#copines | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

broareweabouttoviberightnow · 20 days ago

Note

i yearn for ponyboy angst after johnny and dally die and for once he needs darry and not soda...or more of the curtis bros grieving their parents/their friends/their childhoods together. just curtis bro angst all day every day. love ur stuff!

AGH!! TY LOVE!! this ask has been truly rottin' in my brain I thought about it durin' my ENTIRE shift today!! I hope you like it!! fic under the cut!!

also song >:D

"Pony?" Darry's sayin' my name in a way that implies he's been sayin' it a while. I blink at him 'n I don't know where I've been. My fingers are all wrapped up in my jeans, white-knuckled. I try to relax but my body doesn't listen to me one bit, so I forget it.

"I've been callin' you, where were you at?" He crosses the room 'n taps a finger gently to my temple, brushin' my bangs off my forehead.

I shrug 'n he worries at his lip. "Somewhere else, I guess." Darry looks stricken but that's how he always looks nowadays: worried.

"I gotta talk to you about your hair, Pony baby." I inhale sharply 'n Darry's face twists up a little more. He moves all slow, eases down onto the couch beside me 'n wraps an arm around my shoulders like I might fall to pieces.

"I'm not colorin' it I swear to God I'm not-" Steve had made a joke, some comment, maybe even just a suggestion, that I dye my hair back to its normal color. I don't think he meant anythin' bad by it. I dunno. I can see it more now. Darry's rough 'cause he's scared. Steve was mean when he meant to be kind. I think Dallas was like that. Rough 'cause he didn't know how to be soft.

I think I said somethin' awful to him. I was always doin' that. Bein' cruel 'cause it all hurt so bad. Last week Darry 'n I had fought 'cause it's all we knew how to do 'n I'd told him I bet he wished I had died that night. Just like-

I didn't mean it. I never meant it. I didn't know how to not mean it.

"Honey?" I shake my head. Darry's lookin' at me again with big scared eyes 'n I know I've done it again. Gone somewhere.

"Sorry." Darry cups the side of my face, there are new wrinkles alongside his eyes. He always looks like he's just waitin' for somethin' bad to happen.

"S'ok, baby. I ain't gonna make you do nothin' to your hair." Soda's beside me now, too. I don't remember when he got there. "We've been talkin' 'n baby... we need you to let us help you wash it."

I flinch. Hard. Straight back into Soda's arm 'n know he had it there, ready to brace me. "No." Darry sighs, glances over my head, 'n Soda gathers me up into his arms.

"Look, honey. I'm not gonna make you. But I think... you'll feel a bit better. You don't gotta take a shower or nothin'. Maybe a bath?" Darry tries, reachin' out 'n coverin' my hand in his.

"No." I don't know what it was. I'd gone through the damn fire 'n come out scared of the fuckin' water. That night in the fountain was a million years ago. Glory, I don't know how I had space in my head to even remember it.

But I did. Fuck. I did.

"Hey Pony? Can we try somethin' else then? If you humor me?" Soda's tone is pliant 'n a little too bouncy. It gets like that sometimes. But someone has to be alright. So we don't mention it.

He climbs off the couch, pulls me gently up 'n I don't fight it. Darry's got a hand on my shoulder 'n Soda's got his arms around me still 'n they were like this more. Since. Like if they weren't always touchin' me I'd fade right away into nothin'. Sometimes it was nice. Sometimes it made me want to bite 'n tear 'n fuckin' scream.

The kitchen counter is clear, a couple towels folded onto the table, a chair tipped back against the sink. Soda guides me over to the chair, asks me a million questions in those big brown eyes he has that I don't know how to go about answerin'.

Are you fine? Is this fine? Does this remind you of- Does this remind you- Does this-

"Look, if you sit here you can rest your head back 'n I can wash your hair out without havin' to get you any closer to the water. D'ya think... that's somethin' you can stomach?" Soda's off to my side doin' all the talkin' but I'm lookin' straight out at Darry. He's still got a hand on my shoulder 'n Jesus. Has he always looked at me like that?

