C R Y B A B Y

TRISTA KINGSTON 16. FLYER. @QUEENSTON: money doesn’t buy happiness, but i’d rather cry on a terrace with a mediterranean seascape view and reach into a birkin for kleenex to wipe my tears away. ✘✘✘ NO ONE WEARING A CROWN COMES IN THE NAME OF PEACE.

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

greysonsmith:

Greyson smiles, even just a little bit before it slips into his familiar smirk, its his favorite witty little blonde. The reason why he likes her — not that he’d ever admit it, not even on the strongest bottle of gin — is that she’s not shy about her bite. He doesn’t like the ones that come easy, this life has been too easy for him so far, mind-destroying nightmares aside, it’s been an absolute pleasure cruise.

“Careful sweetheart, lock that jaw any tighter and you won’t be able to give blowjobs for a month.” Foul little thing aren’t you Greyson, don’t you know when to tame that mouth around the pretty ones. Doe legs tug him further into the room until his palms are bracketing the desk she’s sitting in, pretty little grin wrapping around his red mouth and his cold blue eyes are racking down her body, his head cocks as he positions his next question.

“What’s really wrong princess? Too much stolen alcohol from your mother’s cabinet? If you need a hangover cure, you know I’m the best one for that.”

Trista’s tolerance for everyone at Sparks fucking High is a equal measure of low. Sure, on any given day she may choose to avoid solitude at any cost, but even the popular, pretty girls like her need a break from their sycophants. 

Greyson Smith is another brand of unsavoury. Just because she speaks her mind doesn’t mean she doesn’t know any better. If his constant post-alcohol stank breath isn’t cause enough, he’s started hanging around that poor disabled girl like a cat who can smell cancer. He so doesn’t faze her though, not even when he uses the whole foot and two inch difference he has on her to crowd her in and attempt to intimidate. 

“The only thing my mouth feels compelled to do around you is projectile vom,” and isn’t that closer to the truth than ever. She makes sure not to look away, even when her stares down her top. What a creep. “Um, contrary to popular belief, hair of the dog does not work. I’m into Teen Wolf, not Teen Alcoholic, but if I ever feel like lowering my social standards, I’ll know who to call.” Trista’s like, super aware she’s playing with fire but she so cannot deal. She folds her arms and glares at him through too-long lashes. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

greysonsmith:

Hand palming neck, his insides are feeling murky blue – a storm swishing in his stomach from all the pirates rum that awaited him on his bedside table when he woke up this morning, but he can’t be feeling too bad as he’s wearing his signature smirk. Curiosity fed the cat, as with long doe legs, he wandered into the near empty classroom – near empty beside from one other soul.

His mouth curls “So do you wanna –” a laugh slips between his words. “Like talk – about your feelings..” Everything is a causal joke to Greyson Smith as a casually cruel amusement takes over his choice of antics. “I’ve heard it’s good to get it out–” Words that should be kind but are very obviously falling the opposite; Greyson is more of a pass the joint type; genuine emotional connection is not his forte. “that sadness ya’ feel just let it out bud– it’s okay, I got some kleenex.”

Recovering at home from a hangover is like, super hard when you’re a Kingston. It’s not so much the lack of pills (her mom has plenty of those) but rather, as it turns out, pre-divorce, at-the-top-of-your-goddamn-voice arguments between your parents aren’t relaxing ambient music. So yeah, Trista’s resorted to coming to school during the summer for peace and quiet, because that’s what her life has come to.

Her back is turned to the door when she’s interrupted, caught with her head in her hands. That of course can’t be stood for -- cheerleaders are always on better form than everyone else, hangover or not. He speaks before she can turn and when she does, her smile is locked so tight her jaw aches. 

“As much of an offering you think your crusty jerk mopping tissues are, I think I’ll pass.” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

izzy-hyland:

That’s true. Real talk though, have you seen it? 

“Oh my god. Listen. I’d rather wash my eyes out with sulfuric acid. Or maybe, like, use the heel of my shoe to stab them out -- which, by the way, are very expensive.” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

izzy-hyland:

Savage. Poor Mack. 

