take you higher

TRISTAN SULLIVAN. 25. the getaway driver.

[camilasperezold]

She can tell how Tristan’s eyes track her movements— the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips, how carefully he assesses her and the jacket. There’s a flush to her cheeks. The weather outside the car may be brisk and biting, but Camila has always run warm.

‘It looks fucking amazing on you.’

She can’t help but preen. Characteristically shameless, she leans back in her seat to grin at him, tossing her hair behind her shoulder as if to pose for a photo, humming happily to herself. Camila folds her hands primly over her knee. Purses her lips.

She got a lot of attention at her job— sort of the entire point, really, meaning there was never a shortage of men willing to fawn and fuss and shove thick bands of cash towards her onstage when she wanted. But Camila found she liked this better. There was no confusing the signals he sent, and there was no confusing the way she leaned in towards him, the way her eyes sparked with interest the second he proposed to go do something. Maybe it was a little reckless, yes. But how was Camila supposed to deny what she wanted— he’d opened the door for her and she’d all but leapt in. Tristan was tall, and he was handsome, but it wasn’t just that. There was something there— something charged, and playful— that simmered between them. She liked that. How effortless it had arisen. 

She clicks her tongue. There was something relieving about his own answer; no need to pretend she hadn’t been absolutely smashed on a weekday.

“Oof. I was blackout drunk this Tuesday.”

Camila halves a breadstick and offers it to Tristan, taking a bite of her own half in the meantime. The music was nice. It floats around in the background as she chews, considers the questions between them. She likes the sound of that— being taken out in his car again. Tristan was curious. Camila was more than happy to oblige.  

“Oh, I can show you all my guilty pleasure music— if you ever take me out sometime. I like going out. I like dancing.”

She crosses a leg.

‘What do you like doing, Tristan?”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

There was no doubting it, at this point -- Tristan was very interested in Camila. She was effortlessly charming, sitting in the passenger seat of his car, posing for a photo that wasn’t being taken. Despite her being an obviously very beautiful woman, there was something else that caught his attention -- something that let him know he wasn’t just interested for superficial reasons.

She was blackout drunk on a Tuesday. She mentioned this right before sharing her breadstick with him. 

If Tristan hadn’t already been interested, that interaction would’ve done the trick. 

"Are you kidding me? Of course I’m gonna take you out,” Tristan simply said, reaching for the breadstick that she’d offered. He’d been starving before they ran into each other, something that Tristan had forgotten between the flirting and the memes. “I wanna take you out right now,” he admitted. “This fucking blackout ruined everything. We could’ve been on the other side of town, getting blackout drunk...”

He trailed off, smiling to himself as he turned to face the Chicago skyline. He bit into the bread, trying hard not to devour it all in one go. What did he like doing? Tristan didn’t even have to think. 

“I like driving,” he told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I like cars. Being in them, fixing them. Makin’ em go faster.” He glanced back over at Camila. “Racing them... and winning,” Tristan added smugly. “I like going out, too. Doing stupid shit with my friends, getting home at four in the morning, and sleeping in until someone thinks that I actually died.” 

She’d asked a simple enough question, one that he didn’t mind throwing back at her. 

“What about you? What do you like doing?”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

elijahxwilliams‌:

“I mean you could try.” He shot back teasingly, putting fists up as if in preparation for a fight before dropping them at the mention of a portable charger. He should’ve invested in one himself, probably should have invested in a lot of different things for emergencies, but that was a future version of himself to worry about. Right now he just had to accept his fate as one very unprepared bastard. But wasn’t it just great to have friends?

“Fuck yes.” Elijah exclaimed, watching as Tristan went into his car and pulled one out. Eagerly pulling his very dead phone from his back pocket, something that he carried with him out of habit rather than need since there wasn’t anything he could actually do with it, he plugged the android cord into this charger socket and waited for the black screen to light up. The second the screen went from dark to less dark, Elijah felt his heart skip a beat as if it were falling in love. Once the tone sang out that it was turning on, he felt like he could give Tristan a fucking kiss.

