ari-lawrence

[ari-lawrence]

joeyhawthorne​:

Travelling solo as a woman goes like this; beyond boondocking, graywater and daily heavylifting, there’s the pervs. The kind who surface if you park in one space too long; the weirdos who’ll tailgate you ‘til you lose them at the lights. And of course, the car creeps. By now, Joey’s on first-name terms with mechanics across the entire West Coast. To them and their clientele, tits in an auto shop are a modern miracle; they’ll make chitchat to her cleavage, or patronise her like she’s a fucking pre-schooler. Sometimes, if she’s real lucky, they may even manage both.

But today, Joey’s not fucking having it. And sure, last night’s Pisco Sours may contribute to her lack of patience, but a hangover won’t stop her from snarling at the dick up front. “I’m sure you’re tearing up a whole ton of pussy with those teeth.” His response is more stammer than scathing and Joey laughs straight in his face before turning to the mechanic. “Problem besides this asshole?” She’s still smiling, something bright and easy despite her anger moments prior. “My engine. I think something needs replacing.” 

.

He almost laughed at the man’s expression, the confident bravado he’d just endured drying up as he scurried away. Fuck that guy. He’d be back later in the week, Ari was sure, ready for some new part to make his monster truck roar, and that realization was sobering, enough to chase the burgeoning smile from his usually stern features. “I bet his girl’s a crusty fleshlight.” She’s pretty, he noted, with full lips and a tiny, upturned nose.

This van’s fucking ugly, he thought as he approached it, requiring a bit of muscle to push up the heavy hood. “I’m Ari,” he introduced himself shyly, ever the professional. “The y’know,” he gestured at the inner workings of the engine with the wrench he held loosely in his hand, keeping his eyes glued there, “mechanic.” It sounded stupid out loud, not as liquid or smooth as he’d imagined. He draped himself over the front of the van to fiddle with something, an excuse not to look back at her. “Is it making a noise or something? Leaking some shit?”

[ari-lawrence]

stellamcnroe​:

“  𝐘𝐎𝐔’𝐑𝐄  𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄  ––––––  ”  stella  ends  the  call  without  realization  he  had  never  answered  the  phone  to  begin  with  .  she’s  happy  to  see  a  familiar  face  ,  back  turning  towards  the  newly  made  acquaintances  in  favor  of  giving  ari  her  undivided  attention  .  more  than  just  a  neighbor  ,  ari  was  the  first  person  stella  really  trusted  in  crescent  .  and  while  getting  along  with  new  friends  ,  drinking  and  dancing  ,  comes  easily  ,  trust  does  not  after  what  had  happened  back  in  las  vegas  .  

“  you  got  here  just  in  time  !  they  have  the  cutest  piano  player  whose  been  taking  requests  all  night  ,  i  even  got  him  to  play  part  of  your  world  and  i  swear  i  am  not  exaggerating  when  the  entire  bar  was  singing  along  .  ”  stella  catches  the  attention  of  the  bartender  so  he’s  aware  she  is  looking  to  order  and  then  she  peeks  back  at  ari  .  “  what  are  you  having  ?  first  round  is  on  me  ,  or  i  guess  the  second  round  too  since  we  are  already  one  shot  in  .  ”

“Another round?” Ari questioned, stony faced. He didn’t want to give in so easily. “I thought you were ready to leave.” His car was parked semi-illegally, but he should’ve known this would be more than a quick trip home from the bar. Stella had a way of convincing him, radiating light and laughter, her cheeks flushed with drink and excitement. She’d found a way into his life by accident— small encounters in dim halls of their shared apartment building, a girl living on her own in the downtown. She reminded him so much of family— she didn’t need protecting, just as his own sisters didn’t need it, but it provided a sense of comfort to know he could keep just one person safe.

She was however, relentless, and he finally abated. “Rum and coke,” he ordered, dark eyes flashing a warning that she knew by now was empty, “but just one. I’m not fuckin’ carrying you home.”

[ari-lawrence]

harlow-green​:

who : @ari-lawrence​

where : outside on the rocks

The breeze brushed against her skin as she pushed the door of the bar open. The spring warmth of the day sneakily turned to a winter chill when the sun disappeared. Harlow fingers wrapped around the ends of her sweater, burying themselves within as she pulled her sleeves to cover her hands. Her eyes glanced to her phone, about to call an uber when her shoulder thudded against someone. A small stumble back, brought her eyes to his face.

