#dally.ts

[dallylovebot]

[ 6:39 ] dally winston ! 🍒🌹

notes.  kinda wack i’ve been into the outsiders for a year now. and i’m still writing for dallas, huh? wild. it’s nostalgic. thanks for reading.

OF swollen lips and emotional breakdowns, dally winston will always choose you, the girl who tastes like strawberries and smoke, drifting into the air. you're not really there; no, not in the way dally wishes. but you're close enough, fading on the outskirts of town and blending in with the horizon so well that when he mentions your name, the boys give him a blank stare and a tilt of their head. you're still tangible, and that's all he needs.

the kisses are fast and cruel, teasing him and torturing him and allowing him control all at once. if you're a drug or a girl, dally will never know. he doesn't know where you came from or your name, though you sure as hell know him. you know him more than just by name, and it's a dynamic imbalance he hates. you know him as dallas, a broken boy hiding behind a shell of a mask. you know his coping mechnisms like the back of your hand, able to recite them like a wretched poem for english class. but you recite his flaws and make them something beautiful, flowers blooming in desolate sidewalk cracks. you lured him in with your kiss and now he's here to stay, crying for you and watering a garden. he hates it so goddamn much. 

you're always there for him, tending his wounds and massaging his bruises. you're there in the fire of his kisses and the flooding of his tears as they fall on the ground in an alleyway at 3 am with his head bowed. he feels he shouldn't get his hopes up, looking at you, the pretty girl who asks no questions and tells no lies. he's heard your voice once and he desperately tries to forget it, for it'll be the imminent destruction of him as if he's not slowly deteriorating already. you told him a promise he'll not ever be ready to fulfill, words overflowing with the future and revolting emotions he doesn't want to touch.

you've seen him at his worst, crying on end for hours so that his eyes barely open and his head is drunk and simultaneously hungover by the sensation of being wholly empty. you've seen his highest highs, invincible through the adrenaline running in his veins and kissing you with the fervor of one hundred stars in the darkest night sky. you're someone he wishes he could forget and keep forever all at the same time. 

he disappears under the guise of night and death, promising this time to himself that he'll find you again in a better world and reciprocate everything you've done, but not before he takes up the end of your forgotten promise and caresses it on his tongue.

it's a quiet whisper, uttered under your hooded, drowsy lids as the sun peaks out in the young awakening of dawn:

"i love you too."

[dallylovebot]

[ 9:33 ] dally winston ! 🍒🌹

notes. drafted in math class lmao

ALL dally wants to do is corrupt you. you're an angel sent from whatever god's heaven there is, all bright-eyed and lovely. even as shadows fall over your face as he has you backed against a wall in an alley, you're gorgeous. he hates that even more.

but you should know better, angel or not, than to mess with the infamous street rats of new york. you should know that no matter how much you try, an angel can never save a demon from damnation. he knows this damn well more than anyone.

you're not even fearful under his sharp gaze, the same eyes dally's made at countless other guys that made them drop to their knees and beg for mercy. he doesn't know a flying fuck as to why you're not intimidated by him, but he wants to change that. one day, he knows, you'll see the mess that is truly dallas winston, the hell of a mess no blessed being would willingly witness.

your eyes are still soft as they look up at him, and he cusses under his breath. why did you look so stunning in a dark brooklyn alleyway? why did you look at him with such kind, gentle eyes despite the monster he was?

so he kisses you, hard and rough with the intent of making you shun him and fear him. but you reciprocate just as well and he has no fucking idea how or why. he does the only thing he can: he smirks and returns the kiss with the same fervor, one hand gripping your hair.

you pull away from the kiss panting, glowing. damnit, why do you look so happy? you're a different type of girl, he knows. he can't wait to make you break - because no one, no one, sticks by dally winston for long. that much he knows.

[dallylovebot]

[ 3:26 ] dally winston ! 🍒🌹

tw. implied emotional breakdown, self-inflicted injury

DALLAS winston is at his breaking point. fuck. he really is.

it washes over him slowly, the same way death creeps over many; slowly, slowly, until you realize it's submerged you to your neck. he doesn't even know how he's realized it.

you see, dallas winston does not dwell on his emotions. he does not dwell on the past nor the burdens piling up that threaten to shatter the bottom of his heart.

when it shatters, he's done for. still, he makes no show of it.

because dallas winston, even with shaky breaths and a head screaming in agony, would not know what to do with his feelings even if they were shoved into his hands with a very clear instruction manual. he tells himself it's because he can't read people, let alone himself.

the truth is, he can't read it because he's too busy crying and sometimes goddamn tears can get in the way of your vision.

dallas winston is at his breaking point. he knows this as he breaks his knuckles punching a tree. he knows this as he lets out a heartfelt, guttural cry for everything but his hand. he knows this as he crumples to the ground like a delicate, mishapen doll, and looks over at his injured hand which is shining with something crimson. he feels salt on the corner of his lips, and touches the drying stream on his cheek with his unharmed hand. he shudders, exhaling, then lets out a laugh. it's trembling at first, but then it's sure of itself. it's laughing, insane, emulating the mess of his head. because goddamn, dallas winston can hurt. and goddamn, dallas winston is human after all.