“Dude you’re a life saver.” His eyes remained locked on the screen until it prompted him to put in his lock screen password. He swiped his fingers across the screen and suddenly the promise land was once again available to him. “So many games.” He most likely would end up killing the battery less than an hour after he managed to get his phone charged back up again, but it would be worth it just to play all the stupid games he’d downloaded to pass the time.

Pulling his concentration back to Tristan, he scrunched his face in disapproval at the idea that his laptop had probably been stolen. While Elijah had been a part of the small groups that had been going out and creating a little chaos, he hadn’t been one to steal. Fires were easy enough to put out but replacing items could be a little bit more inconvenient. The matter of money, or lack thereof, was something Elijah had grown up being very well aware of so messing with other peoples stuff had simply been a strict ‘no’ policy for him. Unless he could straight up Robin Hood it, knowing he was taking from someone who was a piece of shit and could afford to get more of whatever it was, he wouldn’t risk messing with other people when he didn’t know their circumstances.

“Sorry dude. That’s messed up. If you wanted we could get a gang together and go back to Aurea to see if that dumb fuck Leon left a computer in his office. That would be a cherry on top.”

Tristan laughed, watching in amusement as Elijah’s face lit up. Tristan was 100% addicted to his phone, so he definitely wouldn’t have survived without a power bank. Thankfully, these last few days, Tristan had spent a lot of time in his vehicle, so he got to charge it when he drove around town. Still, Tristan definitely understood Elijah’s reaction to having a charger. Tristan took it upon himself to offer Eli some sage advice. 

“Now, remember, dude. Do not blow through the battery on your phone. Ration it out until you get super desperate. When that happens, hit me up, and I’ll swing by with a freshly charged power bank.” 

Trista paused. 

“Whoa, I just realized I could charge people for that and make some serious cash.”

He was kidding, of course, but it was sort of amusing to think about. Probably something that he would have done whenever he was younger. 

“Nah, dude. I don’t want Leon’s laptop. He gives me weird vibes. Seems like the type to get viruses on his computer because he clicked on an ad that promised him hot, single MILFs in the area, or whatever. I’ll just wait for Black Friday or something.”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

elisabettabiondi‌:

It was always more fun to toy with someone new than to exchange pleasantries but this one seemed like the type to converse with someone when there as an openness to them. There was a switch in her body language as she eased into the passenger’s seat and extended her hands out to the car’s heater. Relaxed and inviting instead of cold and impenetrable. Warmth, a temperature and a disposition, Lisabetta had learned to craft from long nights spent on a hard, cold floor. 

She preferred to be the one asking the questions instead of answering them.  Her job after all revolved around it and she was good at getting answers. Her hands began to rub together in front of the heater as she looked out at the dark streets and saw nothing but her reflection and the outline of Tristian’s silhouette mixed with her own. “930 W Altgeld St.” The place comes easy to her lips, one of many she called her own in the world and this city. It was her public residence, the one she used when free lancing in the city. The junk address for unwanted company’s prying. The way she stretched and settled herself more into the car reflected the mannerisms of a cat that has just spent hours basking in the sun with little to no movement. 

A small upward curve of her mouth precedes her head turning to look in his direction instead of out towards the shadows of the night. “How did you get that?” Lisabetta’s hands that had been rubbing themselves together stop as one she taps her index finger against her lip where his wound would be. The wound looked fresh, less than a day old if she had to guess. She had her fair share of those through out her life and knew how the sting of it once your body knows could radiate throughout your entire jaw until it settled. “It looks pretty fresh. Does it still hurt?” She asks as if she had never been hurt like that before. 

Tristan made note of the fact that she didn’t give her name. Oh. It seemed a little strange to him, for her not to give it whenever he was doing the nice thing and giving her a ride home. But he didn’t dwell on it too much, honestly. He tried not to expect things from people that he didn’t know. And maybe Tristan wouldn’t ever see her again after this. Maybe this was just a small, insignificant interaction that they’d both forget about by the end of the week.

Tristan knew where Altgeld street was, so little to no thought was required of him as he sped towards that side of town. He was very familiar with Chicago. He had to be, given that most of his teenage years had been spent cruising through the streets, looking for trouble. And, as an adult, not much else had changed. 