He shifts his weight 'n furrows his brow. His hand comes up slowly like I'm a spooked animal that might bolt. Some kicked dog. Some scared foal. He cups the side of my face 'n it occurs to me. It's the same place he'd once struck.

Odd. Both times touched in fear. A million years apart. I'm not even sure he notices.

"Pony?" I finally tear my eyes off Darry 'n when I twist my head, he lets his hand fall back to my shoulder.

"Ok." My voice aches. It always does. Maybe from the smoke. Maybe from the cold burn of that still water rottin' in my lungs even now. "Ok, I'll try." The look that Soda 'n Darry shoots over my head is filled with such a palpable relief I nearly cry.

"Ok, baby. I know this isn't easy. D'you think you can... take his jacket off?" Soda already has both hands around my biceps, just gently restin' there like he knows I'm gonna flinch again. "I ain't gonna take it-" My eyes flicker to Darry 'n hurt flashes across his face (not meanin' it, not knowin' how not to)- "'n neither is Dar. I just don't wanna get it wet 'n mess it up, ok hon? But if it's too much I can just try my best to avoid it?"

I clutch at the collar. 'N I can hear his voice clear as day. You better not fuck that leather up. You have no idea how much trouble it was to steal.

'N I almost laugh. Almost.

"He'd kill me if I let you give it the kitchen sink treatment." 'N my voice sounds all thick in my ears. I want to laugh. I want Dallas to knock me up the back of my head for even thinkin' of it. I want-

"Oh, Ponybaby." Soda's arms are around me again. I'm cryin'. When did I start cryin'? Why? 'N it's one of those times I don't want them to hold me. Jesus. It makes me want to run. To let the ache in my throat dissolve into the burn in my lungs. I want to bite 'n tear 'n scream.

But all I can do is sit there. Stiff in the arms I wish I could melt into.

"Soda." Darry drops a hand onto his shoulder 'n gently pries him off of me. When he takes his face out of my neck his cheeks are wet 'n I don't know whether it's my tears or his. "He's not-"

Here.

For a long moment, none of us move. Like a gunfight. Or a caged animal. 'N then I drag blunt nails under my eyes 'n scrub my face 'n Darry blows out a long breath like he'd been holdin' it. He lets go of Soda 'n we all go back to pretendin' nothin' happened. Or at least I do.

"Do you... want help?" When I look down my knuckles are white against the collar. I flex my fingers 'n they burn like that time I'd split them against some socs' jaw. Or that night Johnny 'n I had slept in the backyard out under the stars 'n the cold scalded along my hands 'n cracked my skin 'n I'd bled 'n bled 'n bled-

"Don't make me do it." 'N when I'd looked up at Darry I knew he understood what I meant. I squeezed my eyes shut 'n felt hands roughened by labors of love that had done nothin' but leave him with callouses 'n scars rest at my neck. He pulls the jacket off quickly 'n the rush of winter air slinkin' through the cracks we'd never be able to seal up scorches against my bare arms. I don't open my eyes until Darry presses the bundle to my chest.

When I look to Soda again, his face is dry 'n he's wearin' this encouragin' little smile that tugs too tight on the edges of his mouth. "You ready, Pony?"

I nod. Just a bob of my chin that takes every last ounce of strength in me. Darry turns, yanks another chair close to my side 'n Soda guides my head down to the sink.

The tap flips on. A lonely titterin' against the empty bowl. I don't control anythin' that happens after. Not the low, whimperin' sob that snakes out of my mouth. Not the way my shoulders jar up 'n away. Not my nails bitin' into Darry's arm so hard they leave bloody, half moons in their wake.

"No. Soda, no. Soda. I can't." Darry smooths one hand over my forehead 'n I reach for his wrist, catch it tight 'n hold on like if I don't let go he can keep me out of that night. If I can keep him here I can't go back.

