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il-mostrc · 25 days ago

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Touch held significant importance for Lawrence, a fact that Hannibal discerned early in their relationship. In their previous lives as mere schoolmates, devoid of what they held now, Hannibal had never observed such intimate gestures. However, everything transformed once the unspoken boundary was crossed, and he embraced the deep longing that had welled up within Hannibal since their initial meeting within the stark white walls of academia. Even here, he felt as his hand sprawled across his collared shirt, he felt the soft pats that were uniquely characteristic of Lawrence. The tender brush at the corner of his lips was an unmistakably intimate gesture, something that bore the unmistakable signature of Lawrence alone.

Hannibal gave a soft laugh at the thought of Lawrence pulling out his phone to take pictures of the meals. Typically, such gatherings were constrained by a strict budget, which certainly did not extend to elaborate catering. He was not at all taken aback by Lawrence's enthusiasm as he burst through the door, clearly not prioritizing the unpacking of his car. No doubt, he would uncover an assortment of dubious junk food lurking in the cabin compartment—a predictable treasure trove. Hannibal resigned himself to delivering a mild scolding, knowing well that his attempts to steer Lawrence away from such nutritionally void options were often in vain, for he was acutely aware of the grip these vices had over him.

Particularly, his culprits were the ubiquitous Starbucks cups.

"Am I to hold my tongue with what I might find?" As they moved through the kitchen, Hannibal's hand gently slipped down to grasp Lawrence’s elbow, guiding him towards the counter for a moment of respite. "Your friend Jeff," he teased lightly, positioning himself behind the culinary workspace to continue his preparations. "He may have been rough around the edges, but he's unmistakably smooth now."

He set about placing the pâté into small bowls—now preparing two servings instead of one. To accompany the pâté, he filled another bowl with fresh arugula and frisée greens, their peppery notes providing a perfect counterbalance to the dish's rich essence. He sliced thin radishes, their crisp texture promising a delightful crunch, and then artfully drizzled a tangy vinaigrette composed of nutty hazelnut oil and a splash of aged red wine vinegar. A sprinkle of toasted walnuts was added, enhancing both texture and flavor.

Following this, he carefully sliced a crusty baguette to accompany the meal, and for a touch of sweetness, he prepared a fig compote. Finishing the presentation, he adorned the dish with a garnish of pickled shallots, their vibrant acidity designed to cut through the richness of the pâté, offering a refreshing difference.

Lawrence sighed at Hannibal's reply. [ I missed you, too, ] thrummed pleasingly in the oncologist's tired brain, wrapping around it like a security blanket. The hand on Hannibal's neck fell, retrieving his cane from the one wrapped behind the older man. Lawrence redistributed his weight, removing the portion of it he had placed against his husband, and leaned into his aid comfortably. Those fingers still on Hannibal's back slid up to his breast, where they splayed out over Hannibal's heart. Lawrence's black wedding band gleamed in the light of the kitchen.

"Starved," was all he could manage at first. The oncologist pressed a far more innocent kiss to the corner of Hannibal's mouth, to the place where that slanted smile he so adored often began. — pat, pat. Lawrence applied the all - too familiar gesture by his palm before clearing his throat.

"I took pictures of what they served for dinners," Lawrence continued, voice low between them. "I thought you might find it amusing." He chuckled, head slowly moving away from Hannibal's. Nevertheless, he remained physically fixed to him.

"I have to unpack the car yet," the oncologist confessed, blues meeting Hannibal's captivating brown color. Lawrence smiled, lips peeling away from his teeth. " — but I wanted to say hello first." Beneath his glasses, his gaze flicked over to the preparation being made in the kitchen. The smell of Hannibal's cooking made his stomach grumble softly. He hadn't stopped for anything more than chips out of rest stop vending machines along the way. Seeing Hannibal trumped everything.

Lawrence raised a brow. "Who are we having tonight, darling ?? "

#.ic #bloodypuzzle #verse; chrysalide (hxs)#006: tba #When you spend your nights looking up recipes for your replies #you'd think i'd be a chef by now

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hdbsefa · 4 years ago

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cashforcarsjunkcars · 3 years ago

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67midnightwriter · 3 years ago

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Can you write me a story about one of the guys comforting you while your in a depressive slump please?