The woman was asking about his busted lip, and it was tempting to give her some magnificent lie. The opportunities were endless -- but he settled on something vague, deciding it probably wasn’t best to draw so much attention to what had happened at Aurea. After all, Tristan had been front and center for part of it, and it was best to keep things vague. 

“Oh, y’know. People are fucking crazy right now. Some dude was trying to jack my car and, obviously, I wasn’t gonna let him. He didn’t appreciate that, so we got into it.” 

The busted lip wasn’t too much of an inconvenience. It only hurt whenever he talked, which might’ve been enough incentive for him to shut the hell up every now and then. Too bad that Tristan was Tristan, and talking was like breathing for him -- he couldn’t go very long without it. 

“It’s not bad. Gets in the way when I’m talking sometimes. I accidentally bit myself earlier -- hurt like hell.” 

Tristan continued driving, thankful that the streets were, for the most part, empty. Most sane people had sought shelter until things went back to normal. 

"What are your plans for the rest of the blackout, anyway? Hole up until shit gets back to normal, or...?” Tristan wondered. He wasn’t sure what he’d do himself. His apartment likely wasn’t the safest. It didn’t matter to Tristan what happened next, anyway. He’d always had a taste for the thrill of spontaneity.

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

abel-costello‌:

When was that exactly? Abel furrowed his brows as he tried to recall the year, this on top of having concerns as to where he’d seen the boy, the consigliere shook his head and shrugged. He took a sip of his beer and gave up.

Onstage, a new band was setting up their equipment and the ambient music replaced the live one from a moment ago; the stranger recalled visiting the bar a few months back, to which Abel only nodded– he wasn’t sure if the kid was daft or he was losing his edge, or maybe the boy was just too damn persistent. Kids these days didn’t give two shits for personal space and wanting to be left alone, just ask Sofia.

“You waiting for someone?” he asked as Abel tried to send him on his way.

Maybe the stranger wasn’t interested in a conversation -- but Tristan wasn’t necessarily paying attention. He had a bad habit of simply talking, and talking, and talking, until he was interrupted. But, for the most part, Tristan’s small talk was always harmless, and the other party was free to simply walk away. It was only whenever there were assholes around that Tristan started to mouth off and got a little braver with the shit that he said. 

The man standing next to him was quiet, but Tristan could already tell he wasn’t the type to fuck with. There was just something about his energy that told Tristan he better play things casually. 

“Nope,” Tristan said, gesturing over to his loud group of friends, on the other side of the club now. “I’m with them. They’re pregaming for this thing we’re going to later. I’m driving, so no alcohol for me,” he said, holding up the glass of water rather lamely. For Tristan, the real fun would come later, in the form of adrenaline as he barreled through the streets of Chicago in his Camaro. “And you? You waiting on someone, or just... waiting to see who catches your eye?”

[camilasperezold]

Camila brushes a strand of hair behind her shoulder, lip curling in amusement as Tristan details his Baja Blast addiction. It was a smooth ride. He navigated them out of traffic, away from the orderly block of buildings towards the waterfront, making sure to drop wry comments at her in the meantime—very obviously flirty in nature.

Camila giggles.

Her head lolls back up against the seat. Camila’s grin stretches further, a low hum escaping between pursed lips as her mind ponders the taste of an alcoholic baja blast, the way Tristan drove in this car with such easy skill. Was this reckless? Heading off somewhere with strangers? Camila doesn’t think so. It didn’t feel that way— if Tristan was any way bad, she would have been able to tell a long time ago.

Once they’ve wheeled into their spot, he offers her his jacket, offers her even more besides. Very sly. Very chivalrous, offering up a spot right next to him so she could stay toasty. It was a bit shameless, but Camila doesn’t mind at all. She angles herself toward him, not quite scooting forward— not yet. The height quip needs to be addressed first.

She raises an eyebrow primly.

“Look, Mr. Space Heater, Shaquille O’Neal looks short next to you.”

Shaquille O’Neal, was, in fact, seven-foot, but she still thinks her point stands.

Camila threads an arm through the sleeve, then the next, makes a show about fluffing it up and adjusting the collar in a prim, playful way. She decides to let one side slip down her shoulder. It was huge on her. But slouchy jackets were always a look, and she appreciates the dark sheen of the leather, the way it weighed on her shoulder comfortably. So what if the sleeves were made for a wingspan twice her size? That hardly mattered.

