#dallas

[diaremembers]

[honeybyte]

a honeybyte production!

[haveyouplayedthisttrpg]

Have you played DALLAS : The Television Rolepalying Game

By James Dunnigan

Playing through scenarios, mostly as a character from Dallas. Seduction is an actual stat (along with Coersion, Persuasion, and Investigation, as well as Power and Luck)

[obsessedbyneon]

Collin Creek Mall, Dallas, Texas, 1981.

Scan

[cranberrv]

thunder

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston loses his temper

( a/n : HIII im sorry if this wasnt ur vision but i dont think dallas is one for big apologies so i kinda focused on the arguement more than the apology hope that’s ok… also toxic dallas alert sorry if that isnt ur scene!! also not proofread but hope u cuties enjoy )

it was a late night in mid-summer, and you and dallas were on the porch on the curtis brothers house. he wanted to go out for a smoke, and dragged you along. you were wearing his leather jacket, it was a windy night and you were getting chilly. dallas had goosebumps along his arms.

“are you sure you don’t want it back, dal?” you ask him, insisting on giving him his jacket back.

“nah, sugar, don’t want ya freezin’ to death out here,” he answers, taking a drag of his cigarette as he looks out at the empty street.

“i’ll just go inside, though, so you don’t get hypothermia or something..” you insist, but he grabs your hand and stops you.

“you’re fine, baby, stay with me.” you look up at him and nod, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

you stand outside for a little while longer. it feels so peaceful standing there with him. his hand that’s rough and dangerous from the punches it throws is enveloping yours in a sweet gentleness shown only with you. his cigarette smoke becoming a mock mist that calms you both down. his deep breathes that are only heard because of how quiet it is.

nothing could ruin this moment.

you felt it was a good time to say the three words. not like you hadn’t said them before — it’s been a year since you’ve started dating, and you’ve both adored each other from the very start. but dallas got funny when you told him what he already knew. tonight would be different, you thought.

“.. i love ya, dal,” you say softly after a few moments of quiet. it felt casual — exactly what he would have wanted. but maybe not casual enough, because there was a short silence following your words.

eventually, he speaks. “i know ya do, sugar.”

you sigh. why is it that he could never stand to say it back?

he catches your sigh. of course he knows what you’re sighing about — he knows you all too well. he chooses not to act on it, not to apologize, not to say anything. he doesn’t want to fight with you. he just takes a drag of his cigarette and plays innocent.

“it would be nice to know that you loved me too, dallas,” you eventually say.

“oh c’mon,” another drag of his cigarette. “you ain’t an idiot, you know i do.”

“do i? i can’t remember one time you’ve said ‘i love you’ to me,” you cross your arms and look up at him.

“this isn’t somethin’ to get pressed on, y/n, the boys are inside and the windows are open,” he puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to get you to stop talking, to pretend like you’re okay. all because he doesn’t want his friends to hear. “and i have said it, baby, you’re just forgetting or somethin’.”

“you have not, i would remember if you have,” you counter, shoving his hand off of you. “i don’t want to argue, dallas, i really don’t—“

“too damn bad, y/n, because you’re sayin’ that i don’t love you, and we both know that ain’t true,”

“then say it.”

“..what?”

“you heard me,” you say. “it has been a whole year of us dating, and you’re never ready to say that you love me,” you raise your voice to get your point across.

“christ, y/n, you’re difficult, huh?” he groans. “it ain’t a big deal, don’t go throwing a tantrum.”

“i’m difficult? dallas, i don’t know if you get how a relationship works, but at this point, you either love me, or you’re done with me. there is no middle ground after this long together.”

“you’re fuckin’ crazy, i know how a relationship works, and i ain’t done with you. don’t go stickin’ words in my mouth,” his voice is raising, too.

“if you’re not done with me, then you love me.” you say, in a desperate attempt to get him to say the three words. you almost want to beg. “it hurts, dallas, that i don’t get that reassurance, that i leave our dates with my words hanging in the air, waiting for a reply,”

he groans. “you know that i do, so what’s the fuckin’ point?”

“you’re unbelievable.”

he scoffs, his voice raising. not quite yelling, but definitely not talking. “holy fuck, you know that i love you, man, so quit bein’ such a bitch!”

the crease in your eyebrow drops as he says that. “don’t call me that,”

“c’mon, man, you’re acting like a fuckin’ lunatic trying to get me to admit somethin’ that i’ve already admitted,” he says, voice still raised. “take a deep breath, maybe get a glass of water, and come back to me once you’re normal again.”

you scoff. “because i’m expressing my feelings, suddenly i’m a lunatic? because i’m not like your old girls, and i actually strive for a healthy relationship, i’m not normal?”