Of course, my darling. 💋 it’s not much, but I hope that it can be a star in your darkness.

Dean, female reader

Warning: weed and whiskey

W/c: 1026

Starlight

Life was nothing but a series of motions, and Y/N was fighting tooth and nail just to go through them. She wore muscle memory as if it was armor, using it to laugh in the right place, smile at the right times, converse when needed, but inside was numb, and dark, and empty, a desolate infinity of hard, cold nothing. Time had made her an expert at dodging questions that seemed impossible to answer, when the weight of the world seemed as though it was closing in on every side, pressure building until it crushed out all the light, every breath a struggle.

Y/N stood in the kitchen, clutching the shattered pieces of herself with trembling hands while staring at the mountain of clean dishes waiting to be put away. It should have been a simple task, just a few minutes of time, but right now it felt the same as trying to tackle Everest.

Dean watched quietly from his place in the doorway, knowingly looking on as she stood, chewing his bottom lip as he pondered. He might not be able to physically exorcise this demon, but he would still try to help.

“Hey, Y/N,” he spoke softly, but he wasn’t about to spill some therapist BS, that was Sam’s game. Dean Winchester was a man of action. “Let’s go for a drive.”

His heart sunk with her dropping shoulders, but he refused to allow his spirits to be dampened by her heavy sigh.

“No thanks. I’m busy.”

“With the dishes? Fuck them. It’s highly unlikely they’re going anywhere. No one is coming over. Leave them.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

When she turned the fake smile on her face didn’t match the tone of her voice, nor did it fool him the way he knew she thought it did. He wasn’t aiming for a smile tonight, but he was determined to at least get her to lay down some armor.

They rode in silence, radio playing Ray LaMontange softly in the background, the sun staining the Lawrence sky in purples and reds as it sank below the horizon. Dean drove on through the twilight, past civilization and into miles of farmland, pulling gingerly onto an old dirt road as dusk gave way to darkness, stopping as the road faded away into a field of spring wildflowers.

“We’re here,” he announced with a grin, shutting off the rumbling engine and turning around to shuffle through the cooler in the back.

“Where’s here?”

“Dunno. Quiet.” Dean grunted as he stretched further back, rustling through the junk in the backseat, mumbling to himself.

“The bunker is quiet.”

“Yes, but the bunker doesn’t have this.” Dean came back to the front seat, holding up a bottle of Jack and a brown paper bag. Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow, but Dean shrugged it off. “Not this,” he emphasized his meaning by jostling his finds, “this.” He gestured outside the car to the darkness, but Y/N seemed unimpressed.

“A … dark and empty field of weeds?”

“Give it a little bit. We’re early. Come on.”

Fireflies twinkled all around them as Dean clamoured out of the car, handing off the bottle and bag to Y/N as he went around to the trunk. She twisted off the cap and took a swig, happy to feel the burn of the whiskey inside instead of nothing. Dean came back around with a blanket, and made a show of spreading it on the ground in front of the Impala before settling down, patting the space next to him.

Y/N mirrored him, stretching out her legs and taking another long drag of whiskey before passing it over, laying her head back against the Impala and closing her eyes. The sound of crumpling paper broke the stillness of the night, but she didn’t open her eyes until Dean nudged her shoulder and pressed something into her hand.

“Chocolate covered pretzels?” She asked, turning over the dark shape in her palm.

“Just eat it.”

The pretzel was slightly stale, but the chocolate was creamy, and underneath was an earthiness that Y/N could place anywhere.

“Dean Winchester, are these edibles?” She was surprised at how easily the teasing tone fell from her lips, the hard edges inside softened by the whiskey.

“They better be or these were some overly expensive pretzels.” He tilted the bag her way and she gladly accepted two more, popping them in her mouth and washing them down with another swig from the bottle between them.

They sat in silence for a few moments, wildlife coming to life around them, crickets chirping and owls calling in the distance. Y/N closed her eyes as the weed and whiskey began working, slowly easing away the weight of the world until she felt like she was floating, the world spinning slowly beneath her body as the planet moved around the solar system.

“Hey, Y/N. Open your eyes. Look.”