"Pony?" Soda drops down so he can see my face. Reaches out to wrap me in his arms 'n I flinch. Fuckin' flinch. Right back 'n up into Darry's lap.

'N none of us are movin' again. Soda's falterin' in place, arms half reached out 'n face a mask of hurt 'n Jesus why do I always hurt the people I love? Why can't I stop bitin' the hand that wants to hold me?

"What is it, Pony? Are you here?" 'N I can't make my voice or body or anythin' work the way it should. But before I can stop it I choke out-

"Darry." 'N Darry lets out a little noise from somewhere so far in the back of his throat it comes out like a whimper.

"Oh, little colt." 'N suddenly his arms are around me again. My face is pressed into his chest 'n I'm heavin' deep sobs that have been rottin' in my chest for too long. Since before Dallas or Johnny. Before the week in the church or that night in the park. Maybe since Mama. Since Daddy. Since the last person to call me that was put in the freezin' Tusla earth.

"I love you." 'N it's whispery 'n waverin' 'n also the surest thing I've ever heard. 'N this time when I feel Soda return to my side, feel Darry open his arms 'n hold us both like were disappearin' before his eyes I just let myself be held. "You're here."

I am.

'N then he's shiftin' 'n I'm clutchin' his shirt tighter 'n he's pettin' my hair 'n tippin' my head back 'n not makin' me let him go though I'm too goddamn old 'n too big to be beggin' for my older brother.

"Keep your eyes closed, colt." 'N Soda's whisperin' somethin' low 'n soft 'n just louder than the sound the tap makes as it drip drip drips against the sink. 'N when the water runs along my temples 'n along the line of the scar that I'll carry until I die from the night I lost two brothers I don't think of the fountain.

No.

I think about the hot afternoon I won my first track race, felt sweat slide along my brow 'n saw the sun glint off Dallas' silver tooth even from way up in the stands. Hear the whoop of his voice still marred thick 'n heavy with his New York drawl. I think of runnin' home through the lot dodgin' the fat rain drops 'n stoppin' only to let Johnny catch up. Throwin' my head back 'n laughin'. Of the spray of a passin' car. I think of Soda laughin' as he flicks the spatterin' of water left on his hands at my face when we finish the dishes 'n mama not even scoldin' us.

I think of Darry's hands wet from the laundry as he runs a thumb absently over my face. Memorizin' it with calloused fingers when he thinks I've dropped off to sleep. The gentleness of his achin' love for us. Low 'n constant 'n how had I ever missed it?

"We're done, honey." 'N then I'm buried in his chest again, Dallas' jacket pressed against my stomach 'n Johnny's letter tucked into the inside pocket closest to my heart. Bangs drippin' cold between my brow, along my nose, 'n minglin' with tears never gone long enough to dry. 'N for the first time since it all, I'm right here. 'N it doesn't even hurt. It just aches.

36 notes · View notes

chernabogs · 1 year ago

Note

AMES WHAT IF 46 WITH MALLEUS WHAT IF MALLEUS WHAT IF HELP AAAAAAAA

yeah yeah YEAH... I rescinded my usual angst for something sweeter bc ik we're all out in the trenches rn with the c7 update <3

SACCHARINE

Inc: Malleus, Reader, an old bookkeeper guy WC: 2.7k Warnings: Noneee this is nice i promise LMAO. A little Malleus x Reader, but you can def take it as platonic banter or romantic undertone (reader's just out to poke fun) Excerpt: He leans back ever so slightly to peer around the shelf at the new arrival. When his attention locks on them, his eyebrows raise in surprise as he sets yet another book aside. Oh, you. He didn’t know you knew this store.

The bite of winter is a sentimental reminder of home as he pushes open the glass door, listening to the chime of the bell above signify his arrival. He’s almost immediately assaulted by the scent of leather and old pages, mixed with a dash of something cinnamon-like from further within. His footsteps cause the floorboards beneath to groan in protest—how humbling—as the elderly man from behind the counter turns his cataract-clouded eyes Malleus’ way.