“you’re freakin’ out because i didn’t say it back once, of course i think you’re going crazy.”

“i’m ‘freaking out’ because it’s been a year of ‘thank you’ and ‘i know’ whenever i tell you i love you,”

“you’re being a dumbass, y/n, you know i—“ he cuts himself off, sighing and taking a step back. “fine, man, whatever, you win. go inside and call bucks when you’ve cooled off, i’m goin’ home,”

when he walks past you, the air is thick and unwelcoming. you don’t even bother getting the last word, dreading the fact that he might turn back and lose his shit if you do. he mutters something incoherent under his breath, and walks down the creeky front porch steps, into the dead of night.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

of course, you don’t call bucks. why would you? just so buck can tell you that dallas isn’t there, when in reality he just doesn’t want to talk to you? just so suddenly you’re bending to his will, and he’s getting his way once again? you don’t think so.

dallas does this a lot — whenver you two fight, even if it’s a small one, he needs time to cool off. sometimes it’s a couple hours, sometimes it’s a day. it’s never stretched longer, until now. it’s been three torturous days of waiting for a grand gesture, an apology, anything.

the next day at school, you’re walking through the parking lot during your lunch break, talking to cherry valance and marcia about what happened between you and dallas. they say a lot of “told you so” and “that’s dallas for you”, and you can’t say they’re wrong. they warned you about him, and his reputation for being so short-tempered and stubborn.

the sound of an engine roars behind you, and you and your friends turn your heads to see who is making the noise. it’s a 1957 red thunderbird, you recognize it as buck merrill’s.

“that must be dal’s friend, buck,” you whisper to your friends. “but why would buck be here?”

“he’s a greaser, he’s probably like, 5 grades behind and coming here begging for another shot at graduation,” randy, marcia’s boyfriend, teases. you shoot him a glare, and he shuts up.

“i’ll go see whats up,” you say softly, walking over to the now-parked car.

as you walk over and the window rolls down. it is not buck merrill, like you expected, but it’s dallas winston.

“hi,” you say softly, your walls starting to go up but hesitating, wondering if you’re even still fighting.

“hey, sweetie,” he says, not explaining what he’s doing here.

“what’re doing?” you ask him.

he shrugs. “wanted to see you, i dunno.”

“oh,” you say softly. you hoped for an apology, you hoped for flowers, you hoped for chocolate, you hoped for a hug, you hoped for—

“i shouldn’t of gotten all heated when we talked, it wasn’t cool,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “and you ain’t a bitch.”

“..thanks.” you say after a few seconds of silence. what a shit apology, you think.

he’s staring out into the parking lot instead of you. “and i’m crazy about you, man,” he looks up at you. “you gotta know that, sugar.”

“thank you,” you repeat again, unsure of what to say.

another beat of silence as he swallows in his throat, before speaking and finally looking over at you. “i love ya, doll,”

you should’ve stayed mad, you should’ve not accepted his awful apology, but you cannot hide the smile tugging at your lips. this is all you’ve asked for from him, and he finally has the courage to admit it.

“i love you too, dallas.” you say softly, leaning into the window and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “thank you,”

“you gotta stop sayin’ that, y/n,” he teases, playfully pushing you away. “go hang out with your stupid friends, man. i’ll come over tonight and hang.”

you nod, and walk away, looking back at him and seeing a small smile on his face. nothing could ruin this moment.

[friendlyblackhottiesworld]

[adorebreebree]

Somedays I actually get dressed. 🤝

[humanoidhistory]

Moog synthesizer and assorted gizmos at the University of North Texas, early 1970s.

[jonmcbrine-author]

Romulus better canonize this, settling the debate

[nailsandinspo]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

this man needs a home!

hello! this very friendly little stray orange boy in Houston TX needs somewhere to live that is not my house! I’m willing to drive within the texas triangle, or meet someone halfway. he is free to a good home and has had some basic vetting.

what’s his deal?

he’s about two, about ten pounds, and is freshly neutered, rabies vaxxed, and flea/tick/mite treated with revolution ii. he is a known community cat with no microchip, he will need a more thorough vetting and to be microchipped, but I’m currently unemployed and $200 is the max i can really spend on this man. happy to forward you his vet records, but my name and address are plastered all over them so i will not be posting them.