Y/N forced her heavy lids open and gasped. The dark that had been surrounding them suddenly wasn’t so dark anymore. Slowly the stars had started appearing, one by one, until millions dotted the sky, shining down from above. They seemed close enough to touch, floating just above them, stretching out for an eternity.

Y/N reached out and held Dean’s hand, suddenly desperately needing something to hold on to, to ground her, to keep her from sinking back too fast, to prove that this was real. Dean was there, steady as always, thumb rubbing over her knuckles quietly as he watched the sky, an occasional deep sigh through his lips as he let the comfort cradle his body.

They didn’t talk, no well-meaning but somehow empty words flowing between them. They just existed, together. Tears fell down Y/N’s cheeks but she didn’t try to stop them; she didn’t think she could hold them in any longer if she tried. The dark would still be there tomorrow, her edges still sharp, the world still heavy. But Dean would be there, with his starlight freckles as a buoy in the sea of despair, and in the end, that’s all she really needed.

#supernatural fan fic #spn fan fic #dean winchester reader insert #comfort fic #Dean Winchester comfort fic

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landslided · 1 year ago

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okay but i keep thinking about this and i can’t stop laughing at the training montage for both the dojos, daniel putting robby and sam on the wheel vs johnny at the junk yard. the interviews would be INSANE.

daniel larusso “CAR SALESMAN/MIYAGI DO SENSEI”: the secret to karate, to the knowledge mr miyagi passed down to me is balance. once robby and sam understand that, they’ll be unstoppable.

robby keene “MIYAGI DO STUDENT/SON OF JOHNNY LAWRENCE”: i don’t wanna say anything because mr larusso was really nice with me but i think he’s completely lost it. this thing is just a plank of wood on a koi pond.

sam larusso “MIYAGI DO STUDENT/ DAUGHTER OF DANIEL AND AMANDA”: i have full confidence in my dad’s teaching!

(director voiceover: sam later told us she thought her father was having a mental breakdown but the walls at the miyagi do house are made of rice paper)

robby keene “MIYAGI DO STUDENT/SON OF JOHNNY LAWRENCE”: hey wait, what did you say my tagline was? no wait, let me see that

CUT TO THE JUNK YARD

miguel diaz “COBRA KAI STUDENT/SELF PROCLAIMED BEST FRIEND OF JOHNNY LAWRENCE”: sensei’s methods are pretty unorthodox but they always work in the end! i owe him a lot, really. he’s been… more than a teacher to me

(cue sad music in post edit)

aisha robinson “COBRA KAI STUDENT/WANTS TO GO HOME”: yeah no sensei lawrence is crazy but it was this or going to the country club with my mom and i really can’t deal with people right now.

eli mozkowitz “COBRA KAI STUDENT/HAWK(?)”: do you guys know if humans can catch rabies?

johnny lawrence “HANDYMAN/COBRA KAI SENSEI”: larusso told you guys the secret to karate was balance? what a fucking [censored]

(remember to edit lawrence’s swearing down to a minimum for release)

cobra kai but it’s a mockumentary. daniel and amanda were offered a documentary deal with a local channel to explain the success of the larusso auto deal and their self made fortune but the filming starts THE DAY johnny comes to the auto deal for his car and so the filming crew interrogates daniel, "hey mr larusso, who was that?" and daniel, whose name banner until now was just OWNER OF LARUSSO AUTO, starts getting into the story of the 1984 fight and well, he’s a local celebrity so the crew decides to expand more on the karate aspect, it’s fun, it’ll interest the audience.

they reach out to johnny who is more than happy to talk shit about daniel larusso and get paid for it and so they shift the documentary subject towards businesses in the valley, the auto deal vs the cobra kai dojo. daniel and johnny keep arguing through face camera interviews. larusso, CAR SALESMAN TWO TIMES KARATE CHAMPION vs RESEDA BUSINESS OWNER TWO TIMES KARATE CHAMPION. they start to include the kids in this, miguel "COBRA KAI STUDENT" diaz gives extremely earnest confessionals that they cut to robby "AUTO DEAL EMPLOYEE KARATE AMATEUR" keene so sarcastic the crew never knows if he’s doing a bit. sam only has cameos until the all valley tournament where she does a play by play retelling of every fight and how she thought she would have done in it and the crew goes oh… she’s a little crazy too, we need to make her a main character.

amanda regrets the whole thing almost instantly when she understands there is no way this thing will not affect their job but daniel is IN IT, he is going to WIN THE VALLEY and he’s gonna get a good grade in documentary participation which is a normal thing to want and totally achievable. one of the camera people say « does anybody get a little bit of a gay vibe? » and well, now they’re making a romcom.

