i <3 shitty outsiders shorts
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Dallas doesn’t love you.
So, when his forehead is placed on your shoulder, bloodied and busted hands gripping the fabric of your shirt— it feels contradictory.
After the rumble, you’d pulled him away and quietly tended to his wounds. There was no room for words, because Dally knew he wouldn’t be himself if he spoke. If he spoke, he’d tell you he was in love. But, he can’t— won’t— love you. Not when he’d have to lay himself before you, show the darkened corners of his tormented soul.
He lifts his head up, meeting your gaze. His eyes showcase a poorly-hidden softness, telling you love poems and epic tales. You only smile at him, and he knew then that he’d do anything to keep you looking at him like that.
Dally pulls his hands away, one reaching to grab his cigarette box from his pocket as he steps back. He murmurs a thanks, looking away from you.
No, he’d never let himself love you. Dally wasn’t made to love.
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what the fuck is ur problem
the outsiders + sun bleached flies by ethel cain
have i mentioned im in love with dallas winston? 🤱
peeyew.. being a weirdo with a pedophile kink gets to a point… try medication for me. thanks.
wonder who's been stuffing all these poems in your locker .. ⊹ ࣪ ˖ | ponyboy curtis x gn ! reader
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after a tiring day of school, you were looking forward to two things and two things only-- the note that's slipped in your locker every day and getting home as soon as you can to read that note while you're wrapped up in your blanket, giggling and twirling your hair between your fingers.
as you make your way over to you locker, you catch a glimpse of a boy in the corner of your eye, seeming to be heading in the same direction. his hair is a shade of cedar brown, long in the back and shorter in the front. there's a slight gloss in his hair-- greasy, but not to the point where you can see your reflection through his locks. his eyes are a shade of greyish-green that immediately reminds you of the crisp autumn fog. he looks a bit nervous-- with his eyes darting around his surroundings and the way he twiddles with his hoodie strings, you'd think he was a deer in the headlights. he was quite cute, too. the kind of face that you want to plant a thousand kisses on while cupping their cheeks.
you decide to stop for a moment, see what he's up to that's got him so jittery. you rush towards the nearest pillar at an attempt to conceal yourself. just as you peer over the pillar, the boy slips a piece of folded paper into the slit of your locker. he stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking away with an attitude that looks indifferent on the surface, but is extremely tense beneath that façade. you could feel the heat from the red washing over your cheeks radiating and you can't help but grin as if you'd just won the lottery.
'you got me singing love songs, love songs' .ᐟ ₊˚⊹♡
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🪽🎀🍒
…♡
“just because something looks ugly doesn’t mean that it is morally wrong” - ladybird
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