“Back so soon?” His voice is as frail as the books his store contains, straining with over seventy years of speaking as he sets his newspaper down. Malleus raises an eyebrow before letting the front door swing shut behind him. He frequently fears the frigid air from outside may take the bookkeeper down. “I could have sworn you just visited yesterday.”

“Did I?” Malleus’ voice is light as he begins to circle the front of the store, his ease making it apparent just how familiar he is with the place. “I fear we’re both losing time, in that case.”

The bookkeeper snorts before lifting his paper up again and adjusting the glasses which perch precariously on his nose. “You’re too young to be talking about losing time.”

“And you’re too old to be bemoaning it,” Malleus shoots back with a slight grin on his lips. Before, he may have been reluctant to exchange banter with the man, lest he offend him somehow. But almost three years of visits has now reassured him that the old man can take whatever Malleus throws—and give it back tenfold.

A chuckle leaves the bookkeeper, followed by a wheeze and a coughing fit. The sound brings Malleus to a pause until he receives a wave of reassurance. At that, Malleus focuses his attention on the books, moving swiftly to the back of the store where the first-edition copies reside. Because money is no issue for him, he’s taken to indulging in rare purchases to sate his curiosity (and to keep the bookstore afloat, although he’ll never admit to such).

He’s starting to form a small pile on the table next to him when he hears the bell chiming once more. He can’t see the front door from the corner where he hides, but he can hear the creaking of floorboards as someone else enters. The bookkeeper coughs again before speaking a greeting, which is echoed in turn by a voice that captures Malleus’ attention further. He leans back ever so slightly to peer around the shelf at the new arrival. When his attention locks on them, his eyebrows raise in surprise as he sets yet another book aside.

Oh, you.

He didn’t know you knew this store.

Your voice is cheerful as you approach the desk, speaking with the bookkeeper about where you may find the textbooks in here. Malleus isn’t trying to listen in—after all, that’s a terribly rude thing to do—but it’s hard for him not to completely lock in on your voice any time he hears it. He’s taking books off the shelves and setting them aside now without even registering it as he continues to listen in.

“—alchemy books. I have a textbook for the class, but some of the concepts are still quite unfamiliar to me, so I’m hoping for… supplemental reading, I guess?” You sound almost bashful as the bookkeeper shuffles out from behind the desk, hobbling his way to the shelves near Malleus and leaving you to trail behind. For some reason, the proximity makes Malleus sink further into the corner, as though he’s trying to hide from you as he grabs the books.

It isn’t that he’s avoiding you like he would Sebek or Silver, should they try to hunt him down in here. More that… well. He feels it slightly embarrassing to be caught holding himself up in this store, even if by the likes of you. He begins to move along the shelves in his bid to escape before being spotted. He would simply leave more than enough madol on the counter to pay for the books and depart into the blustering streets with no further incident.

“Well, I’m not too familiar with what you NRC students need…” The bookkeeper sighs, the sound of books being shuffled around indicating what you’re both up to right now. Malleus is close to rounding the corner to get out of this section when he hears a thoughtful hum.

“But I know someone who is. Malleus, would you mind helping us out for a moment?”

Exposed!

Malleus draws to a short stop with the books cradled in his arms as he reluctantly peers over his shoulder in your direction. He sees the bookkeeper looking from around the shelf at him, and then he sees your head poke out as well. Your eyebrows shoot up and you half-point his way.

“Malleus?” You repeat, confusion lacing your words. Understandable. No one expects the Housewarden of Diasomnia, as you know him, to be trying to creep out of a bookstore on a dull Saturday afternoon. He clears his throat and straightens up before facing you both.