#i know the junk yard and the balance wheel don’t happen at the same time but it’s funny TO ME #marie talks #lawrusso

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cashforcars-junkcar · 10 days ago

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cashforcarslawrence · 21 days ago

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lawrencecashforcars · 2 months ago

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cashforjunkscarsot · 11 months ago

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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The Birthday Party (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

fic summary: Ellie spends the night of her birthday crying over a girl that doesn’t like her back. Lawrence will consider the evening a success if she can comfort her without her own heart shattering in the process.

a/n: this one goes out to the anon on my blog that asked me “after rereading freshers au about 3 million times I must ask… are we getting a chapter about Ellie’s 18th birthday party? I’m just thinking about the unrequited crushing/diamond Chaney potential”. apparently i am unable to say no to any anon that comes to me asking for more diamond chaney content, nor am i able to name any of these fics after anything other than 1975 song titles. hope u all enjoy!

***

It’s an image that could hang in the Louvre but it’s one that breaks her heart.

Ellie is sitting on a red brick wall with her legs dangling off it, pale and bare except from a couple of bruises where she’s banged them off the flat’s furniture. The grass on the raised ground behind her is wet and cold, shining under the streetlamps in the damp of that hazy timezone between midnight and morning. She’s right in the middle of the yellow spotlight from above, and Lawrence thinks it’s weird how a colour that’s the same as the sun can all at once seem so cold. The mist, though light, hangs suffocating and stagnant in the air. It casts its moisture over the cars parked on the road opposite, and there’s an urge Lawrence has to push down to draw a little heart on a car bonnet, then zig-zag a line down the middle to break it.

Lawrence thinks she looks like some sort of Disney Channel character come to life; pink and white checked gingham skirt, white, long-sleeved crop top. The pink Filas with the hearts that she’d spent way too much of her student loan on and the matching pink bow that sits squint in her curly, rain-frizzy hair. There’s a crumpled, sad ball of a tissue clutched tight in her white-knuckled hands, and her pink acrylics are outlined with black smudges. Her head hangs towards her lap and as she tilts it to the sky Lawrence can see her face; her makeup, still completely perfect, but with two long, unbroken tear tracks of black mascara and eyeliner that stream down her cheeks like some sort of poison.

Lawrence feels like crying herself, almost had done when Ellie had broken down to them all in the club toilets. When she’d sobbed and her chest had risen and fallen so rapidly, illustrating the pieces of her heart that were shattering inside her ribcage as if Tia was blowing them up with dynamite. When A’whora had shushed her comfortingly and rubbed her back and Bimini had fed her tissue after tissue from the loo roll dispenser. When Ellie had whispered with all the hope and life gone out of her voice,

“I like her so much, and she doesn’t even know, and she’ll never see me like that.”

And Lawrence couldn’t say a word because she couldn’t trust herself to. Because she didn’t even know what to say. Really what could she say when Ellie had said it all already?

She recalls the way the bass from the songs that were playing out in the main room of the club had seemed so much like a sinister heartbeat; the soundtrack to the dread that Lawrence was feeling, that feeling of something slipping away.

Well, not something. Ellie.

Tayce hadn’t had much time for the whole situation. Lawrence knew she cared, of course, it would be harsh to say she didn’t, but she had been drunk and not particularly tactful. She’d hoisted Ellie to her feet, smudged away her tears from beneath her lashes with her thumbs and cupped her face as she gave a speech about how Ellie didn’t need anyone to make her feel happy, and how if Tia wasn’t going to notice her then there were a million other girls and guys out there that would, and how Ellie couldn’t let anyone spoil her night and Tayce wasn’t going to let that happen either. The song’s transition into Be Faithful had prompted Tayce to take charge, gripping Ellie’s hand and leading them all out of the toilets and onto the dancefloor with a battle cry about how this was her song, and how there was no way in hell she was missing the opportunity to get to dance to it with her best bitches.

