person she’s told, and because she’s Angela, she loved the design.

“Oh my god, it’s so hot! I might get one too, now! We should match-!” She then blabbered on for an hour about nonsense.

For a while after she got it, she’d simply forgotten to tell them. The design was often covered by pants, anyways. One day, though, her silly little secret gets revealed in a rather odd manner…

───── ─────

It was blazing hot out, normal for a May morning in Tulsa, and Lynn decided to wear a pair of low rise jeans and a cropped tank top, paired with her leather jacket. It’s nearly 80 degrees out, she’s not going to be caught dead in anything else.

“Hey, ya’ll! She calls out, as she and Johnny enter the Curtis house, her typical grin on her face.

A mantra of “hey”s and “hello”s echo throughout the house, all voices familiar and comforting.

“Darry, is the A.C. still broke?” She asks, sitting down on the couch.

“‘Course it is, Lynn. I ain’t a plumber, I’m a roofer.” His response is what she expected, so with a small huff, she takes off her jacket, tossing it away.

Her lower back is inevitably exposed, and guess who’s the first to see the tattoo? Dallas.

He rubs a hand over his face at the sight, mumbling curses under his breath. For several seconds, he does nothing but sit there, staring. His gaze locked on her back with pupils blown wide.

He’s the only one to notice, apparently, based on the fact nobody else has said a word — because we all know they would.

But the moment she’s bending over to grab a soda off the coffee table? He’s a goner.

“Fuck, man…” He murmurs softly, glancing away and adjusting his jeans ever so subtly. His hands find her hips the moment she’s near, tugging her between his legs without a second thought.

“Doll… what the hell is this?” He asks, smoothing a hand over the tattoo, fingers tracing the ridges.

“Oh, uhm, just a tattoo?” Lynn replies, feigning nonchalance with every bone in her body.

At the sound of her words, unfortunately, everyone in the room turns to her. Steve and Two-Bit quit wrestling, Soda stops being their referee, Pony looks up from his book and Johnny tears his gaze away from looking over his shoulder.

Lynn stares at them, her expression blank, as if such a predicament is normal.

“IS THAT A TATTOO??” A shocked Pony gasps, breaking the silence that had been hanging in the air like a taught string. That makes everyone run over, their voices overlapping as they all ask frantically about the new addition to her body.

“When did you get it?”

“Did it hurt?”

“Why the hell did you want it?”

“Not gonna lie, it’s kinda hot….”

At that comment from Two-Bit, Dally stomps on his foot, the hand around Lynn’s waist tightening as the other man yelps.

The whole situation is… interesting, to say the least. She can’t help basking in the attention, showing the thing off with a wide grin.

“Yeah, it didn't hurt much. Which was kinda surprising, since the skin there’s supposed to be sensitive or somethin’. I wanna get more soon, but they’re damn expensive.”

All the while, Dally is watching from the couch, icy eyes locked onto her back.

Eventually, the commotion dies down, and Lynn takes her spot beside Dally, gaze stuck on the TV before her playing Mickey Mouse. But Dallas – of course – is still thinking of that goddamn tattoo. The way it looked on her skin, the design she’d chosen, the image of her laying on the table.

He can't quit thinking about it, and it’s driving him nuts. Why can’t his mind just let it go?

───── ─────

From that point on, whenever he gets the chance, he lets his hands brush her lower back. Lynn doesn’t notice – at least, not until Johnny points it out.

─────⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰ ─────

a/n: kinda hate this one ngl, but it’s whatever :P