“Ari?” Harlow tried to recall a time Norah or Leon mentioned he lived here, but perhaps neither of them ever did. He felt dark, a black hole of unknowns just under his skin. She imagined much of him locked away in a box, buried in the corners of him that never knew light. A flicker of his rage flashed through her memory, bright and ephemeral like a flame traveling down a fuse. Watching the fury abate, she recalled desiring to know the feeling. Harlow fought the assumptions swirling in her head, reminding herself she didn’t know the man. She’d never know him.

Her heart beat in her chest, desiring to understand the feeling in her stomach. Nerves existed in her and poured from her consistently. Her skin tingled like bumblebees lived beneath buzzing. This was different, not following suit with the negative connotation of anxiety. His iris engulfed his pupils, both inky in tone as they blended together. The man intrigued her. She couldn’t help it. She wished he didn’t. “Harlow.” Her hand delicately laid on her chest as her name pushed through her lips tentatively. 

.

Ari stood smoking in the dark— a study of shadows acting as a chimney pipe, the thin stream of cigarette smoke he exhaled curling and stretching like the delicate hands of a dancer in the still winter air. He wasn’t drunk yet, but his mouth tasted like cheap lager as he made his way through the streets. He wouldn’t stop at On The Rocks for more than a fleeting glance inside— no, like a pale creature that lived beneath garden stones he would find someplace without so much light. He wasn’t miserable yet, but he’d find some to accompany him. The half-healed bruises and breaks in his skin itched as if to remind him.

The nudge was barely anything, he stood like a stone as the girl stumbled back— small, and bird-boned, he imagined she might shatter if she hit the pavement. He might’ve reached out to steady her if he was feeling particularly charitable, but instead he scowled. She turned, and he recognized her, however briefly. She knew his name, and his dark brows threaded together in two straight, angry stitches. What did she want?

“I didn’t fuckin’ ask,” he bit back, white teeth flashing in the dark. The way she introduced herself annoyed him— he remembered her name like he remembered everything, reluctantly. Stepping back to widen the space between them, he glowered. He’d feign ignorance, grind it like glass and hope it’d hurt her feelings, something to keep her away. “Who the fuck are you?”

[ari-lawrence]

why should i resolve things peacefully when i can fucking punch you in the face

[ari-lawrence]

rocarter​:

Irritation at the scenario flushes shadows to aureate features, tucking beneath the tilt of a jaw and angling it sharp, “no, and it’s never done this before.” Oceanic irises trail the man’s motions, watching as digits manoeuvre through the hood’s contents with a dexterity that Rowan could only imagine - it blooms embarrassment, then: a carmine flush to the cut of cheekbones at the thought that he was briefly useless in a way that would have his father splitting with ire. The formation of his company’s lilt to a diagnosis stirs Rowan from his thoughts, his attention returning in full to the man beneath the hood, canines rolling the flesh of a cheek inwards at the vision of a bicep’s coil as he worked at whatever it was that lay beneath a hood, “fuck, that doesn’t sound good,” but it comes out breathier than he had intended, a throat audibly clearing to sway his mind from how he was certain his fist had slipped beneath a waistband whilst watching a porno that started similarly to this once. “Nah,” a chin tilts to a shake, “I think the only thing in my trunk is a gym bag and a spare leash.” And a crystal that Andie had soaked in the sun or something that was supposed to have him avoiding any similar situation - though, Rowan didn’t divulge that. “That’d be great, thanks. There isn’t any reception up here, which is kinda the whole reason I come, but maybe I should be rethinking that,” the broad stretch of a shoulder lifts to a shrug. A mechanic? Maybe that crystal did work. “Ari? That’s cool - is it short for anything?” A grin curves a full mouth upwards, “Rowan. Thanks for coming to my rescue, I owe you.” 

A glove box is popped open, the blonde retrieving a sandwich bag of who knows what that he had fetched for Len, “probably best if this doesn’t take a visit to the shop.” Digits slip inside, rifling between the smaller baggies of coke to pull out a pair of joints, offering one towards the raven boy, “think of it as advanced payment?”  

