cherrydipp

[cherrydipp]

Dally: alright, you can come look at the horses. You get five minutes…

Soda:

Asked a while ago “what did soda come to Bucks looking for” and someone suggested he just likes to watch the horses. It’s still so funny to me.

[cherrydipp]

AHHHHSHES GONNA GET ME 😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

self loathing trip because he knows he isnt able to break the cycle for himself or for melvin. stares at the wall of baby pictures and mourns the life that could of been. would he still live with his mom if she hadn’t gone insane? would melvin even have been born? no. no — because the thing that made her dangerous was the younger boy’s father. he wouldn’t be a part of the picture. what would he do with melvin? without his kid brother? the one who he does everything for — the one he stresses out over late at night when he doesn’t come home at curfew — the one who searched the streets in a panic, driving a souped up mustang to see how badly the boy had been jumped because of a fight trip started. trip who drinks like the night is young and wakes up with a massive hangover to melvin who looks at him worriedly. addiction runs in their family it isn’t any shock. he knows that. he knows he won’t skip the gene — the curse. catching melvin with a hidden pack of smokes and scolding him for it only to be hit back with “as if you’re any better.” he just goes silent after, completely blocking out everyone for the rest of his day. god god god god god god god trip i love you

[cherrydipp]

self loathing trip because he knows he isnt able to break the cycle for himself or for melvin. stares at the wall of baby pictures and mourns the life that could of been. would he still live with his mom if she hadn’t gone insane? would melvin even have been born? no. no — because the thing that made her dangerous was the younger boy’s father. he wouldn’t be a part of the picture. what would he do with melvin? without his kid brother? the one who he does everything for — the one he stresses out over late at night when he doesn’t come home at curfew — the one who searched the streets in a panic, driving a souped up mustang to see how badly the boy had been jumped because of a fight trip started. trip who drinks like the night is young and wakes up with a massive hangover to melvin who looks at him worriedly. addiction runs in their family it isn’t any shock. he knows that. he knows he won’t skip the gene — the curse. catching melvin with a hidden pack of smokes and scolding him for it only to be hit back with “as if you’re any better.” he just goes silent after, completely blocking out everyone for the rest of his day. god god god god god god god trip i love you

[cherrydipp]

childhood friends to rivals melvin + ponyboy

an: i am actually writing this half asleep and i am not good whatsoever but i wrote this for @cherrydipp

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September 5th, 1967.

Entry #10

If there's one thing me and Trip had in common, it's that we hated that Curtis kid. But if we're being honest, I didn't always hate him. Back in the day, Ponyboy and I were close, more like brothers than me and Trip. We’d race through the streets, pushing each other to be faster, better.

But then things changed, and it wasn't just about running anymore. See, I’m a Soc, and Ponyboy’s a Greaser. Our social classes started getting in the way. People around us kept reminding us of where we stood, and the gap between us kept growing.

It wasn’t long before the friendly competition turned into something uglier. I started shoulder-checking him during races, making sure he knew his place. And Sergei was always ready to help me. I'd give him the nod, and he'd kick dirt at Ponyboy whenever he ran by.

It wasn’t just about winning anymore; it was about making sure Ponyboy knew he couldn't rise above his class. Every race became a battle of pride, and I was determined to come out on top, no matter what it took.

One day, after a particularly rough race, I saw Ponyboy sitting alone on the bleachers, his head in his hands. For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt, but I quickly squashed it down. I don't care for some low-life grease. We used to be friends, and now we were just enemies divided by the train track of social class.

Yet, I walked over, hesitating for a second before sitting down next to him. "Hey, Curtis," I said, trying to sound casual.

He looked up, surprise flashing in his eyes before they hardened. "What do you want, Melvin?" he asked, his voice cold.

“Listen-” I began, before I stopped myself.

As I sat next to Ponyboy, I could feel the weight of our rivalry hanging in the air. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and hurt. "You think we can just forget everything? Just like that?"

I shrugged, trying to play it cool, but inside, I was feeling the pressure. "I don’t know, man. It just feels like we’re wasting our energy fighting each other instead of doing something about the real problems."

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "You think I want to be friends with a Soc? You guys don’t get it. You don’t understand what it’s like for us." The anger in his voice made my heart race. I wanted to reach out, to bridge that gap, but I knew it was too late. The line had been drawn, and there was no erasing it.