“Prefect. How surprising to encounter you here.” He hums, his voice definitely not betraying the silent yelling of protest that’s playing in his mind. The bookkeeper's face lights up when he realizes you both know each other, and then a cunning glint appears in those milky blue eyes, of which Malleus knows spells out his inevitable demise.

“You two know each other, hm? That ought to make it easier, then.” The bookkeeper moves to return to his desk, but not before patting Malleus’ arm in passing. “I appreciate the help.”

“I never…” Malleus mumbles, before sighing and simply choosing to nod instead. If there’s one thing he’s come to learn from dealing with both his grandmother and Lilia, it’s that when the elderly decide on something, it’s near pointless to argue otherwise. He watches the bookkeeper depart with a scathing look at the man’s back before his expression eases and he turns his attention back to you. Then, he sighs. “What is it that you’re searching for?”

You’re still gawking at him, but it’s with his words that you quickly right yourself again and clear your throat, tugging at the scarf around your neck. “Alchemy books. I have it next term and I’m dead terrified Crewel will end up keeping me after every class. Ace and Deuce have the basics down, but I…”

“—are not from here, and therefore failed to receive it at the elementary level.” Malleus finishes off as he comes to stand by your side. He peers up at the textbooks available with a slight frown. Most of them are so outdated that trying to learn concepts would be pointless, while others have little relevance at all to what Crewel teaches. He hums to himself as you alternate between peering at him and at the shelves.

“Bad selection?” You finally ask, and he nods sombrely.

“Terrible selection.” He speaks louder than necessary and leans back to give a pointed look at the bookkeeper, who once again returns it tenfold. The exchange does make Malleus’ lip twitch up in amusement again before he looks back to the shelves. “I’m afraid that these novels would serve better in aiding you for a history paper than an actual alchemy class.”

“Damn.” You press your hands on your hips as you look at the options despairingly. “Might have to pay out for tutor lessons at this rate…”

Tutor lessons? Malleus isn’t entirely sure of your financial situation, but considering the dorm that you live in, he bets that you sit on the lower end of the wealth spectrum. Paying for additional lessons would be sure to create a dent in your wallet that may become dangerous over time. His smile fades slightly and he narrows his eyes.

“I have a few books back in my room that you can take. They are textbooks, but they are ones that the course no longer uses. I’m not sure how much they’ll help, but they may at least keep you from paying additional costs.” He adjusts his grip on the small library he holds as he looks back your way. “I likely would have thrown them out when I finished at NRC anyway.”

Your shoulders relax as a relieved grin spreads across your face. “Seriously? How much for them?”

“Don’t concern yourself with paying me.” He nudges you to follow him to the front of the store. The bookkeeper watches keenly as he sets the books down to be checked out. First editions, with a few second reprints in the pile. You stand close by his side as you gaze over his selections.

“You got a lot of fantasy books there,” you muse as you begin lifting the books to peer at the covers. Malleus raises his eyebrow while focusing on pulling his wallet out to pay. “Fantasy, fantasy, a harlequin romance looking one,”

“What?” His attention snaps back to the pile at that comment as you laugh over his reaction. He’s sure he put those ones back before checking out.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Although I wouldn’t judge you if there was one or two—a lot of people are suckers for that happy ending.” You nudge his side playfully as the bookkeeper scans the last of the novels. When he reads out the total, Malleus ignores the wheezing sound he hears from your direction before paying it with debit—something Lilia was dead insistent he got. It’s only when the two of you are leaving the store that you finally speak, your voice sounding as though in pain from the words you just heard.

“Seven hundred madol dropped just like that?” You sigh as you put your hands in your pockets. The two of you come to a stop just outside the store as Malleus adjusts the bag he holds to pull on his gloves.

“Well. It was for a good reason.” Snow is beginning to fall around you both in the form of large white flakes as you wait patiently for him to finish. Your red scarf is the brightest thing in this land of bleak white, gray, and orange from the shop lights that you stand in. He thinks it suits you—to be a splash of color against the monotonous world.