he’s extremely people-social and friendly (you can sling him around with one hand as he purrs up a storm) and im assuming cat social since I have seen him peaceably hanging out with other strays outside and he wants to be friends with my cat So Bad. he’s just orange.

why is he in my bathroom and why can’t he live there forever?

this cat has been the bane of my cat Mackintosh’s existence since we moved, because he wants to be friends So Bad i had to put up bird spikes on my windows and balcony to stop him from jumping up. he’s also been spraying on my front door. my cat’s solution to any stressor is throwing up. in the process of ruling out various tummy troubles, my vet and i agreed that this little orange man is a major stress trigger and if he came back (i have not seen him in months) i should scoop him up and rehome him. my cat wants him dead and there would never ever be a peaceful introduction or coexistence, unfortunately.

who else has been contacted?

BARC, Friends4Life, Houston Cares, Purrfect Cat, Animal Justice League, Adopt A Cat Texas, and Citizens for Animal Protection. I’m making my way through a list of tiny private Facebook rescues, but every major shelter in Houston is genuinely at capacity. we are going to try again at BARC next Sunday (9/15) during their open intake hours, since we tried last Sunday and they accepted exactly three cars. if the absolute worst comes to worst he will go back outside, since I’m not willing to put my existing cat through the severe anxiety of this man in her home for more than two weeks. however that is only a partial solution to “the sight of this cat makes my cat flip her shit and then throw up her next two meals”. hopefully it will stop him spraying on my front door though.

[latelyloxiv]

outta the way she's about to whip up the meanest rack of dry rub ribs you've ever tasted 🍖

(she/her)

[of-themysciraa]

more complete poll re: @unclear-asdf

drivable distance is 2 hours or less.

[stinkygirl009]

Johnny Cade definitely won’t stop staring at you until you tell the truth.

“Johnny? Can you stop staring..?”

johnny continues to stare waiting for you to give up and tell him the truth.

“Johnny. Stop it.”

“well?” johnny finally said.

“you goin’ to tell me that again?”

Johnny leaned more toward you. The more you looked into his eyes the more you felt guilty. His original puppy eyes now gone. He wasn’t stupid, he was anything but that. His parents lied to all the time. But why would you?

“Go on, you can say it. But you think I’ll believe that?” The part that you hated about this was he was patient the whole time with you.

you had to look away. You couldn’t Stand seeing him, it just made you more mad at yourself.

“Keep your eyes on me.” He said. Now you couldn’t tell if he was mad or not:

“don’t be thinking that you can lie to me and I’ll believe you. We’re supposed to be in this relationship together, y/n”

he leaned forward and grabbed your chin and made you turn your head, he wasn’t rough though.

“why are you lying’ to me, y/n?”

[obsessedbyneon]

Collin Creek Mall, Dallas, Texas, 1981.

Scan

[cranberrv]

sweet

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston sneaks into your bedroom

( a/n : this request was so cute! i want dal so badly HOLYY but anyway i hope u cuties enjoy )

the smoke of a candle danced through your room, coating it in a subtle smell of vanilla. the beatles was playing on vinyl, the record spinning endlessly. your vanity was covered in expensive makeup and one of the lightbulbs on the fairylights strung to your wall was flickering, slowly burning out. the new pink pyjamas that your mother bought you sat comfortably on your skin, and the pages of a book were flipping every few minutes.

you feel a sense of calm as you relax. it’s storming heavily out but you’re safe inside, your parents are asleep, and it’s just you and your little dog hanging out on your bed. you’re almost ready to blow out your candle and head to bed.

until you hear a knock on the window. you jump at the sudden sound disrupting your quiet time, but ignore it, thinking it’s just the wind. but then it happens again multiple times. your head is going to worst-case scenario. serial killer? kidnapper? you don’t know, but they’re impatient. so you hesitate, but peak through your lacy curtains. your lover, dallas winston, is staring at you.

you relax your shoulders and sigh, opening your window. “you scared me,” you whisper-yell so you don’t wake your parents. “how do you know where i live?”

“two-bit told me,” he tells you, talking in a normal voice. you elbow him, and he whispers as he continues. “i should be asking you why another man knows your address.”

“i babysit his sister, he drops her off all the time,” you whisper. you’re annoyed at him for showing up at midnight, and you’re about to force him out, until you notice how drenched with rain he is. “you’re all wet, dal,” you sigh. “are you cold?”

he shakes his head and shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed. “nah, i’m alright, sugar,”

you sit beside him and gently rest your hand on his cheek for a second, checking his temperature to see if he’s lying. “you’re freezing,” you have a worried look in your eye. he knows it all too well, you get nervous for him easily. “i’ll go get you a towel. do you want hot chocolate?”