Ari. Is that short for anything? He could’ve winced at the question— he hated his full name, hated the joke it had become and the explanation it required. “No. It’s just Ari,” he replied, almost stubbornly, casting his gaze down to the gravel and fine sand that lined the road. The next words pulled his dark eyes back up, his brow knitting together, unsure of what happened next. An extended hand for a handshake? A fist so they could knock them together? He managed at most a nod to the thanks, feeling like something small and pathetic, a bundle of weak twigs housed in his rigid body. The man went to his car to root through the interior, giving Ari an opportunity to sneak a sidelong glance at him. His name is Rowan, he thought to himself, feeling the warmth that came with knowing a name to put to a face.

There was something beautiful about him in an old way— and he thought of one of the zephyr’s in an old painting his sister liked, showing him a print of it in an art history text book, chattering about the details as she jabbed at the glossy page. He’d never paid attention until now, looking at the way light favoured Rowan, reflecting in his hair and off his skin he could see the resemblance. When Ari couldn’t meet his eyes, he watched the muscles that twitched in his forearms as he fumbled with a small, plastic bag. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught onto the meaning, the bright smile he was offered was contagious, and like a mirror he reflected it back, however dimly his own smile shined. “Yeah, why the fuck not?” Crossing over to the over branching canopy of a newly budded tree, he sat in the shadow of finger-like branches, with a view of the valley that opened up below. He wanted to sit in the late afternoon with him, he found himself thinking, in this place so far from the world, with this boy who reminded him of something plucked from a Renaissance painting. “You’re not in a rush?” He asked, clipping his tone to keep it from sounding jumpy— so as to not expose himself as the nervous prey animal he felt like.

[ari-lawrence]

stellamcnroe​:

starter:   closed  //  @ari-lawrence location:  anchor  management

𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐂  𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐒  𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐋𝐘  throughout  the  bar  as  stella  chases  another  shot  of  tequila  with  a  bite  of  a  lime  ,  hands  thrown  in  the  air  triumphantly  as  the  new  friends  made  cheer  around  her  .  it’s  how  most  nights  out  go  for  her  but  this  time  she  isn’t  quite  so  keen  on  taking  anyone  home  with  her  .  in  her  drunken  state  of  mind  the  address  to  her  new-ish  apartment  has  seemingly  been  filed  away  not  to  be  remembered  and  so  stella  did  the  only  thing  she  could  think  of  ,  call  her  neighbor  to  ask  for  a  ride  home  .  “  okay  i  think  we  can  squeeze  in  one  more  round  of  shots  and  pour  an  extra  one  for  ari  too  ,  it’s  the  least  i  can  do  to  thank  him  for  coming  to  get  me  .  ”  stella  peeks  at  her  phone  to  see  if  she’s  missed  a  call  and  instead  decides  to  call  him  again  ,  grinning  when  she  hears  his  voice  .  “  ari  !  where  are  you  ?  i  bought  you  a  shot  .  ”  

.

His evenings were not very exciting, not by any standard. When he was trying to stay out of trouble (which lately, was often), he stayed in, flipping through the channels of his box television, scrolling past advertisements for hair growth and clothing steamers, cartoons and some foreign drama with a woman shrieking words in another language at the screen. He was trying to stay under control, he told himself, but that promise felt like something nibbling at his insides, a rat in a room with a tendency to bite. His phone lit up at his side as he shovelled some corn chips mindlessly in his mouth— they were going stale, but so were half the things in his fridge— and he picked up the device, pressing it to his ear.

—

Arriving at the bar, he tugged down the riotous hem of his black bomber jacket. Ari didn’t like Anchor Management, with their stuffy clientele and fifteen dollar cocktails, but when Stella called, he felt duty bound to answer. She reminded him affectionately one of his sisters, someone young and a little reckless, someone who he didn’t mind looking out for. Pushing past the bouncer, he steeled himself as he walking in, scanning the crowd for her face. “Stell,” Ari called out, finally spotting her at the bar, tipping a shot glass into her red mouth. Reaching her, he stood by her side, not wanting to indicate any permanence by seating himself on a stool. “I brought my car, you want to get outta—“ Taking the shot pressed into his hand, he grimaces, but obediently swallowed it down. “Happy?”