She arches a brow in his direction, inspects the box of pasta to make sure none of the contents are about to spill out if she opens it.

“—Pretty good fit?”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

As Camila slipped into his jacket, Tristan kept his eyes locked on her the entire time. Naturally, he was grinning, very smugly. And, naturally, the jacket looked even better on her. It was way too large for someone of her size, but she wore it well. One of the sleeves hung off of her shoulder. ‘Pretty good fit?’

Tristan had already decided from the beginning of their interaction that he would be asking for her number at some point. But it was in that particular moment, with the pasta in her lap, his jacket draped over her shoulders, that Tristan decided he absolutely had to take her out one evening. (In addition to getting her number, of course.) Camila was a goddamn dream. Funny. She knew memes. She seemed pretty fearless, considering she got in the car with him with little to no consideration for who he might’ve been. Oh, and she looked like a model. Not like the cheap Instagram models, either -- like, the real thing.

“It looks fucking amazing on you,” Tristan admitted, still grinning. He wasn’t sure he’d ever stop. And he was pretty shameless in his actions, at that point. His intentions were perfectly clear: he was interested in her. He was curious by nature, so of course Tristan wanted to spend the rest of the evening getting to know her. 

Tristan reached for his phone, connecting it to his Camaro’s Bluetooth so they could listen to music while she ate. He thumbed through his Spotify quickly, settling on a pre-made playlist of generally chill sounding Indie music. Not exactly what he listened to on the daily, but it was calm and nice to listen to. Perfect background noise. He placed his phone down in the cup holder. He shifted slightly, turning towards Camila. 

“Not even gonna lie, Camila. I’m... pretty curious. About you. I wanna know stuff about you.” He paused only for a brief moment, speaking before she had the chance to. “But like, I wanna skip the basics right now, get right into the good stuff, y’know? Like, your guilty pleasure music. Favorite homemade meal. Or, maybe the last time you got blackout drunk. Which for me was two weekends ago, so don’t be embarrassed or anything. I just gotta know what to prepare for whenever you, hopefully, let me take you out.”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

elijahxwilliams‌:

Elijah thought of all the possibilities and admittedly his mouth started watering just imaging what he said. It didn’t help that they were in the middle of fall either, so the temperature was dropping every night.

“Honestly I can’t believe it actually has lasted this long. Can’t believe good tax money is being wasted on people who can’t even get their job right.” He was sure there was actually a whole lot more that went into getting the entirety of Chicago’s electrical grid back up and running, but it was easier to just blame them for the incompetence then to actually take any of that into consideration.

Looking around the abandoned parking lot once more, he gave a small shrug at Tristan’s question. “Trouble, entertainment, anything really. I’m so bored.” He lamented, sounding like a child. His phone had died a while ago and everyone else just seemed to be attempting to get their bearings with how to handle these last few days so no one wanted to keep a big man child entertained.

“What about you? How have you been passing the time?”

Tristan playfully rolled his eyes at Elijah’s comments about tax money being wasted. “Bro, if you ever mention taxes around me again, I’ll kick your ass. I don’t understand them,” Tristan simply said. He understood the basics, but diving deeper into that mess was boring. Especially when it wasn’t taught in schools. Besides -- it was much easier to find weird conspiracy videos on YouTube. Ask Tristan about Dyatlov Pass, and he could talk in full detail about the eeriness of the situation. Not fucking taxes. 

“I have a portable charger if ya wanna use it,” Tristan said, not really waiting for Elijah to respond. Of course he’d wanna use it. Any sane person living in 2019 would wanna charge their electronics at a time like this. He opened his car, pulled out the power bank from the center console. He had two charges -- iPhone and Android. He handed them both back to Eli before shutting his car door.