"Fine," I said, standing up. "You want to keep hating me? Go ahead. But don’t expect me to sit around and take it."

With that, I turned and walked away, leaving Ponyboy staring after me, our friendship shattered like glass.

Sometimes, it felt like the world was determined to keep us apart, and no matter how hard we tried, we were stuck in our roles. The rivalry would continue, and neither of us was ready to let go. The tension hung heavy in the air, and I knew deep down that this wasn't over.

It's never over.

[cherrydipp]

THIS IS 😭😭💔💔💔 THE DIP 🙁 P BROTHERS 😭💔🙁 SONG WAAAAAAA 😭😭😭😭😭 AAAAAAAAAAA

[cherrydipp]

Melvin and Trip post rumble

Getting punched in the face fucking hurts. Is this how that greaser kid—what's his name? Johnny Cade—felt? Melvin learned that fact during the dreadful, nightmare stoking rumble.

The air in Tulsa felt heavy that night, the kind of air that sticks to your skin, clinging with the remnants of sweat and washed-out adrenaline from fighting. The sound of pained yells and grunts engrained deep in everyone’s mind the same way blood permanently leaves crimson red stains on clothes. Heavy rain smacked against the ground, the thud of fists against flesh and wailing echoed in his ears. The fight had been brutal.

Everyone involved knew it would be.

With losses on each side of town, tensions were at an all-time high. The Socs had their leader flat-out torn away from them, and the Greasers? They were hungry for victory; hungry for revenge in the name of their fallen.

Melvin could feel the sting of the night’s events all around his body and through achey joints. His head throbbed, the feeling of a migraine threatening to catch up with him, made itself painfully known. That Greaser girl threw a good slug at him, leaving his forehead all beat up and bruised. What soon will become a scar of shame, laid a jagged line stretched across his face from the corner of his eyebrow up. Sallow-toned marks were beginning to bloom a dim purple color along his arms and ribs, and he could feel every one of them as if they were blatant reminders of his failure.

But that was nothing compared to the anger building inside him now as he sat on the edge of the cool bathtub tile in the small, dimly lit bathroom of their grandmother’s house. Anger directed at his brother: Trip.

He followed the older boy’s every movement, watching intently as he soaked a cotton pad in peroxide. Whenever their eyes met, he quickly averted his gaze to the floor. Trip wasn’t the kind of guy who showed his worry. No — he kept it all inside, a stoic expression on his face, but Melvin knew him well enough to read between the lines.

Understood the softened upset expression all too well.

Melvin was jolted awake in the middle of the night by the sound of someone walking down the old, creaky stairs of the Dipp household. In a daze of confusion, his sleep-addled mind compelled him to follow the sound. In the dim glow of a small plug-in nightlight, he saw a figure standing in the hallway. If he squinted closely enough, Melvin could make out the person's features: heavy-lidded brown eyes that stared longingly at a portrait of their mother holding her firstborn son. It was Trip.

The younger made the mistake of inching closer, and an obnoxious creak echoed from beneath his feet as he took a step forward. In an instant, he was discovered. When Trip turned to face him, the other has already darted back upstairs and into his bedroom.

Tonight, his brother had been worried the whole time, eyeing him during the rumble like a hawk. He never took his eyes off him for a second.

And Melvin had hated it. He hated being treated like he was fragile, like he was some little kid who couldn’t take care of himself. It’s not like it was his first fight. His first rumble—sure, but both involved the same range. The only difference was that a rumble had one rule in place: it was skin-to-skin only.

“You should’ve just stayed home like I fucking told you to,” Trip muttered, his voice low and sharp. Melvin didn’t even have to look up to know his brother was agitated. He could hear it in the way his words cut through the silent air like a switchblade.

The same weapon which was used against Bob.

“I’m fine,” Melvin replied, his voice laced with bitterness as he fought to mask the tremor that contradicted his words. He clenched his fists on the rim of the tub, determined not to appear vulnerable. He was not a baby, and he sure as hell did not enjoy being babied; he didn’t need help from anyone, least of all from Trip, who always seemed to find a way to peel away Melvin’s own hard-headed surface and uncover the truth lying beneath.

