#i always thought they did that shit by burning the fonts into the video via aftereffects or smth but it turns out

[hua-fei-hua]

today i learned that we weebs are responsible for the existence of the .ass file type. #heritage

[artificialqueens]

Tequila Ink (Trixya) - Marlene

Summary: Trixie has a wild night out and wakes up to a hangover and a tattoo dedicated to her girlfriend, who is might be very scared of commitment and the concept of things that last.

AN: Alright, so this was the first fic that I have ever considered publishing, so I’m hoping you guys could give me a light whether this is good or not, and maybe you could give me tips? In addition, English is not my first language, so I’m already sorry for the mistakes you’ll find here. This was a prompt I couldn’t get out of my head, and I hope you like it! Yay.

It’s three in the afternoon when Trixie wakes up to a soft knock on her bedroom door. Suddenly, she’s very aware of the pounding in her head and the taste in her mouth – she worries she has eaten something rotten, before she realizes she is rotten. She opens her eyes (big mistake) to find Katya, her girlfriend, staring at her with a sympathetic grimace. Now she knows that she looks like shit, too.

“This reminds me of when we met and I asked you if you were a fallen angel, gracing us mortals with your beauty.” The blonde-haired woman in her doorway speaks, her Russian accent sounding even stronger now that Trixie was hungover. “Now I know that yes, you probably did fall from heaven. Flat on your face.” Katya wheezes over her own joke, and both of them are glad over the fact that her laugh isn’t very loud, for it would fry Trixie’s brain up.

“Why did you let me go out with those beasts? I’ll never be the same again. I can’t move.” She mumbles, closing her eyes again. She feels Katya on her side, and then her lips on her temple. There is a warm feeling in her tummy, the butterflies, and she sighs out of relief and love. At least she’s not alone. She tells herself that she won’t ever go out again with Shea or Bob, or any of her friends unless Katya goes with her, so they can be sober together.

It’s a shit lie, but it calms her stomach fluids down. ‘Never again’, she tells herself.

“You probably won’t move again. You’re dead right now; this is only a video we play to calm people on their way to Hell.” They both laugh at that, which is proven a bad idea, and Trixie winces. If she had her eyes open, she’d know that Katya does the same, biting on her lower lip. The latter gets up after kissing her cheek once more, and informs that she’ll be cooking breakfast for them before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Trixie let out a sigh, very thankful for having such a caring person in her life. In the back of her mind, she knows that the Russian girl would have much rather stay in her own apartment throughout the slow Sunday, but she was caring enough to take the bus and make sure Trixie was fine. And she just knew now she was trying her hardest to not make a noise while on the kitchen. So lovable.

Rolling over on the bed, she reached out for her phone, deciding check the damage she had caused the night before. Drunk Trixie was a heavy texter, and she wasn’t even fazed over the perspective of having to apologize to someone for calling them out on their bullshit via text, having done that plenty of times in the past. Poor Mom. The first few texts she scrolls through don’t seem angry, and she smiles on the perspective of having become a responsible drunk. Well, that is, until she sees the string of texts Sasha, Shea’s girlfriend, sent her.

[06:24 AM] From Velour: Hey Trixie, are you girls okay? Shea said she would be home by four, and she’s not home nor is she answering her texts. Hope you are having fun!

[07:33 AM] From Velour: Apparently, she was sleeping outside, I should’ve checked before texting. Do you know where her shoes are?

[09:00 AM] From Velour: Tattoos, Trixie? I swear to God. Those are permanent.

After reading the last message, the blonde girl frowns. She is very glad that her best friend is fine, but what did her partner mean by ‘tattoos’? She texts back a question mark and keeps scrolling up her notifications, until she sees a few texts from Bob, consisting on a picture of her looking absolutely stupid, with only one of her eyes open under the harsh lights of the subway and another string of messages.