It’s his fault, though. What if he’s like, an exhibitionist. You know, he made that bet because he wants to run around naked. 

Exhibitionists are just a brand of attention seekers. Plus, he needs something to exhibit in the first place. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

izzy-hyland:

So, you know Mack Johnson? The guy who’s always bumming darts off people in front of the school? He lost a bet, and apparently he’s gonna be streaking across the field during the outdoor assembly later today.

“Oh my god, ew. If I wanted to study microscopic creatures, I’d just like, pay more attention in Bio.” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

onlyellery:

Mumbled words were hardly understandable––especially with the insistent sounds that also accompanied them. Stubbornness had been a trait shared between the two girls, Ellery’s pride often taking a hit at just how often Trista challenged her own. It was their strength of character that clashed, and also one of the reasons that Ellery had made the promise of Trista to be her protege. But of course promises behind closed doors were much easier kept behind those very doors, and as the year hadn’t even started yet Ellery knew that it would be a tough sell. After all with things like this, seniority was important and acknowledged; experience the golden medals upon the lapel. Maybe it would work in the end. Maybe her subtle movements towards Trista’s favor would be enough for the team. In the back of her mind though Ellery acknowledged that tensions could rise and she would avoid it at all costs. Of course with Trista sprawled awkwardly upon the ground, incoherently still trying to be herself. It was adorable, and due to that fact a soft smile crept it’s way on Ellery’s face. Rarely was Trista anything but perfect–something that Ellery aimed for as well–so seeing her so…human, always made it seem like a special secret. Like it was only for Ellery. Though of course that sentiment was ridiculous, she had been in the road after all, but still her heart just seemed to beat a little faster at the thought. The thought of sharing (something that could just be summed up to fear, or maybe something else entirely). 

It was Trista’s words though that put the situation in on a different level; or maybe it just felt like it was. It made it physical. A manifestation of a relationship that could be seen by all. Clammy hands clasped together, trying to come up with a solution. She didn’t want it to look any way from the outsiders perspective, but would Trista have asked if she didn’t want it to happen? It could all be justified. It would be totally explainable. A hitch in her breath before she spoke, as if almost in another place, “O-Okay… I will. I am going to.” Easier said than done though, and of course the issue still was that Trista was hurt and not okay. But like still her response was surprising, though not really. Ellery only had the best, but maybe that wasn’t good enough for Trista. Maybe that’s why she pretended to not know her as intimately as she did. “It’s still magic. And I was like wearing this, so are you like saying I don’t have a fashion sense? Because we both know that’s a lie… Can I still fix you up even if it’s not pink?” Clad in just her bra this might be a bad decision, but like, who was to judge after Ellery had had several shots of some mysterious liquids to help the situation get to this point. 

Dealing with Trista Kingston on any given day was a pastime chosen by the self-loathing. With alcohol added to the mix, it was hard to tell if the outcome was better or worse. She hadn’t stopped talking, but her insults were lacking and missing direction when spoke, which really, was better for anyone’s ego. Then again, Ellery St James didn’t have to worry about that, right? She was Head Cheerleader, Queen of the Squad. She was untouchable.

The problem was that Trista had crossed that unspoken boundary only weeks ago. She’d spilled her hair across Ellery’s pillow, allowed Ellery to whisper secrets into her skin that tasted like alcohol and reeked of the truth. It was funny now how things were different when only one of them was plastered. “Don’t make fun of me for liking pink. Don’t be jealous it looks better on me.” She slurred her words but clutched onto the older girl as they eased up onto their feet. “Everything else looks better on you... or off you...” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

“What..? No no no no… No, I’m not embarrassed by you. It would be embarrassing because… Well, I’m not allowed to have girls in my room. Behind closed doors, and without permission, especially. – I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t have done that,” he rambled, insisting desperately that this really did not have anything to do with Trista herself. He could blame it on the entire female population, or himself for being a boy, but there was no time for getting into that. “I’ll… make it up to you somehow. My mom just got invited to tea with her friends. And I’ve got the entire place to myself, what I’m trying to say is: we could do anything you want, I just want to make it up to you.