Trip’s rough hand gripped the back of his head, holding him in place, while the other carefully dabbed at the cut with a soaked pad. The sting shot through Melvin’s skin, causing him to reel back with a sharp hiss much like a cat.

“You’re not fine, Melvin,” Trip’s voice was gruff, but there was a tenderness to it that he refused to acknowledge. His mind was too shrewd to even register what the other said. “You think you’re all tough, huh?” He blatantly ignored him. “Look at you — see what happens when you run into things you ain’t belong in?”

Melvin’s jaw clenched.

He wanted to swat away the brown-haired boy's hand, to push Trip off of him and tell him to just quit it. The agonizing pain in his skull was becoming unbearable, and with every jolt of discomfort trailing down his back came along a shiver from the viscous liquid pressing against his open wound. He needed to push Trip away so he couldn’t see the moisture building up around his waterline.

He couldn’t bring himself to do it, yet.

Instead, he kept his head down, feeling the peroxide burn against his flesh as Trip cleaned the wound.

“You didn’t hafta fight, y’know.” I didn’t want you to fight — didn’t want you to get hurt; is what he wanted to say, but the words get caught in the back of his throat as he opens his mouth. Rather, he continues as if the phrase had already fleed his mind, voice a blend of frustration and worry. “This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. Glory, Gramma’s gonna tear me to shreds when she gets a good look at you.”

“Quit—“ Melvin winced through gritted teeth after a particularly rough swipe at the dried blood, the deep red creating a sickly contrast with his skin. He ducked his head further away from Trip’s hands before being pulled back in place. “If you held still for more than a minute it won’t hurt so bad.” He reprimanded the boy who in return simply rolled his eyes.

“I’s not like I need you t’baby me,” he muttered, his voice meek, but firm speaking with whatever confidence he could muster up. “I can handle myself.”

“Clearly, you can’t handle yourself too well when you’re bleedin’ all over the damn place,” Trip retorted, his tone of voice rising with the frustration boiling up inside him. Christ Almighty, why wouldn’t Melvin just let him do this one thing for him? Why is the little shit so stubborn?

He supposes he inherited that trait from Gramma.

Calloused fingers pressed harder into his brother’s skull to keep the flinching boy in place, and for a moment, Melvin almost wished he had just stayed home too.

But he wouldn’t admit that aloud. He wouldn’t admit that he regretted a single moment of that night.

“Jesus, Trip — I’m fine!” Melvin repeated, clutching at his brother’s arms as they tussled for a moment, doing his best to just get him the fuck off. He was no match for the older’s brute strength earned from playing football all throughout highschool, yet he made an effort nonetheless, grunting in frustration while shoving him away. It didn’t matter how hard he tried anyways, because Trip had him sitting still in no time. He was completely fed up with himself his brother.

Melvin could feel salty tears the same ones he wished away earlier welling at the corners of his eyes, a direct result of the cleanser burning his skin. Well — at least that’s what he attributed it to, as his vision became a hazy blur through heavy tears. Maybe that was part of it, but he knew what the he main reason was. Embarrassment; shame.

The Socs lost. Lost against their long-time rivals after preparing to win. Lost against the people who slash their tires and steal hubcaps with a shit-eating grin plastered on their faces.

Lost against the ones who murdered Bob.

Who left the boys without their commander in battle, the “golden boy” quarterback of the football team, the set of green eyes that always held a subtle glint of mischief — but above all else, their brother.

It was all his fault—Melvin thought was certain of that now. If he had just stayed in bed where he belonged, he wouldn’t have found himself perched awkwardly on the rim of the bathtub with his older brother fussing over him as if he were a child in need of a bandage for a scraped knee. Trip, was more focused on looking after Melvin than focusing on the Greaser he was slugging. Each time the brunette glanced over his shoulder, he checked to make sure his brother wasn’t lying face down in the gravel — the same way Bob was found in that fountain.

There was that feeling — guilt twisting and tying his stomach into one giant knot.

It was supposed to be the Soc’s grand win for control over Pershing Park, and yet here the brothers were, the aftermath of the rumble hanging heavily above their heads. If he had just kept his distance, maybe Trip wouldn’t have found himself with that busted lip, the angry swelling a reminder of what could have been avoided.

He kept his head down.