[05:34 AM] From Viola Davis: im sorry for leaving gg earlyyy, i hate work just got home

[05:36 AM] From Viola Davis: i cnt believe i have to get out of bed in 3 (t hREE) hours fuc

[08:30 AM] From Viola Davis: THIS WAS A BAD IDEA YOU ARE STUPID MY HEAD HURTS

[10:45 AM] From Viola Davis: SHEA GOT A TATTOO YOU ARE SO STUPID it looks bad lol does she even like butterflies?

[10:46 AM] From Viola Davis: send me a pic of yours u dumbass she just told me u did it together

She didn’t think twice before opening Shea’s messages, which consisted of a single text.

[10:50 AM] From Smelly: Bitch.

By then, Trixie had already sat on the sheets, eyes wide. There is no reason for panic, she tells herself, looking down on her arms and legs, her body still pale and milky. She had no memory of walking into tattoo parlors, but then again, she could not remember much of the night before. Why did both Sasha and Bob mention tattoos? She didn’t even remember her friend going home earlier. It did not take long until she was pulling off her sleeping shirt and she saw it.

Fuck.

“K”

There it was, beside her left boob; in a simple black font, permanently inked to her skin. There was no need to wonder, knowing exactly what – or better, who – it stood for.

Shit, fuck, motherfucker.

There was no way she had gotten a tattoo for her girlfriend. There was no fucking way she had permanently inked her skin for a girl that often spoke about how ‘nothing was permanent’ and how you ‘never knew what was going to happen. The make-up artist poked at it, wincing slightly. How come she had no memory of getting that done? She closed her eyes, groaning loudly, doing her best to recall everything they had done.

The strobe lights had burned themselves into Trixie’s corneas, or so she thought, as she stumbled alongside Shea in the streets of LA. They were clinging to one another desperately, laughing loudly, making the people who were walking by themlook at them either annoyed or cheerfully, raising bottles or empty shot cups. They had just walked Bob the station, deciding not to end their party just yet.

They were talking about anything and everything, so glad that they were having a chance to see each other after months. Coulée had just gotten herself a job as a model, and before Mattel’s very eyes, she was becoming a sensation, traveling all over the country to pose for magazines and wear other people’s clothes. Everybody was very proud, and the tiniest bit jealous.

It was time they got together to celebrate their success. Trixie was working for her dream make-up company, making people look good enough to destroy young girls’ self-esteem (as Katya would put), and had a platform that was big enough for her to talk about diversity, and whatever she thought needed attention. Her Instagram was bomb. Both her and her best friend were dating beautiful, artistic girls, eating pussy on their daily basis, and they had drank enough to feel festive, boasting about their lives as they ran the sidewalk.

Shea spun quickly, their chests slamming against one another in a hug, her eyes so wide Trixie was jumpy for a moment, before her grin widened. “I want to remember this forever, gurl.” She had shouted with a laugh, hugging the blonde very tight to her chest, trying to run her fingers through her hair and getting them stuck in the knots for a moment. Trixie did too, of course she did. She wished Bob were there.

She wished Katya were there, red lipstick all over both of their faces, smelling like sweat, cigarettes and cheap perfume. They would be holding hands, making fun of each other, and then Bob and Shea would walk faster, away from them and try not to laugh over the fact that the couple was making out against a dumpster, a dirty wall, the concrete.

She did too want to remember that night forever. Her life was the best it could be.

She tripped over her feet as her best friend pulled her inside a dirty parlor, and a giant smile spread over her face.

“I am dumb as fuck”, Trixie whispered to herself.

She was about to get her phone again to text someone, anyone, for answers, when she heard footsteps in the direction of her bedroom, and then Katya stumbling inside, holding a tray.

Trixie was quick to flip on her chest, hiding her face on the pillows, pretending to be asleep. There was no way she was going to explain that to Katya, she was going to get that removed the next day, it didn’t matter she had no money to do so. She would not face that kind of embarrassment, the high probability of her girlfriend freaking out over undying love that was now a permanent mistake on pale skin.