At this point it was like, super easy to emotionally manipulate boys. Her brothers were impervious to her abilities because they had no souls (Jasper especially), but everyone else -- well. Oliver stood no chance, being the kind of boy he was already. Nice, chivalrous -- the kind who was too innocent to have girls in his room. Trista almost wished her parents cared enough to have almost caught her. 

His offer caught her attention though and she glanced up from behind a curtain of impossibly blonde hair. “Anything?” In a house like his, the list of things Trista wanted to try could have rolled down his grand staircase and out the double doors. She outstretched her arms for him then, wanting to be carried like before. Once they were around his neck, she pressed her mouth to his ear. “Will they be gone all night too?” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

What was she so antsy about? It was Oliver’s mother and his ass on the line. Shit, shit, shit ! It took him some thinking to finally look down at his crotch in reference to what she had to say. Stupid penis ! How was he doing to wind down from that? Ollie tried to press down the bulge tented up in his pants and he just really needed Trista to understand right now, but how?! “Look, I’m sorry. But unless you are very keen on seeing me embarrassed –” Ollie should not have said that. “Just– wait here, okay? I’ll be back soon,” he promised, finally letting go of her hand before m the momentarily clutching the door handle behind him. 

The conversation with his mother was very short-lived, as it usually was lately. He managed to stay put behind his door, only opening the millwork doors slightly ajar to let her convey whatever she had to. After some back-and-forth, extraction of reasoning for his presence at home and entrusting him with responsibility of timing the sprinklers, Ollie was finally enlightened with the very expected but circumstantially relieving news. He would be spending the rest of the evening on his own; same old, with the house to himself. But what was that creaking??! Had Ollie even closed the bathroom door well? “Okay, bye !” Was that too obvious? 

He had not just -- Trista’s perfect little pink mouth dropped open in outrage, but of course, the only thing to catch sight of her expression was the bathroom mirror. Who the fuck did this boy think he was talking to? Sure, she expected this kind of behaviour from her brothers, who had clearly all been dropped on their head as babies, but children who grew up in houses like his had nannies that were paid too much to hit their charges. All boys were exactly the same -- even those who pretended they were nice and kind and carried you around like brides. Maybe especially them too; at least the other boys didn’t pretend to be something they weren’t. 

Still, that wasn’t going to stop her from listening in. She couldn’t hear all that much, and none of it was of any use. Trista tuned off at some comment about sprinklers and practised schooling her features into great offence. When he came back, she turned puppy eyes on him instead. 

“I get it. My brothers tell me I’m an embarrassment all the time too,” she heaved a sigh, staring at her bare feet. The swelling had gone down, but she made to shuffle away. “I’ll just go now...” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

Falling back on his side, he eyed her carefully, as if even looking at her would disturb her sleep. What had Ollie ever done to be cuddling Trista Kingston ? Cuddling, which was totally first base… okay, maybe just the bullpen, but close. – Alright, fine, he knew why she was next to him right now. If his pockets didn’t look so big, he wasn’t so hopeful about anything. The blond next to him obviously wouldn’t pay attention to him without the money his house was screaming he had… would she ?

With his mind occupied and his arm starting to lose sensation while it provided support to her, he was in no position to react quick when he heard the knob on his door rattle. Oliver’s first instinct was to further wrap himself around Trista, as if he could just hide her under himself. But she was human. He couldn’t pull tactics like he did with the magazines. Sitting up, he shook her as gently as he could hurriedly and held a finger to his mouth as if to ask her to stay quiet. Mrs. O’Shea wasn’t used to not being able to walk into her son’s room on her own leisure, so a concerned call for his name came out muffled through his door. “Coming,” he yelled at the door as he tried to help Trista up so she could hide in his bathroom. “She can’t know you’re here,” he whispered to her, trying to still help her out of her sleepy daze. Why, mom.

To say Trista Kingston was not a morning person was a gross understatement. Giving off the impression that you’d roused in a burst of song with woodland creatures helping you get ready involved getting up like, super early -- and the evils that you were used to didn’t make them any less of a crime. Those ‘mornings’ still counted after a night of drinking, even when it wasn’t morning at all. To cut out the bullshit, Trista was less Snow White, and more the sleeping dragon that should never be disturbed. 