Lawrence had known that Ellie hadn’t really felt better, though. The smile on her face was fake and she’d disappeared when the others were all too distracted bickering about whose round it was next. Lawrence had seen her disappear through the main doors and towards the exit- really the idea of Ellie being able to sneak off anywhere was laughable given her height- and so she’d dashed off without thinking, following her while a sinking feeling rose in her gut.

And now she’s here, a little way along the street outside the club, looking at Ellie and her broken heart and trying to figure out how to clean up the mess without a dustpan and brush.

So she awkwardly approaches her, forcing a smile as Ellie lifts her head to look at her through sapphires filled with tears. She decides to go with what’s always served her well though life and injects some fake cheer into her voice as she opens the joke.

“Did I ever tell you about the time the police chapped my door an’ told me my dogs were chasin’ people on bikes?” she opens limply, the joke already the verbal equivalent of a racehorse about to be made into glue. “My dogs didny even have bikes.”

Ellie gives an empty shell of a laugh in return. Lawrence supposes it’s the joke equivalent of “ask a stupid question, recieve a stupid answer”- tell a shite joke, recieve a shite laugh in reply. She’s rendered silent again, left to awkwardly scuff her foot over the glistening, frosty ground until Ellie gives a shuddery breath in.

“Y'should be back inside with the others,” she starts quietly, paws at her sniffly nose with the back of her hand, the tissue being long since rendered useless. “Having fun and getting drunk instead of listening to my shit.”

“I’m already drunk,” Lawrence shrugs at her. It’s half true. She feels too exposed as she follows it up with, “And it’s not fun if I know you’re upset.”

The tiny smile that appears on Ellie’s face and the way her eyes gain just a tiny bit of life makes coming out here in the freezing cold worth it.

“Ellie,” Lawrence gives a small sigh of sympathy, moves to stand in front of her and lets the crumpled tissue fall into Ellie’s lap before she takes her friend’s hands. She’s thrown before she can say anything. “Fucking Christ, your hands are baltic.”

“It’s December in Scotland. Everything’s baltic,” Ellie gives the tiniest roll of her eyes, but her expression is mostly one of affection, the gesture clearly appreciated. The way Lawrence’s heart is sparked by it is way too embarrassing and ridiculous, and she feels like a total idiot for being in this deep.

She covers it up with a sarcastic barb, a raised eyebrow used as a capital letter. “Do you want a pep talk or don’t you?”

“Please,” Ellie replies flatly.

Lawrence has about a second to collect her thoughts, try to arrange them into something coherent and supportive like a child making a model out of junk and PVA glue. She knows it’s going to come at the expense of her own heart but really, when has she ever put her own feelings first when Ellie’s been involved? She wishes they both had the same aspect to their friendship as A’whora and Tayce: that undercurrent of flirting and tension, the fact that A’whora’s huge crush on Tayce is the equivalent of a present wrapped in cellophane, and if they’ve not already done something about that whole aspect of their relationship then they surely will soon. But with Ellie it’s different. Lawrence is bound by the ties of the purely platonic nature of their friendship and, while she’d love nothing more than to break them, there’s still that part of her that’s content to stay in the chains they created together because even though they’re tight, they’re comfortable. They’re safe.

Ellie is Lawrence’s friend, so Lawrence puts her own feelings to one side and acts like it.

“I know it hurts,” Lawrence says, unable to meet her friend’s eyes as she strokes her thumb over her knuckles. “I know it feels like the worst heartache in the world, and it’s terrible. You feel like the pain’s not going to go away or…like your heart’s been smashed. It’s that way where…you’re too far gone as friends now, and it’s that feeling of not being able to change that path you’ve both gone down and…it’s too late, and you’re sat torturing yourself with the what-ifs and wondering if…y’know, maybe if you’d done something differently, maybe this, maybe that…”

Lawrence trails off to allow herself to gain back some composure, because all she’s succeeded in doing is making her own heart hurt with the truth. It’s the fact she’s telling Ellie everything: every feeling she goes through when it’s just the two of them bickering affectionately together, or the pair of them spooning when they’re hungover and emotional, or bonding over the Scottish Twitter references that the rest of their flatmates don’t get. It’s the way that with every moment they grow closer it only feels as if Ellie grows more and more distant.