“Hey, doll. кукла” Katya whispered, sitting on the bed. Trixie could feel cold air against her back, and she could not believe she had forgotten to put back her shirt. There was a hand between her shoulder blades, stroking her skin as softly as possible. “C’mon, Trix, I know that you are awake. I got you food and coffee so you won’t throw up. I got some painkillers to.” She said in the soft voice that had always been comforting, being so sweet that Trixie could cry. She whined and then groaned against the pillows, glad she couldn’t see the look of confusion on her girlfriend’s face.

  “I’m not hungry right now.” She mumbled, unable to think of better excuses. “I just want to take a nap, you can go home if you want, I know you’ve got a lot to do.” She could hear a noise of disappointment, then there was a body next to hers, and an arm draped over her back as the shorter girl cuddled to her side. She could feel her breathing softly against her neck, and all she wanted was to hug her back, but she wouldn’t dare to lift her shoulder from the pillow and expose her shame.

“Trixie, you have to eat. You cannot have a diet based on tequila. Believe me, I have tried.” Katya laughed, poking her side. Their connection was strong enough to know that, after getting no reaction from her girlfriend other than a non-committed hum, the artist frowned. “Come on, baby. What is going on?”

There was a pause, and a deep breath. Her closed eyes pooled with tears, and she was very distressed and unsure of what she should do. She knew that Katya would leave if she told her so firmly, but Trixie was unaware of to which extent she wanted her gone, knowing had the body pressing against hers was one of her only sources of comfort since they had met in college.

Trixie was a doe eyed freshman in Arts School when she first saw Katya. Her and her roommate Pearl were walking around the campus, trying to find their way through their new life, when they came across a bunch of girls smoking near a tree. Pearl stood there for a long of time, unashamedly staring, happily affirming that she was very much gay, and that girls were much prettier here than they were in New York. Trixie was still a blushing virgin and very uncomfortable with her own sexuality, when she saw that there was a girl hanging from her knees in a branch of the tree, staring right back at her. She could barely make out the wink the Russian had thrown in her way, but she had felt herself lighting on fire in the insides.

From then on, it was like everywhere she went, Katya was there – the library, the communal bathrooms, and parties of all sorts. Usually, it would have made the American girl uncomfortable, but there was nothing in her that thought that the blond-grey haired girl was stalking her. If anything, her presence made Trixie feel protected, and it wasn’t long until they were bonding over the Feminist Club both of them had joined.

Katya was carefree and completely crazy, and positive in every aspect that Trixie was negative. She wasn’t afraid of standing up for her rights, of speaking her mind and fighting for what she thought was right. And it rubbed off so easily, and soon enough she wasn’t the scared little Milwaukee-born, although it took her a couple of years to tell her new best friend that she was in love with her.

She had never fallen out of it, even when the perspective of Katya being a wild child, a runner, someone unable to commit for too long had haunted her mind for the next five years.

“I did something very, very shitty.” She mumbled, hoping the tears wetting the pillow were enough to drown her. She could feel Katya’s breathing stopping for a moment, and the silence was enough to make Trixie think death had come grace her in the right moment. She knew her lover was probably going crazy with the possibilities, her anxiety a very old friend.

“Okay.” She said softly, clearly trying not to sound scared. “Did you, like, cheat?” she whispered, and Trixie gasped, turning her head on her side, so she would look at her face. Katya looked very, very scared, and she hated that she had made her feel that way. That was all so stupid, and made her feel like she wasn’t worth of her love. The Russian girl loved so fiercely, and never sounded like she doubted of how committed her girlfriend was to her.

“Oh, Kat, shit, no. I would never. You know that I wouldn’t dream of it.” She says seriously, blinking back tears. Those words are unable to make any of them calm down, and she feels the cold pad of her thumb trying to dry her face. She knows that her eyes are probably puffy, and that she looks stupid. What has she done?

