hi! can i request an imagine or some hc about lying in bed with ponyboy just talking about insignificant things or life or whatever thank youuu💛
edit. oh of course !! dt to @ponyboyvhs & @theoutsidies cause i know u two are my resident ponyboy stans!! enjoy babies
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆
His hands are heavy on your hips. He keeps shifting nervously, like he’s not sure if he’s holding you right. You’ve settled down now, though, curled up beside him with his arm snaked around you. The ceiling is empty, but something about the way he stares at it makes it seem like the roof of a Colosseum.
He sighs lightly through his nose, and you turn on your side to face him. “Whatcha thinkin’?”
His eyes flicker, just for a second, and you watch as they do. He’s warm, and you’re focused on the feeling, his nervous fingers chasing each other, tracing circles on your waist.
His lips part, but only for a moment. The gears in his head are turning; his eyebrows knit together like they always do when he’s thinking hard about something.
“Just...,” he starts, but stops short again. You lean up on your arm and look down at him, soft. The green in his eyes hardly shows when it’s this dim — it’s a little disappointing. He has such pretty eyes.
“I’m just thinkin’ about that play. Hamlet,” he says, and sucks in another breath. “Like, that part where his uncle — like, I dunno — repents? So he can die all sinless, or whatnot.”
You lie back down and rake your mind for the scene he was talking about. English had never been your strongest subject — Pony knew that. You weren’t keen on all the old plays your teacher assigned you.
It comes back to you in fragments, vaguely. He was talking about the scene with King Claudius — Hamlet makes to kill him, but he’s already on his knees in confession. Hamlet knows then that if he kills the king, the king’s soul will be forgiven.
Hamlet didn’t want that. Claudius was a pig. You thought so too, thinking back on it. He was a horrible man.
“What about it?” you say, and fall back down beside him, nuzzling lazily into his neck.
“I dunno,” Pony shrugs. “It’s just awful heavy, if you think about it.”
He draws in a long breath and nips at his bottom lip for a second before he opens his mouth again to speak. “Well, Hamlet’s dad and his brother ain’t ever got a chance to pray. ‘Cause of the king. His uncle.”
“So they’d never been forgiven,” he explains. “I think that’s how it works, at least. In the play.”
“They’d never been forgiven, but the old King had?” you asked, and gazed back up toward the ceiling. The way Pony seemed to trace the familiar cracks in the paint made it feel like you were looking up into a sky full of stars.
“Yeah,” Pony says. “Hamlet ain’t got a leg to stand on after that, ‘cause he can’t really get his revenge. Claudius is forgiven and all.”
You nod, pursing your lips. He was the only one who could ever make plays seem even a little interesting, and you think about that while you trace a circle on his chest.
“Just makes me think.” he says.
His breathing goes short, but only for a second. You feel your heartbeat pick up softly in your throat, and you clear you mind, keen on focusing in on his words.
“Just...,” he starts. “Y’think Dally woulda been forgiven? Just like that?”
You’re quiet for a moment, not quite sure what he wants to hear.
“And Johnny? You think Johnnycake got to say he was sorry, and all? You know, if that’s how things really are, with God and stuff.”
You grip the cloth of his sweater softly in your fingers, and your eyes harden thoughtfully.
“You know,” you start softly, “I think they was just kids. Ain’t no god gonna leave a scared kid behind like that. Ya dig?”
“Bet they’re up there right now,” you say, and smile softly into the crook of his neck. “Dal’s probably raisin’ hell.”
“Raisin’ hell? In Heaven?”
You laugh a little, and he does too. “Poor word choice.”
He’s quiet again. There’s something troubling in his eyes.
“You think I’ll get forgiven?” His voice is soft and low this time; you can practically taste the guilt on his tongue. He missed Johnny, and you did, too.
You don’t have the right words, so you stay thinking. Quiet.
He yawns softly, and you can feel your eyes drooping. “Pony?” you whisper, watching his eyes slip closed.
The silence between you is easy, and it sings you to sleep.
⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆
tags. @kittymacaroons @curvydolleros @cherryvintagecoke @radioactivespiderdork @theoutsidies @ponyboyvhs @greaserbloom1324 @reddieformileven @curtiswinstoncade @dallys-a-nasty-boy @interwebseriesfan24 @staygoldponebone @8osbabe @rctroeras @staygold-motherfucker @curly-hair-kid @steveandsoda
baratheonpilled
stormborns
vaporwave
prguitarman
ellievsbear
kianamaiart