“I haven’t really been passing the time any particular way,” he said, leaning back against his car, arms folded. “Just cruisin’ around town. Looking for interesting shit to do. I wish I was brave enough to go raid like, a Best Buy or something. I just bought a new laptop but I’m pretty sure someone stole it.”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

missaverymercer‌:

Avery let the second babe slide. Instead, she simply laughed and thanked him for the lime tonic. But the way the scent of the scotch seemed to hover in the air did not go unnoticed. The pungent familiarity warmed her nostrils and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She shook the feeling off and tucked her hair behind her ear to play it off as nothing. She wasn’t an alcoholic. At least that was what she told herself as she sipped her lime tonic. But why did her body and her brain react the way it did?

She shrugged before tucking her hair behind her ear again. “I went stayed with my aunt and waited it out. She lives in the suburbs, so she still had power and everything,” She smiled a little at the peace it brought her to get away from the city, even if only for a little bit. “Nothing too exciting, but it was nice. I had a good time. What about you? What’d you do?” Avery added and turned her body towards Tristan to give him her undivided attention. 

“Yeah, I thought about that, too,” Tristan began before sipping on the scotch. He glanced over at Avery and shrugged. “My mom lives in the suburbs. I think she would’ve freaked the second she saw the busted lip I had. So I just toughed it out in the city,” he explained. And it was true -- his mother would’ve worried, demanded an explanation as to what had happened. Tristan couldn’t detail what had happened over the course of the blackout to his mother.

"You know. Just got into some trouble. Had some fun,” Tristan explained rather vaguely. He wiggled an eyebrow at her, deciding it was best to leave some of his antics up to her imagination. “Probably the craziest shit I saw was some dude walking around with a literal flamethrower. He looked like the fucking Punisher or whatever. No one wanted to fuck with that guy.” 

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

paitynsinclair‌:

Paityn’s jaw dropped at Tristan’s audacity. Of course, she was amused by the accuracy of his comparisons, feeling like a Chicago Housewife more than her own person guzzling down liquor as she sat on her couch. 

“What the fuck is a Vegas bomb?” she asked, perplexed by his suggestion. Paityn rolled her eyes and pointed to the cabinet under her television. “My hard liquor’s in there,” she said. “It tastes like garbage but gets the job done.” Paityn shrugged, as she stood up, walking to her fridge to grab the bottle of flat champagne left over from the night before.

When Tristan asked her about being on house arrest Paityn couldn’t help the smile grow on her face. “I haven’t been avoiding you if that’s what you’re asking,” she teased, walking back to the couch. Bottle in hand and mind at ease, Paityn let herself feel at home while she was at home.

“I just don’t really feel like partying these days, I guess.”

Tristan was shocked to hear that Paityn didn’t know what a Vegas bomb was. He made a mental note to buy her that the next time that they were out and about together. “A Vegas bomb is the best fucking shot you’ll ever have. Pretty dangerous because it’s good as fuck and by the end of the night, you’ve had like fifteen. And you end up blackout drunk behind a dumpster. It’s got crown royal, Red Bull, and schnapps.”

Tristan helped himself to the liquor that was stored underneath the television, picking out a bottle of tequila. He grabbed two glasses, just in case Paityn decided to join him for something stronger, and poured himself a drink. He walked back over to the couch, and sat down next to her. 

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Tristan wondered. “I thought you were into that. Partying and stuff.”

[midsommars-deactivated20201109]

Ansel Elgort for John John Denim (2018)

[camilasperezold]

I hope you know I’m watching that fucking movie as soon as the power comes back on.

Camila gives a long exhale, as if there’s simply nothing else to be done. She had warned him! If anything, she thinks Tristan is only going to be encouraged by her cautioning; the weirder she made it sound, the more excited he seemed to get.

Ah, well.

Tristan rolls out their options after a second of thought, leaving the final decision with Camila. ( It’s hard not to miss the smug grin he directs down at her in the process. Is it the height thing again? ). Camila pauses, and weighs the two options idly in her mind. Cold, and scenic. Dark, and boozy. It’s hard to ponder either when Tristan works his way around the car so smoothly, opening doors and starting engines with a grace that’s somewhat surprising for someone of his height. He seemed comfortable in there. Content. It was, according to the skip in her pulse and flush on her face, hot. Very hot.

He revves the engine, and Camila nearly jumps, lips pursing to hide the squeal that nearly bubbled up from her chest. Clearly he was showing off. She doesn’t mind at all— she likes to be shown off for.

