Stories don't always start at the beginning, and there can be gaps. These are the fillers. Originally an Angela/OC fic and tie-in to Making God Laugh, this is now a collection of oneshots, missing scenes from Making God Laugh.

In 2009, Ponyboy has not stayed gold, Darry has to right a wrong, Angela makes an adjustment, Two-bit needs to be strong as he deals with the unimaginable, and Steve learns how to be happy. Everything is wrong, and nothing goes according to plan, leading to an unforeseen and mostly bleak future. Full of OCs and connected adventures.

"No matter what she does, she can never quite pull off eighteen. She looks young, she is young, and people like that. As much as it helps in her line of work, it also crushes her faith in humanity." Follows after 'Artistic Depression' and 'Ashes and Pixie Dust'

Peach feels tears sting her eyes and rolls on her back, blue spotted arms around her sore torso. She stares at the cracked ceiling. There's a bunch of cobwebs in the corner above her head, and an unlucky fly is caught in one. No spider in sight, but it's just a matter of time.

What it boils down to is that you lack passion. Nothing gets to you. Guess the cool as a cucumber persona never really fades once you solidify it enough.

Her name is Peach, or so she says. Her face is young, and it bothers him, how little he cares about that. If anything, he's partial to it, and that's worrisome when he thinks about it, so he doesn't.

After the first date, he hates her. He hates her habit of brushing her soft, blonde hair out of her eyes, the way she nervously bites her lip, and her blue eyes looking at him all timid and sweet. She seems genuine, but then, so did Sandy. He hates them both, already having trouble remembering they're not the same person. (One-shot. Rated for strong language and abuse)

It's like this every single time. He falls into the painful trap of caring only to have his world fall apart. Talk about bad luck.

I pick him up. "You're such a good boy, Johnny." "Like David was when he faced Goliath?" he asks in a whisper. "Better," I declare, although it's probably heresy or whatever. Still, in my biased, motherly eyes, which are most likely covered in rose tinted glasses, my son, John Benjamin Cade, is perfect. (Rated for strong language. I don't own the Outsiders.)

When she was gone, his buddies elbowed him and whistled, saying how she was into him, and he should track her down. He laughed and said he might just, but he knew it was a lie. She was a nice girl, not meant for guys like him... (Oneshot, I own nothing).