That being said, Oliver was playing with fire when he woke her. When he shoved her out of sight, well, he was guaranteed to get fucking burnt. Trista Kingston was so not the girl you hid in your closet (or in this case, beautifully decorated bathroom, but even so). She was a paradigm of perfect girlfriend material: adored by moms, ogled at out of the corner of dads’ eyes. Once Oliver had dealt with the issue, he had a much bigger one at hand. 

“That was so rude.” She kept her voice down because sure, she would have to sneak guys in to her house too if it wasn’t so embarrassing to do so in the first place. Trista glowered at him and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. “It’s super hard to be convincing when that’s giving you away anyways,” and she pointed straight at his crotch. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

Soon after she was out, it didn’t Ollie too long to close his eyes and try to catch a few z’s himself. There was nothing significant that he dreamed about. In fact, he didn’t think that he got any sleep at all, to dream. Ollie was too cautious to even move a little, just so he wouldn’t wake her. Slipping into a sort of a sleepy daze, he didn’t notice that Trista had rolled onto her other side, away from him. And it definitely didn’t enter his mind that his next actions would be to scoot closer to her, securing his arm around her midsection. Soon after he closed his eyes again, Ollie moved his head to lay near the back of her neck. He must’ve fallen asleep because it didn’t feel like even five whole minutes when he woke again; his clock suggested otherwise. This time he woke because he felt Trista stirring in her sleep. Was she awake, too? Ollie craned his neck over her shoulder and spoke quietly: “Hey..” 

Whatever Oliver’s bed was made of, Trista had to have one like, stat. Her own sleep was dreamless, too deep to recount what her subconscious was summoning to her attention. Which was a shame because dream analysis was, of course, a totally legit thing. Trista pored over horoscopes most mornings with the rest of the cheerleaders, but horoscopes were half-astronomy, half-bullshit, and neither had anything to do with her. What else could you trust more than the thoughts of your own mind?

The problem with deep sleep was that you never really wanted to wake from it. Trista groaned, more at the sensation of his breath on her neck than recognising she was being spoken to. There was warmth behind her though, good and solid. She pressed herself back against it, wriggling to get comfortable. Her shirt had ridden up and too fast asleep to know to pull it down, she tried to burrow further into the loose embrace of his arms. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

garretbriar:

This is so fucking creepy. Get out, get out now.

But Garret stood, frozen, taking in the serene beauty of the sleeping Trista Kingston. Everything about her made his stomach drop, his heart race, and his bloodshot eyes widen - he wanted to absorb every part of this moment. He wanted to be able to look back it it like a picture that wold never fade. Quietly, he crouched down to her level, listening to her calm breathing. 

If not for the (super expensive sound cancelling) Hush earplugs she used, maybe Trista would have heard him stumbling towards her in the near-dark. She kept her blinds ajar and her window open; the moonlight filtered in, and if she’d been awake, she would have appreciate how picture perfect the whole scene looked. As it was, this was no outtake from Sleeping Beauty. Trista groaned in her sleep and twisted in the sheets, enough to hint at a totally bare shoulder and upper back. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

pforpeyton:

“i thought hipsters were the norm now,” peyton said, rolling her eyes. “who can ever keep up with them, though. it exhausts me just thinking about it. are you the hipster for disagreeing, or are you in the majority? or, is the majority actually people who don’t know or care at all?”

“Oh my god, I hope not.” Trista so could not deal with a world where bushy beards and drinking coffee out on mason jars the norm. “I mean, it’s not that I even care? I just don’t get it.” She tossed her hair behind one shoulder. “Maybe it’s a hipster thing to sound more cool and different.” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

Dammit. “Is it?” He cleared his throat, trying to calm down from the sudden rush of emotions he was doused in. Was he scaring her off? He didn’t want anything more from Trista, but letting her go now would drive him wild. He just wanted to stay there for a bit longer. If anything, his heart was only beating faster now, if that was even humanly possible. Shit. “I don’t know how to stop it,” Oliver admitted weakly, freezing in place, in hopes that he his heart would stop acting up if he didn’t move at all.  