“But you can’t hurt yourself like that, you know?” Lawrence says firmly, snapping her gaze up bravely to look Ellie in the eyes. “You can’t go through every day wondering why you’re not good enough, because the truth is that…you are. You fucking…are good enough, Ellie, you don’t need to change anything about yourself. Just keep being you, because…there’s someone out there who’ll appreciate it. And love you for it.”

Ellie’s gaze turns warm and soft, and she blinks a few tears away before looking into her lap, squeezing Lawrence’s hands. “Thank you, babe. That’s really nice.”

Lawrence can’t bask in the appreciation for long though because Ellie then narrows her eyes at her and gives her an inquisitive look.

“You know. You know what it feels like. How come you know?”

It would be so easy just to let something slip out; a confession, an admission, the secret she’s been holding in for two years now. The way she could bat it all away and cover it up with the amount of Jaeger she’s consumed over the past two hour period if it didn’t go down well on Ellie’s end. The thing is, though, that a drunk mind speaks sober thoughts, and it’s so cold in the street that she’s starting to sober up anyway. There wouldn’t really be anything to hide behind.

So she gives a snort of self-derision. “I know I might just seem like a joke book in a flesh suit, but I actually have a heart underneath it all.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agrees softly, her smile growing a little bigger. “You do.”

Lawrence’s heart soars into the sky like a bubble or a ridiculous novelty helium balloon. Ellie’s being sincere; she’s not layering Lawrence’s joke with another joke, a playing card on top of another. She’s just being honest. She sees Lawrence’s heart underneath all the sarcasm and the comedy and the way she can’t ever lay a single one of her feelings bare. Sometimes Lawrence dares to hope, dares to dream. Maybe everything she feels is reciprocated even a little bit. This- with Ellie’s gentle smile and the way the streetlamp is giving her a halo and the mist that’s wrapping around the two of them- is one of those moments.

Ellie sighs heavily, cuts through her thoughts. “It’s not even like Veronica’s someone I can justifiably hate, y’know? She has to be fucking…nice, and sweet, and pretty and lovely and Little Miss Perfect. Of course Tia’s mad for her.”

Pop.

“Well, you’re nice as well,” Lawrence frowns insistently. She finds herself rambling a little, clearly not as sober as she supposes the cold is rendering her. “And sweet and pretty and lovely. And perfect. Actually, not quite. C’mere.”

Lawrence beckons for Ellie to lean down, and as she does she fleetingly thinks about how easy it would be to kiss her. Too easy but too overwhelmingly difficult all at once.

Instead, Lawrence reaches her hands up to do what she’d intended, and fixes Ellie’s bow as if she’s adjusting a crown for a princess.

“There. Perfect now.”

Ellie smiles sadly at her as she straightens up, whispers a soft, resigned “thank you”. She sighs, looks plaintively up at the sky, the yellow of the streetlamp and the inky black of the vast space hanging above their heads. She pouts, deflated and defeated.

“What do I do now?”

Lawrence looks down the street, back in the direction of the flat. She could tell Ellie to give up and get over Tia. She could tell Ellie there’s someone that she knows- that they both know- that actually has a huge crush on her, she just needs to open her bloody eyes because all that fucking eyeliner’s clearly making her blind. She could tell Ellie that even the blind man’s fucking guide dog can see that Tia is hopelessly infatuated with the tiny blonde children’s storybook character she’s been making heart-eyes at for the past three months.

But Ellie’s already heartbroken enough and Lawrence is trying to make her feel better, and the antidote of heartbreak is hope. So she gives Ellie two options.

“Well. You could just carry on pinning your hopes on a girl who you’re not sure’s ever going to like you back, if you think you’ve got enough hope and optimism left in you. Or you could move on. Find the someone else out there who’ll love you for everything you are, because there is one. I know there is,” Lawrence says, omitting the fact that said person is her best friend, standing right in front of her. She smiles tightly before adding, “Your choice.”

When Lawrence realises she’s holding her breath waiting on her friend’s decision she feels even more of an idiot than she already does.

Ellie’s smile turns a little more genuine and she doesn’t even have to say anything to tell Lawrence what she’s chosen. “Well I’ve never been one to go down without a fight, you know? So…let’s just say Veronica better watch out. I’m gonna come up behind her and knock her kneecaps in to win my girl over. No matter how lovely she is.”