Camila leans in from the open door towards Tristan, a bare leg perched coyly atop the seat. The flash of skin was clearly for his benefit.

“Hope that engine rev wasn’t for lil’ ol’ me.”

She slides into the seat beside him, her finger running a delicate path over the detailing of the interior. It was nice. Spotless, and impeccably maintained; the whole car was, in fact. There’s a beat, until her eyes finally snap back to his. Camila’s lips curl upwards; mischievous, obviously pleased.

“Alright, Tristan. Take me somewhere scenic.”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

Tristan very deliberately took a moment to stare at her leg, unable to hide the smirk that was now plastered across his face. His eyes flitted upward, catching Camila’s. The engine rev was totally for her, and she knew it, too. He simply winked in response, smirk widening into a grin now. He was pretty proud of himself because, so far, things were working in his favor it seemed.

Scenic it was.

He waited until she was comfortably situated inside of his car before he pressed on the gas and accelerated out of the parking lot in signature Tristan fashion: loud, fast, and a little recklessly. The destination in mind was Promontory Point, near Hyde Park. There was nothing particularly special about the Point, but the view of Lake Michigan and the Chicago Skyline never got old. It was one of Tristan’s favorite spots -- it was also the only place that Tristan could think of that wasn’t likely littered with looters and people who were generally up to no good. It seemed like a good place to take a pretty girl.

Tristan didn’t always drive fast, but having Camila around made him want to give her a good show. There were a few cars stopped along the roads, but Tristan was able to maneuver between them rather effortlessly. The drive was smooth, with no harsh turns or abrupt stops. Along the way, Tristan made small talk, telling Camila about his inability to quit drinking Baja Blasts from Taco Bell, and how good they seemed to taste whenever you mixed them with Vodka. Then, the subject shifted -- some more shameless flirting and stupid commentary on his end. 

As they neared their destination, Tristan glanced over at Camila. For half a moment, he debated on apologizing for not having a better hangout spot. But Tristan was a firm believer that good company was enough to salvage any bad setting. Camila was good company, and he thought he was, too. So instead, he pulled into a spot, silently thankful that the park looked empty. He reached into the backseat, pulled out a stylish, black leather jacket that he’d kept in the car -- usually for race nights, whenever it was fucking freezing out. It’d be enough to keep her warm, if she wanted to get out of the car. 

“You can wear that,” Tristan offered, resting the jacket in the space between the two of them. “You can also eat your food, by the way. If you don’t want it to get cold. I don’t really mind if you eat in here.” 

It was a half lie -- he didn’t like to eat in his car because he had a tendency of being sorta messy when he ate, but she didn’t seem like the type. He wasn’t going to flip out if some pasta was spilled. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. Plus, he’d sort of seem like a dick if he made her get out of the car to eat -- which he had no intention of doing. 

“Oh, I also wanted to tell you something,” Tristan said, somewhat serious to start with. “You’re a very small person, so if you get really cold even with my jacket, I’m pretty good at retaining body heat.”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

missaverymercer‌:

Avery stifled a laugh, and how couldn’t she? Tristan tried to play the role of her knight in shining armor for the night, a role someone else would undoubtedly try to fill after him and again. But still, she didn’t take his chivalry for granted, even if she didn’t need it. Sometimes, it was nice to pretend that all men weren’t complete and utter garbage in one way or another. 

“Babe?” She finally allowed a chuckle as she looked at Tristan. She decided to ignore the habit he seemed to have of condensing her name into a single letter. In fact, she found his familiarity amusing despite hardly knowing him. Regardless, the few times she’d found herself in Tristan’s company was always pleasant, and she had no reason to send him away. 

“I’m drinking lime tonic, T,” Avery playfully added emphasis to the letter.

Despite not knowing Avery too well, Tristan could immediately tell that she was someone he’d enjoy being around. He was new to the business, not fully invested in the ongoing war. He was simply paying off a debt. Once that was done and over with, Tristan fully planned on going back to a (semi) normal life -- working at the shop, building cars, trying to make something of himself. Making more friends like Avery. 