Trip’s calm demeanor seemed to break down at the edges — clear irritation seeping through the cracks, and for a moment, Melvin was sure his older brother was going to shout at him. But instead, Trip’s look softened, his tight grip in his hair loosening. He didn’t say anything for a long time.

The older tossed the bloodied cotton into a nearby garbage, silently peeling open a bandaid. His presence was overwhelming, yet it was the cold shoulder that got to Melvin. Trip wasn’t the type to hold his tongue, and this complete quiet? Being a person who constantly fills the silences — it was the worst kind of punishment.

“I ain’t—…” He began. “I ain’t mad at you, Melv,” Trip spoke up finally, his voice melting with every word. “Jus’ pissed off at myself is all.”

And that was all Melvin needed to hear to understand why he was being so serious about the situation. He couldn’t protect him; his kid brother. The blond’s stomach dropped, but he didn’t dare tilt his head upward. He didn’t need to hear it, not from Trip. He didn’t need to hear that he was worried about him, didn’t need to hear that he cared.

The silence stretched between them again as Melvin scrubbed harshly at his eyes, leaving tear-stained streaks along his forearm — the only audible sounds being the ruffle of his Madras shirt and a low shaky huff of breath escaping from his lips.

“You’re too young to be gettin’ mixed up in all this,” Trip added, knowing he was Melvin’s age when he started jumping greasers and smoking cancersticks. He wanted to do everything he could to protect Melvin from the unforgiving streets of Tulsa — protect him from being hardened. His tone was thick with something the other couldn’t quite place. “But you’re still my brother; my kid brother. ‘Nd I don’t know what I’d do if I see you end up in the newspaper, or— face down lyin’ in some ditch. Don’t wanna see you end up like Bob.”

Melvin swallowed hard, the lump in his throat growing more prominent. He bit down on his tongue, knowing the state he would find Trip in if he looked up.

Hunched over with the same dreadful expression as that late night in the hallway.

Trip’s hand landed gently atop the shorter’s head, his touch tender despite the subtle frustration still simmering beneath his outward visage. “I’m gonna protect you, no matter what. There ain’t nothin’ you can do about it. It’s what I’ve gotta do, y’hear?”

Melvin nodded finally letting himself exhale the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding, his shoulders slumping simultaneously. He knew how he probably looked — pathetic with furrowed brows and a quivering lip. He hated how much his brother’s words had gotten to him. Hated how they slugged him in the gut and forced tears out of his eyes, but he could not bring himself to force Trip any farther away. He understands he needs him.

The throbbing headache, the sting from the peroxide—none of it mattered anymore. They didn’t need to speak for Melvin to comprehend that Trip will forever be there for him, even though the younger would never in a million years ask for it.

They were all each other really had.

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable for Melvin, but it was familiar. They are the only ones who have stayed in each other’s lives longer than anyone ever has. No matter what happens, they will always still be brothers.

“C’mon,” Trip patted Melvin on the back. “Head up to bed ‘fore Gramma wakes up ‘nd has a stroke just lookin’ at you.”

And in the end, that was enough.

[cherrydipp]

melvin constantly calls trip “terrance” whenever he wants to piss him off. “okay, terrance” and “whatever you say………. TERRANCE.” he has a shit-eating smirk on his face too. it’s not until trip swats him in the back of his head that melvin shuts up.

[cherrydipp]

melvin and trip after rumble angst coming will this be a mini fic who knows cuz i dont its either a mini fic or js rlly detailed bullets

[cherrydipp]

THIS TOOK ME FAR TO LONG TO FINISH. 21 days but 17 elapsed hours

[cherrydipp]

OMG TO EVERYONE CONFUSED WHY ARE FINN PUCK AND QUINN THERE. let me explain. they both wanted quinn so bad and the whole pregnancy plot. quinn telling finn that the baby is his when in REALITY it was his best friend’s; PUCK. now. these three are mainly there for the challengers love triangle because. if we go with the theory that lily is actually patrick’s baby and not art’s… y’all it’s the EXACT. SAME. art and patrick are best friends, they both wanted tashi, tashi lies to art about who the dad is because it’s actually patrick. quinn puck and finn were challengers-ing before challengers was even born.

[cherrydipp]

Here are most of my outsiders designs !!!!