Lawrence shares Ellie’s giggle with a heart made of lead. She’ll keep pining, then. Keep on keeping on, keep on sharing moments with Ellie that make her day and ruin it all at once, the cause and the cure of all her mixed-up emotions. She’d rather keep her friendship with Ellie and have her heart crack just a little tiny bit every day than not have the girl in her life at all.

“Right, c’mon you. I’m freezing my not inconsiderable tits off out here,” Lawrence says decisively, if a little quietly. She wants nothing more than to drag herself back into the club and fill herself with artificial happiness, drink and listen to dance tracks about breakups with a too-fast BPM for the subject matter.

As Ellie takes her hand the split-second before she turns around, though, Lawrence’s priorities change. Her friend’s face is pleading and a little shy as she meets her eyes for a second and then snaps them to the ground.

“Can we just stay out here for a couple more minutes? Sorry,” Ellie explains. Lawrence can tell she feels silly. “I’m starting to feel better just being out here with you, so…I don’t want to go back in just yet.”

Like a complete fool, Lawrence just smiles and nods. “Of course we can.”

There’s a small silence in which Lawrence hugs herself tightly and rubs both her arms, because, well. She is freezing. She’s freezing and she wishes she had a cigarette. Ellie clearly isn’t as wrapped up in her own thoughts as she had been before because she notices her friend’s discomfort, gives a roll of her eyes which is affectionate rather than exasperated and pats the wall beside her.

“Hop up and I’ll warm you up,” she says. The jolt her words give Lawrence’s heart is what can only be described as pathetic, jump leads to a dying car.

Lawrence tries to join her on the wall, placing her palms on the bricks and making to hoist herself up. Her short stature, though, is rendering this difficult, and with each new unsuccessful attempt Ellie starts to laugh more and more until she’s doubled over, unable to breathe at Lawrence’s various attempts to sit beside her.

(Lawrence always loves making Ellie laugh whether she’s intended to or not, because it’s a way of guaranteeing that her attention is on her. The more she can make her laugh, the more of her attention she gets, so sometimes Lawrence will act up as if she’s on an episode of Live at the Apollo with an audience of one, in the world’s first romantically driven stand-up set.)

Ellie continues to laugh, finally holding a hand out for Lawrence to grab with a humoured “c’mere” to accompany it. As Lawrence grasps her hand and feels sparks fly through her bloodstream, she also clearly underestimates Ellie’s strength as she’s tugged suddenly forwards and they’re both flying onto the grass behind the wall. All at once the pair of them are reduced to bundles of giggles; legs scraping against the bricks and bodies flush against the wet grass, both of them breathless with their hands still entwined.

As their laughter dies down, there’s nothing left but their faces close together and the rise and fall of their chests and the small, dippy smile that’s still there on Ellie’s lips as she looks at her. The black of the sky and the green of the grass and the blue of her eyes, colour in absolutes. Simple, like Lawrence’s feelings are anything but.

It’s ethereal and it’s sad and Ellie will never know what it all means to her.

“I love you,” Lawrence says quietly. It’s too real and too painful and too raw to leave it like that, a plaster ripped off a cut too early. She elects to follow it up with, “Ya big bow-legged freak.”

Ellie giggles again, drunk and appeased. This is good. This is what Lawrence had wanted; to cheer her up and put that starry smile on her face on a night that’s meant to be all about her, meant to be special and magical and not the bad dream it had turned into. Lawrence has filled her head with drunk platitudes and compliments that’ve hurt too much to give. Lawrence has done the duties of a friend. She is her friend. And Ellie is happy. Lawrence can’t be sad when she’s happy.

Ellie lets go of her hand, pulls her in and hugs her. In an instant, the dewey grass seems instantly warmer. The moment is nicotine and Lawrence fills her lungs.

“I love you too, babe.”

She pretends she means it like she wants her to, and the bittersweet feeling it gives her fills her heart like tar.

#rpdr fanfiction #rpdr uk #ellie diamond #lawrence chaney #ellie x lawrence #uk2 #angst #unrequited love #the birthday party #ortega #me and you together

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