“Yeah, babe. Now that dude won’t bother you for the rest of the night,” Tristan assured rather confidently, offering Avery a playful wink as he motioned the bartender over. He ordered another lime tonic for her, as well a scotch on the rocks for himself. He glanced over at Avery, hands absently tapping against the wooden bar rather impatiently. He was looking for some good drinks and a decent conversation. 

“How’d you spend the blackout?” Tristan finally asked, figuring that was a good topic to focus on. Even if she didn’t have any crazy stories, he had a few interesting ones that were worth sharing.

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

abel-costello‌:

It was hard to miss him, the boy easily towered over the rest of the crowd as he made his way towards Abel and as the consigliere tried to recall where he’d seen the boy or if he knew him at all, a question was thrown his way.

The blonde watched him from his peripheral as Abel debated on letting the attempt at small talk die, but it was harmless chitchat and it wasn’t like the inquiry was about him. So he nodded, taking another swig from his bottle before letting the other know that he hadn’t been there in a long time.

“Alt-J was performing then,” Abel shared. That was the last time he had been in the Empty Bottle, back in 2012. This kid was probably still in high school back then or something.

Talking was difficult -- despite the relatively chill atmosphere that the Empty Bottle provided, the music was loud, and there were dozens of people all around, having discussions of their own. So when Tristan spoke, he spoke loudly -- louder than normal.

"Oh yeah?” Tristan wondered as he brought his drink up to his mouth. He finished it off, handing it off to a waitress passing by. “When was that?” Tristan wondered out loud, not taking his eyes off of the band performing. Tristan got the feeling that the man likely didn’t want to be disturbed, but that had never stopped Tristan from striking up a conversation before. “I was here a few months back. Whenever that shitty 90s cover band was performing. Fun night, even with bad music.” 

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

paitynsinclair‌:

Having Tristan in her apartment was strange. He hadn’t been working for the family long, but they knew each other before his unfortunate employment. She liked his company, but she can’t help but feel awkward around him since the kiss.

After the explosion, Paityn was broken. She never was one for random hookups, but her insecurities and anxieties doubled in the wake of her injuries. She didn’t reject his kiss because she didn’t like him, but because she couldn’t fathom why he’d like her. One kiss could lead to more and Paityn refused to let herself get hurt.

However, that was months ago. Now, she was in a relationship with Luca Costello. Paityn bit her lip. She hoped he wouldn’t try to kiss her again. What could she say? I’m….dating. It doesn’t matter who…Paityn took a hit from the bong. Almost instantly the smoke lightened her mood and her worries dissipated with the high. 

Paityn tossed Tristan the remote and leaned back into the couch cushions. “You pick,” she said, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. She sighed and turned her head so she could look at him. “I do have a few bottles of wine in the fridge if we really wanted to have a party.”

Ah, substance abuse. Anything to forget the reality of her situation.

“Wine? For a party?” Tristan scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. “Paityn. I’m not a forty year old mother of three whose had a long, stressful day at work. I’m twenty-five. You don’t have anything we can mix with like, red bull or something?” Tristan asked, leaning back on the couch, eyes wandering back over to her kitchen, hoping somehow she’d have something else. “You’re too young for ‘wine drunk.’ You need to be taking like, Vegas bombs and shots with Jolly Ranchers in it or some shit.”

He reached for the weed again, lighting it once more for a major bong rip. Even if all she had was wine, at least he’d be high as fuck for it.

He exhaled, placed the bong down on the table in front of them. He reached for the remote, scrolled through a few Disney movies, before settling on Lilo and Stitch. He’d mentioned Tarzan and Hercules before, but Tarzan was pretty depressing. He wasn’t in the mood for Hercules. Lilo and Stitch seemed like the perfect entertainment for being high. That weird little alien was pretty cool. Tristan used to do a semi-impressive impersonation whenever he was nine. 

“If wine’s all you got, that’s fine,” Tristan finally said, reassuring Paityn that he wouldn’t actually throw a fit over a drink. Tristan wasn’t picky. Besides -- the end goal was to get crossfaded. At least, for him. 

“So. Are you under house arrest nowadays, or what? Haven’t seen you at any parties recently. At least, not any of the ones that I’ve been at, which could actually be on purpose...”