[dallylovebot]

[ 11:11 ] dally winston ! 🍒🌹

IT'S been a long time coming. you could've seen it coming; you swear, your friends saw it already from the first day you met dallas winston.

as a soc, you're accustomed to numbing and hiding your feelings yet at the same time, you're hyperaware of the taboo changes of your heart which you disguise so often.

so the fluttering in your heart every time you spent time with dallas winston definitely did not go unnoticed by you. you simply decided to ignore it, as you'd grown to do to any emotion other than indifference. it was only the adrenaline pumping in your blood, the nervousness from hanging around a dangerous hood for so long.

these were all lies you fed to yourself and words you never swallowed.

it's nearly midnight but far past your curfew when you stand in front of dallas winston, the goddamn dangerous greaser who's far too acquainted with law enforcement and getting his way.

you can see his shadowed face, snow-pure hair illuminated by the glow of fluorescent lights of a nearby diner. you can see how his dark eyes criticize you and how his eyebrows furrow in what seems to be the first time you've ever seen him less than confident.

and then everything blurs together and your cheeks feel hot as you bite your trembling lip to stop the sob emerging in your throat.

your grip is tight on the excess fabric of your skirt, bunching it up near your waist. how unladylike, you scoff to yourself.

you close your eyes and almost forget where you are, standing in front of dallas winston, renowned juvenile delinquent and criminal. but you could never forget dallas winston, the criminal who stole your heart.

the words find their way to your lips after dally throws a typical, cocky comment at you.

"why so tense, doll?" he brings a cigarette to his lips, then exhales the smoke. "'fraid it's too far past your curfew for excuses?"

"no..." you whisper to yourself, looking at the fisted hands in your skirt. you feel your nails indenting in your palms. "no, goddamnit, dallas winston," you say louder, reaching his ears, and it sounds like a plea for help.

"damnit, winston..." your voice cracks as you sob, a wave of tears falling past your cheeks to the asphalt you stare down at.

"doll, what-" but you cut him off before you can let him get the best of you.

"goddamnit, dallas winston, i'm in love with you!" you cry. "damnit, damnit!"

for the first time, dallas winston is stunned into silence. no smart retort, no witty response. just silence, reflecting his for once nonviolent emotions.

it's his silence which reminds you of the seconds immediately after a grenade pin is pulled.

you wait for him to blow up, hit you, or leave.

you wait for the yelling, the insults, the heavy footsteps leaving. you wait for a condescending tone, a scoff, a cruel, cruel laugh.

but they never come.

instead, you're left in the night's silence as dally steps toward you, his hand reaching out to gently find itself entangled in the roots of your hair and nudging your head against his chest.

you've never heard him sound so quiet or vulnerable when he says, "well, shoot. we're in the same mess, aren't we, dollface?"

[dallylovebot]

[ 10:47 ] dally winston ! 🍒🌹

tw. mentions of blood, allusions to death, nothing graphic

notes. i wrote this before i finished the book. do what you will with this information.

IMAGINE dally's last thoughts before he falls unconscious. tonight, a fight had gone too far. he's typically too careful to let this happen; tonight, though, he let go, and there were dire consequences.

he's not worried about a thing in the world. or at least, he would've been six months ago. now, the only thing he can think of is you.

he's cussing himself over and over thinking of you. there's a warm wetness where his hand lays lightly on his torso, and a searing pain that he doesn't want to think about.

instead, all he can think of is you. he doesn't really want to. he can't help it, though; he was never really one good at hiding his feelings.

he doesn't quite know how he feels. is it regret? is it regret for falling in love with you? or is it regret for fighting? is it anger, the kind that gnaws at his worn heart until he can do nothing else but scream?

all he knows is the sounds of running footsteps - everywhere, and a pool of warmth around him that he tries to convince himself is euphoria. all he knows is the screams around him, headache-inducing and vexing, of the fuzz and to scram.

but he's too tired to move, to think. he presses down on his wound and feels the blood in between his fingers. consciousness fading, he brings the bloodied hand up to where he can see it. it's dripping in a beautiful scarlet. though not a completely foreign sight to him, it's all so different now. he wonders what you'll do if he doesn't wake up.