I have more but could fit them all cried

[cherrydipp]

me coming on once every month to dump and spam like before returning back to my hobbit (video star).

[cherrydipp]

this picture makes me so sick i’m gonna go sob

[cherrydipp]

updated dipp brothers lore who cares

- TW: mentions of drug abuse, suicide read with caution

- They have two different dads… especially if we are talking about sean jones/cole trip (they look nothing alike to melody)

- All names involved so nobody gets confused:

- [x] Trip and Melvin’s grandmother - Louanne Dipp

- [x] Their mother - Melissa “Missy” Dipp

- [x] Trip’s father - Samson Alloys

- [x] Melvin’s father - Raymond Ulrich

- Each of their fathers weren’t involved in their life early on so they kept their mother’s maiden name, Dipp.

- Trip’s father, Samson Alloys, who killed himself before trip was even born by overdosing on pain medication. trip was an accident, he wasn’t meant to be conceived — their hookup was a foolish drunken mistake. and when his mother, Missy, told the man, he couldnt possibly bear the responsibility of having a son to a woman he barely even knew.

- Melvins father, Raymond Ulrich, is still alive but the boy is banned from seeing or meeting him. he isn’t even allowed to speak about him under Louanne’s roof, and especially not around her either. When they got married, circumstances in Melissa’s house became unfit for children. The man had an overly domineering sense of power in their home — if you could even call it one — his mind often drug-addled, same as her now deceased ex. Because of this, Louanne fought for Missy to give up her two children, which was not a hassle. It was sickening to her how easily her own daughter could give up her own kin.

- Their grandmother absolutely despises Raymond because of the way she watched him treat her daughter and how he changed her for the worse. she began to resent Missy — her own blood and flesh — her own daughter. Another banned name in the Dipp household.

- Louanne was an independent woman and she lived her life that way. Testing the limits of others around her, who scrutinized her in the streets due to period typical sexism. Her husband died of an unknown illness late in their relationship, leaving her a widow. Trip and Melvin were deprived of a father figure in their household, a spot that no matter how hard she tried — Louanne could never fill.

- The brothers never bother to talk about their parents. They’d rather wrestle each other or pick fun at the other and push their thoughts about the entire situation behind them. But it doesn’t go unnoticed to Melvin the way Trip’s eyes linger on the wall littered with baby pictures of their mother and grandmother, watching his older brother as he seemingly drifts off staring at them imagining a different life. No matter how desperately Melvin tries to stifle his sniffling or blink back tears, the walls between his and Trip’s room are thin enough that he can hear him muffled late at night.

- As they began to get older, Louanne grew distant. She could see signs of Missy seeping through their features, leaving a pit in her stomach. The woman often holes herself up in her bedroom lately, waiting for her grandchildren to go to school or run amuck in town. She has stopped asking where they are going, or where the fresh cuts and bruises all over their bodies have come from. Trip notice, glaring at their grandmother from across the dinner table. He finds himself growing more protective over Melvin lately (he always was but with the new situation, he can’t help but worry for him), fixing up his bruises, throwing a blanket over him when he falls asleep on the couch, trying to hide why Louanne has not spoken to them all day.

- Melvin asked one time and Trip quickly covered the topic with something like “She’s just tired — now c’mon, get your track bag or m’leavin’ without you,” or “Gramma wasn’t feelin’ too good.”

[cherrydipp]

u think they coordinated these matching love triangles

plus cherchetsoda

[cherrydipp]

sodapop who has always been patiently waiting and ready to pour his heaps of almost suffocatingly sweet love onto another in hopes they will reciprocate his immense feelings tenfold (if even possible), yearning for someone to love him the way he does others — blue eyes landing on cherry. cherry who is not even sure she knows exactly what love is — let alone know how to reciprocate it, watching the way her parents avoided each other days on end on her childhood home. who is contemplating her relationships with the people around her all while hiding behind her carefully built reputation.

bonus !!! cherry valance who isn’t even sure she remembers how to love, or if she even could give her love to anyone else after bob’s death. wondering if all that she had in her heart will forever be replaced by stomach churning guilt 💗💗💗💗

[cherrydipp]

i feel so embarrassed all i do is think nd talk about melvin dipp on here.

the most UNIMPORTANT USELESS char ever and he takes up my mind

pa—TOOEY.