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

@tristan.s do you think my mom will be pissed if i show up to thanksgiving dinner wearing this

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

missaverymercer‌:

Where: The Black Cat

When: November 2019, post blackout

Who: Anyone

It came no surprise to Avery that The Black Cat would be up and running after what felt like a lifetime in the Chicago-wide blackout. It was even less of a surprise that the place was packed as if nothing had happened. Still and all, it felt good to be there, in the midst of her people again after an abrupt, unpleasant time away.

Avery sat at the bar, legs crossed as she leaned against the counter. Unfazed, she sat amongst powerful men and men who pretended to be such. They sipped their scotch and whiskey, and she sipped her lime tonic. Neat. Refreshing. Nonalcoholic.  She could feel their gaze, their eyes burning into her from head to toe. Avery learned long ago not to pay them any mind. It was a part of the allure. It was also part of her job. But as for tonight? She wasn’t on the clock. She was simply there to support her girls. Avery smiled a little to herself at the idea of getting to watch them perform for a change, but the smile quickly falls when she feels someone approaching her.

“I’m not working tonight. Sorry,” Avery said, half sincere as she took another sip of her drink.

Hanging around at the Black Cat seemed to be the norm these days. Not to be a creep, or anything -- but the drinks were good, the live shows were fun to watch. And, on occasion, he’d get lucky and one of the new girls would flirt with him before he even tried anything. It was a decent hangout spot. 

Tristan had made his way back over to the bar. He had the night off and was in need of a few more drinks before he really loosened up. He was there for a good time, and the night was still young. He saw some weirdo approach Avery, and she very quickly informed him that she wasn’t on the clock. The stranger simply stood there, too drunk to really process what she’d said, before Tristan swept in and sandwiched himself between the two of them. He faced Avery.

“Hey. Sorry, I was having trouble parking the car, babe,” he said, loud enough for the inebriated stranger to take a hint. Within a couple of seconds, the man had decided it wasn’t worth the trouble and ended up wandering back to a woman around his age. Probably his wife. 

Once the man was out of sight, he turned to look down at Avery. 

“Don’t worry, A. I don’t wanna watch you perform. Just wanna hangout. What are you drinkin’? I’ll get the next round.”

[abel-costello]

Date: November 2019 Location: The Empty Bottle, Chicago

There was a need for a break from the glint of sophistication that places like the Sapphire offered, and the Empty Bottle was one of the few places that were spared from the wreckage of the blackout; it had been a couple of years since Abel had been there, but the hole-in-the-wall bar had been one of his go-to places to be incognito. And now he’s back, a bottle of cheap beer in hand as the consigliere joined the crowd.

Dressed in an old shirt, jacket, jeans, and weather-beaten boots, Abel almost looked like any other person in attendance that night but the dead-eyed look on his face had people thinking twice before bothering him. He had his back against the wall as he drank, allowing him a good vantage point for anything; the Empty Bottle may be on neutral grounds but with the ongoing war, the rules were more of a guideline now.

[tristan-sullivan-archive]

The Empty Bottle wasn’t a place that Tristan frequented often, but it was a location that he enjoyed. It was a small space, with live music and good alcohol. Tristan, however, wasn’t drinking. In just a few hours, he’d be heading out of town, to a small race that had been lined up. He’d arrived at the Empty Bottle with a group of friends that wanted to pre-game, or whatever, but Tristan knew better than to fuck with liquor or drugs before a race. It was dangerous, first of all. And drugs would just cloud the natural high that came with winning.

Nights whenever Tristan raced were ones that he looked forward to the most. He was restless, wishing it were time to go already. 

Tristan’s friends had gone back up to the bar. He sipped on a glass of water, wandering towards the back of the crowd. The live band was good -- not necessarily his style of music, but it was nice to listen to. Still, he nodded along to the music. 

“Pretty decent band, huh?” Tristan said, glancing over. The blonde looked familiar -- but Tristan couldn’t really remember from where. And he wasn’t really looking, anyway. He averted his gaze quickly, focusing back on the band as they finished out a song. He was just looking for small talk, for something to make the time go by faster. “Last time I was here there was a shitty 90s cover band.”

[whitepeopletwitter]