[ari-lawrence]

@joeyhawthorne​

The worst part about modding cars was the assholes who loved modded cars. Ari was tired of them, of their mullets and shitty tattoos, of the chew they spat in nasty, black gobs on the asphalt outside his shop, leaving it there to fester like corrupted ant hills. He hated the way they talked too much about all the pussy they got with their racing car, how they leaned across the counter and told him with foul, nicotine yellowed teeth that nothing got their girl wet like the subwoofers dialled all the way up. Even his laugh was ugly, too loud and belly-deep, and he fantasized about sending a fist flying to meet the cartilage at the bridge of his already crooked nose. He did his best to keep his short fuse from running out while this particular customer was in the shop, biting back on his molars and becoming quieter than usual, a near mute as he took payment. He could almost taste blood on his tongue when the man finally slid away and another face appeared in front of him, this one softer, with a brighter smile. He loosened his grip on the counter top, the weak skin on his last four knuckles hardly healed and protesting. “Problem with your van?” Ari asked gruffly, nodding in the direction of the imposing vehicle parked crookedly in one of the empty bays of the shop.

[ari-lawrence]

[ari-lawrence]

✉️ INCOMING ➣ TEXT.

MICKEY: i love our talks

MICKEY: any idea when? weather's gettin warm i wanna get out on the road

MICKEY: speaking of... is your mazda spring ready

ARI: 2 weeks max

ARI: yeah took her out yesterday

ARI: ur fuckin dust shes fast as hell

[ari-lawrence]

Rick Bragg, All Over But the Shoutin’

[ari-lawrence]

rocarter​:

Location: Some back road  Status: Closed for @ari-lawrence​

Loneliness is a fauna that had grown in fields between ribs prior to his residency within a house of eight (and then some), and it’s now a rare bloom, pulled out at the roots by either the ever-present white noise of varying lilts and treacled laughter, or a frame draped across his lap. And so he seeks it sometimes, for he knew it intimately once, perhaps he missed it, perhaps he thought he still deserved it - and so Rowan goes out on his own every so often, driving off to the town’s edge where he’d be left to sit in silence. 

An hour is spent at a neglected lookout point, tucked high above the harbour and yet to be discovered by teenagers with the intent of hoarding it as a makeout spot- often he ended up there, a spot sans service that allowed him to truly experience being alone again. A key’s twist in the ignition spurs a sputtering sound that has him wincing; once, twice, three times he attempts, each ending with a dead engine and the incessant ping on his dash that signified something was wrong. The retrieval of his phone from the depth of a pocket confirms what he already knew: zero bars, no service.

And thus, a broad frame is beneath a lifted hood when the approach of another vehicle has him stepping out, a palm lifting to signal for the other to slow down. “My saviour,” it’s a honeyed greeting on approach, tethered to the upturn of a full mouth as digits lift to wipe at the sweat that had beaded along a brow, a track of ebony grease marring golden flesh, “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with the thing, I’ve been trying all these random tools in my trunk- not even sure how they got there, and I honestly might’ve fucked it up more. Any chance you can give me a hand?”

.

The cold was lifting, peeling heavy fingers from the coastal town and allowing warm sunshine to trickle in, melting ice from the dark roads that snaked along the outside of the town, and dark banks of snow that bordered along them. Ari’s car hummed as he pushed the throttle to the floor, testing how it’d perform after a near-dormant winter. The Mazda met the challenge easily, his blood singing with exhilaration as the speed climbed. Then, up a hill in a lonely spot he spotted the glare of the sun hitting an opened hood. Releasing his foot from the pedal, he slowed to a stop, guiding the car a head of the stopped vehicle, just under the boughs of a large oak tree, buds pricking the tips of it’s naked branches. He felt compelled to stop, knowing it was the right thing to do, like a lesson from an antiquated story he’d been told as a child. He sat in the car for a moment, exhaling nosily and ironing out the ever present scowl from his face before exiting it.