You seem to disagree with him as you laugh, your breath escaping in the form of mist that dances to the skies above. “Right. Are you in a rush to head back, or can you spare a few more minutes?”

The question intrigues him enough to look up from where he’s wrestling with his one glove to your expectant gaze. Your expression becomes more amused as you move forward to help.

“I have time. Why?” He allows you to touch his wrist and fix his attire because it’s oddly endearing. The casual compassion that you seem to show for everyone around you is something he can’t relate to—perhaps it’s a uniquely human thing. All the Fae he knows tend to be reserved in everything they do, and yet upon coming to NRC, he’s discovered this is not quite the norm.

_____________________________

Never Peak is precisely the kind of place one would read about in a novel. It’s a quaint location, with murals painted on the walls within and enough windows that the space is flooded with light. Malleus appreciates the warmth that fills his body when he enters the cafe behind you, moving to a nearby table to take a seat. A few patrons send him surprised looks as he settles in and you dart off to the front counter, insisting that ‘you’ll get him something nice.’

He isn’t overly bothered by the looks. He can only hope they won’t turn into questions as he props his chin in his hand and pulls out one of his books. It’s a first edition tale written in a language he doubts many know anymore, if any at all. Blessed be that his tutors drilled these things into his head, lest he ever ‘encounter someone who speaks it!’ down the line. He opens the front cover, wincing at the way the spine creaks in protest and the pages flutter up, before beginning to read the first chapter. He’s vaguely aware of your presence at the front counter, and he keeps a part of his attention on you while waiting for your return.

Fortunately, the line is short enough that you return moments later, announcing your presence by setting down a large porcelain cup in front of him.

“Okay, so.” You also set down a plate with an array of little pastries on it as you throw yourself into the seat across from him. “The guys and I discovered this recently and it’s been blowing our minds ever since. What you need to do is bite into one of these pastries, right? And then don’t swallow the pastry, but instead take a drink of the thing I bought you and swallow it all at once. It’s like abstract art in your mouth, I swear.”

The cup you’ve set down is so full of whipped cream that he can’t tell what kind of drink you bought. He looks between it and the pastries in interest before grabbing the cups handle. “Abstract art in my mouth?”

“Yeah like, pop! Bang!” You explain eagerly as you grab your own mug. You pick up one of the pastries and take a generous bite before following up with a swig from your mystery drink. Malleus stares at you in both amusement and skepticism as you nod your head and wave a hand. “It’s worth it, believe me.”

“Pop, bang.” He mumbles under his breath before following the steps you just demonstrated. He takes a bite of a pastry, his brow furrowing at the creamy sweetness that floods his mouth, before taking a drink from his mug. Whatever you bought has a spicy taste to it, and when it touches the pastry, it creates an explosion of flavor so saccharine that he leans back into his seat in surprise. “Oh?”

“Right?” You’re grinning ear to ear as you wave your pastry. “It’s like the sweetness is amplified by ten.”

You seem so excited to share this moment with him that he doesn’t want to tell you he isn’t exactly a fan of saccharine flavors. The sweetness can be overwhelming to his senses and make his stomach-ache in the aftermath. But you look so eager, and he knows that this makes you feel better for taking the books he offered, that he takes another bite of the pastry and repeats the process. If this will make him curl up on his bed for the next few hours with stomach pain strong enough to cripple a bull, at least it’ll be worth it for the joy you seem to feel in his presence.

“Do you like it?” You ask once more, leaning on the table as he swallows. Malleus takes a breath and sets his mug down. The snow still falls outside, the faint smell of leather from the books still permeates between you both, and warmth is beginning to flood his body from the spiced drink he’s downing in your honour. He looks to your face, to the sunny smile on your lips and the joy in your gaze, and exhales softly.

“It’s wonderful, Prefect. Absolutely wonderful.”

#malleus draconia #twst malleus #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #post c7 how we copin folks LMAO

152 notes · View notes