On any given day, Trista would have pushed. She’d have taunted and teased until the flush had his skin burning, until she could feel the marathon in his chest. There’d have been some part of her too, conscious of where his hands lingered, but then she’d remind herself that she was a cheerleader and he was lucky to have her. None of that entered Trista’s mind. Not much did really, because she succumbed to sleep before she could say another word.

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

garretbriar:

“Yea, yea, totally,” he said, lingering in Jasper’s doorway to look at her just a little longer. 

Five hours later and Garret was baked out of his mind, full of pizza that Jasper had to reorder for the two of them, with eyes red and swollen. He was coming out of the bathroom when he noticed Trista’s room door was cracked open. Don’t do it, Garret. Despite his inner-sober-self warning him against it, he lightly pushed the door to her room open, and stepped inside. It smells so good. She looks so peaceful, sleeping like that.

Fortunately for Trista, she’d had a whole sixteen years to get used to her brothers’ getting baked and circle jerking their friends across the hall.  By now she’d perfected her methods and so, when her door opened, she didn’t stir. 

The room itself was all light pinks and whites, a vanity complete with a handheld light studded mirror resting atop it. It was all so Trista Kingston it hurt, right down to the size six heels lined in a neat row. The girl in question slept surrounded by pillows, a stuffed toy tucked under one arm and her hair loose across the pillow.

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

pforpeyton:

she sure didn’t. “for sure,” she said with a smile. “i didn’t think you were one to question popular opinion.”

Okay, that was a hint if ever there was one. Trista’s eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. “I mean, it’s not really popular opinion. Just hipster opinion and isn’t it like, law that they like stuff most people don’t?” There. A mental pat on the back was totally deserved. 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

“O-Okay,” he obliged, moving close to her and practically sealing off any space between their bodies as he held her closer, and as per her request, tighter. Ollie even rested his chin on her head as he got a whiff of whatever perfumed shampoo she used, letting out a content, silent hmm in response. This was nice. No, this was more than nice, and Oliver didn’t know how badly he had wanted to hold someone like that, before now. Could she hear his heart trying to break out of his chest? The warmth radiating off her was soothing, in a way and Oliver couldn’t get enough it. “Now?” Sure, he must have been enjoying himself, but he didn’t want to suffocate the younger girl. 

Boys only cuddled on the promise of something more, and sure, she liked to tease Harper, but Trista was selective with who she fooled around with. She didn’t think Oliver wanted something more -- she knew he did. After all, he was a guy, and even super nice guys who carried you into their Spanish Spring palaces like a bride were still guys. The trick to the trade was dangling the promise of sex without ever having to deliver. His shirt felt good against her cheek though and smelt even better. “Oliver?” Trista’s voice was a whisper. “Your heart is beating like, super fast...” 

[tristakingstonarchived-blog]

oliveroshea:

The last, well it wasn’t even a person – the last living thing Ollie cuddled was a dog he didn’t even have anymore. Wasn’t there a certain angle to perfecting anything and everything? While cuddling and taking a nap, with Trista, seemed like a wonderful thing, it still felt weird giving in. How could he say no to her? He gave in to absolutely anything; that wasn’t even the difficult part. With a slight nod, Ollie rolled onto the bed and suddenly the very familiar sheets started to feel unknown to him. He had to tread carefully, make sure he didn’t scare off any chance he had with Trista ( which he suspected, positively, ever since the night at the party ). Laying his head close to hers, he looked at her as he wrapped a very careful arm around her. “B-Better?”

Okay, so maybe all ailments hadn’t been cured. Trista’s head was really starting to hurt again. and she was pretty sure she was dying slowly from alcohol poisoning or something. Would the post-drinking flush still show up when she slipped into a coma? More importantly, who would do her makeup at her funeral?! She was halfway to a nervous breakdown when Oliver’s arm slipped around her waist. “No, tighter.” Trista burrowed her face into the soft fabric of his shirt, hands curling to keep him in place.