“baby, i ain’t gonna die of hypothermia,” he assures. “i don’t need hot chocolate.”

“okay,” you give him a kiss on the cheek, then stand up and walk out of the room to grab a towel.

as you walk out of the room and into the hallway, careful not to step on creaky floorboards and wake your loved ones up, dallas sits up from the bed, and starts looking around your room. he’s never been in a rich kids house before. he picks up your expensive lipstick from your vanity, the one you wear everyday, the one that stains his face when you kiss him. he picks up your perfume — he loves your perfume. he loves how you smell, rosey and feminine. the smell of you makes him feel serene, relaxation washing over him. you have this way about you that makes him feel so safe.

after he’s done looking at your vanity and your shelves of books and crystals, he catches a glimpse of himself in the vanity. he doesn’t fit in with you or your room. his hair is wet, his jacket is dirty, his shoes aren’t shiny and he looks roughed up. but what’s funny is that you don’t even care. most socs care about their reputation, they would never want to be seen around a greaser, but you don’t care. he’s never experienced unconditonal love like yours before.

you walk back in with a pink towel and see him looking at himself. “doing your makeup, dal?” you tease, and he playfully rolls his eyes in response.

“very funny, sweetie,” he sits back down on your bed and takes off his jacket.

you sit down beside him and start drying him off, because frankly, you don’t trust him to do it himself. you brush his bare shoulders and you pat his hair with the towel. he’s watching you do it all, admiring your focus and your need to take care of him. he takes your free hand in his own calloused hand, gently rubbing it with his thumb. he has so much love and thankfulness towards you, he just doesn’t know how to express it. him taking your hand causes you to lose your focus and look up at him. his gaze doesn’t drift, a soft smile on his face as your cheeks blush.

“i think i’m dry enough,” he whispers.

you nod, and set the towel down. “okay,”

he takes a breath before speaking again. “can i stay over here tonight?”

you hesitate. you would love for him to stay over, you would love to talk to him all night and spend time with him, but it’s a school night. “my dad wakes me up during school days, dallas, he’ll see you,” you whisper. “and i don’t really want him to know that a boy snuck in my room.”

“what? why? you’ll get grounded or somethin’? c’mon, doll, nothing is gonna happen,” you shrug, and he continues. “i just want to spend some time with my girl, is that a crime?”

“he’ll be mad—“ you start, but he interrupts you with a compromise.

“i’ll be out at 6:00, your old man won’t see me. i gotta help buck clean up the bar, anyway,” he insists.

“..fine.” you agree, a little smile growing on your face at the excitement of dallas sleeping over.

he gives you a peck on the lips. you guys continue talking for a little bit longer, about how he didn’t know you babysat two-bit’s sister, and about how your teacher got you in trouble for chewing gum. and when your beatles record stops and you change it, he tells you he’s never listened to them before because they’re a “soc band.”

after a while, you two are lying down, still talking in hushed whispers. it’s mostly you talking, but he loves your voice, so he doesn’t mind. his arm is around you, pulling you into his side. you let out a small yawn as you start to get tired, and he gives you a gentle pat on your back.

“go to sleep, sugar,” he tells you.

you disagree with him. “i like talking to you,”

“yeah, well, you can do that all you want tomorrow, doll,” he takes a breath. “you wanna swing by buck’s tomorrow?”

“yeah,” you nod. “i’ll come after school.”

he rubs your back gently, and adjusts himself to get more comfortable.

“can you blow out the candle?” you ask him before he gets too tired.

he nods, and leans over to your bedside table to blow it out, then he turns off the lamp. his st. christopher necklace and the smoke are the only things you can see in the darkness hugging you two. the beatles continues to play in the background, and you two stay close together, a feeling of serenity in the air. dallas chooses to stay awake for a bit longer, watching you fall into a peaceful state as you sleep.

dallas isn’t the same person with you as he is when he’s in public. when he’s with his friends, or even walking around town, he has this intimidating aura that can scare anyone who has the mispleasure of walking past him. he has a dangerous reputation around tulsa, and he’s seen as a teenage dirtbag who’s been to jail more times than you can count.

but when he’s around you, he’s completely different. his walls are torn down the minute he smells your perfume. he lets you take care of him, he doesn’t wipe off the lipstick stains on your face, and he’s oh so sweet.

so as he watches the candle smoke dance through the room, he can come to one conclusion. he will never leave the safe place that he calls you.