“It won’t start?” Ari asked in place of a greeting, his dark brows knitting together. He barely looked at the owner of the vehicle, his eyes focusing on the problem, breaking it down into parts and variables, manageable, solvable portions. He loved machines for this reason— they weren’t complicated, just gears and bolts with a place and a purpose.  He did a quick survey of what was under the hood, checking various fill lines and fluids, lifting up hoses to locate any leaks or cracks. “Probably the battery,” he decided, with a firm nod. “I can jump it.” He left the man’s side to root through the trunk of his car, opening a tool bag to look for cables and coming up empty. What kind of shitty mechanic— he cursed under his breath, he knew exactly where they were, he’d moved them when he switched to a truck for winter driving, and had forgotten to replace the set. “You have any cables?” Ari asked, finally meeting the man’s gaze. There was something light about him, in the easiness of his smile that reached his eyes, like the filtering of sunlight through the canopy of trees— he would’ve been jealous if he hadn’t felt strangely shy, like he needed to wrap himself in something sturdy, something secure, and he pictured himself enveloped in the shiny, dark wings of a beetle. The man shook his head no, and Ari nodded, jerking his chin in the direction of his own car. “I can give you a ride into town,” he offered. “I’m Ari, I’m a mechanic.”

[ari-lawrence]

✉️ INCOMING ➣ TEXT.

MICKEY: two more weeks?????? 🤨

MICKEY: is there any way u can make that a lil faster ol boy

ARI: i dont work for ups fuck off

ARI: it'll get done

[ari-lawrence]

✉️ INCOMING ➣ TEXT.

MICKEY: hey i left my car with you like a week ago

MICKEY: how much did the repair end up being????

MICKEY: also. is it done?

ARI: hi

ARI: parts still comin in

ARI: 2 more weeks sorry 4 wait

[ari-lawrence]

what’s up all u cool cats and kittens?? julie here bringing u another absolute disaster to hit the airwaves!! introducing ari lawrence— ur local neighbourhood brooding, miserable mechanic! please slam that read more to get to know a little more about him!

first: here’s his bio for some extra credit reading.

ari was born a long time ago in the ukraine— he was an abandoned baby and so he grew up in an orphanage and then a boys home ((this is the tragic part of his bio unfortch, if u want more gritty details pls see the full text))

he was adopted by the lawrence family at age 11. the lawrences are a sweet older couple from seattle, very picket fence vibes but its GOOD its PURe its SWeET ( we stan the lawrences). all of their children are via adoption, and they have such big hearts

ari came to america with one backpack but also? a shit ton of baggage. he had a lot of issues as he a) struggled with the language b) was behind at school and c) had a lot of problems controlling his anger

A and B he worked on, but C he never quite got a handle on. the lawrence’s tried their best (he’s probably the only person at captive harbour who is actively in therapy so jot that down) but its a work in progress

ari taught himself how to repair engines and work on cars and turns out he’s actually quite good at it!! he moved away from seattle after his own shop couldn't compete with the big businesses and moved to crescent to start something up

he specializes in modding cars, but he can definitely do a little of everything

he lives downtown in a little apartment that’s probably very austere and monk like with a bunch of free weights around

he lives for racing his car. his modded car is his baby, and parts for that thing alone are probably the reason he lives off cheese sticks instead of caviar— catch him egging on ur char for a race on any straight stretch of road

personality

heres the spicy part: ari is not ur friend. he’s not his own friend. ari has spent 26 years of his life actively hating himself, so it’s made him super difficult to deal with. he puts on his best behaviour but really?? it does not take much to set him off

think provoked pitbull with a loose shock collar— he gets into fights so often he’s always got something bruised or busted or bleeding

that being said, he also carries a lot of guilt for not being able to control himself or be you know. a normal functioning person— so its really quite sad for the old boy

that being said he is the most loyal person you will ever meet, and truly?? actually very sweet and kind if you give him a chance

possible connections

ari’s adopted siblings: he would die on the cross for each and everyone of them. i’m imagining them of varying ages, and he’s quite good with the little ones. they're the exception to his nasty little habit of being horrible

he fixes ur car

he races ur char

ur char patches up his many boo boos

these connections are truly terrible pls message me for better ones anyways thats all for now folks! i’d love to plot with y'all and get some things started with this nasty bruised little tomato