“What happened, then? Did you kill someone?” Was then asked in a soft voice, as if it was an actual possibility. They were quiet before giggling at the perspective, and Trixie shook her head. “Did you text your mom calling her things again?” she asked, and they both winced before she shook her head again. “Did you call Violet calling her things again? If you did, I will not be taking care of it, I am not-“

“I got a tattoo.” Trixie cut her off, hiding her face on the pillow again. There was shock in the air before Katya cackled loudly, the sound of her slapping her thigh. It’s clear that she doesn’t get it, and Trixie waits for it to stop, praying for the sweet release of death.

“Oh my God. You are upset because you got a tattoo? Babe, it’s okay, we’ve all done it in the past. I did most of mine when I was drunk, high or just out of it.” She looks down on her arm, where there are half of a dozen small doodles, all of them very silly, but also very Katya. “What is it? Did you get a tramp stamp? Or a curse word? Oh, oh my God, please tell me that you tattooed the Barbie logo.” She is now giggling, and Trixie would be too, if she wasn’t facing the end of a five year relationship that she validated very, very much. She doesn’t know how to answer, to she just rolls so her belly is facing up and closes her eyes.

There is silence for a few beats, and for the first time in seven years of knowing each other, there are no words they want to exchange. She feels the wave of fresh tears come when her best friend, her lover, traces the outline of her new tattoo. It’s tiny, it’s black, and it’s filled with what she guessed was love and guilt.

“And ‘K’ stands for…”

“For Katya.”

“Okay.”

If what Trixie was doing before was considered as crying, she was now just bawling her eyes out, gasping a little with her sobs. She feels so much younger than she actually is, feels like that one time when she cut her bangs on her bathroom with school scissors and then had to show her mother, who had no money or patience to fix it. She feels like when she broke the pretty porcelain plate, fancy enough to only be used on special occasions. It was like kissing Kim on her first year of college, out of nowhere, and finding out that she indeed liked girls.

In no time, she’s on her girlfriend’s arms, being cradled like a baby. “Doll, no, no, why are you crying? Please, please don’t cry. We can erase it, don’t be like that.” Katya is whispering, and she has always been very good at calming people down, but Trixie doesn’t want to calm down, she wants to turn back time and make herself stop drinking, she wants to tell her and Shea to go home with Bob, to not be stupid. She’s not a reckless teenager, she is not a child, she’s not allowed to fuck up like that. She cannot risk the best relationship she has ever had in the sake of a stupid night.

“I’m so, so sorry, Kat. Please. I’m so sorry.” She babbles, and she asks how she’s supposed to go to Katya’s apartment to grab her stuff. She knows that most of her clothes are there, along with beauty products, and books and will Katya even want to keep the vegetarian food? It shouldn’t go to waste. It’s very messy, and she doesn’t know why she is still being held, why her girlfriend hasn’t walked out in sheer panic.

“Trixie, Trixie Mattel, why are you so upset? Please, please don’t cry. You’ll get it covered so quickly, you don’t have to worry. There’s nothing to be sorry for, baby, c’mon.” She says softly, and she sounds so worried, so willing to help Trixie before she flees. Her accent is very thick when things get dark, and she’s clearly confused as she rocks her back and forth. “Stop saying you are sorry, yeah? You’re good, you’re so good.”

“I didn’t want to ruin us.” She whines in one of the smallest voices she has ever heard herself use, and it feels much like being a baby. “I don’t know what I was thinking, I would never want to scare you off, I-“ She stops abruptly as she sees the look on Katya’s face, like she has no idea of what is going on or why she is hearing her girlfriend say that. It’s a look that would fit Alyssa much better. “I know how you feel about things being permanent, I know that you hate planning and perspectives… Why are you looking at me like that, Kat? You’re gonna get wrinkles all over your nose.”

Katya is stunned. She looks stunned, and she looks confused, and kind of sad and maybe even a little bit angry. It doesn’t fit her, and they both stare at each other for a whole minute before she has the will to ask “Trixie, are you upset because you thought tattooing a letter would get me upset?” she asks, gasping when her girlfriend nods, looking like she saw ghost. “Because I don’t like the perspective of permanence?”

“Yeah? And it’s not just like, a letter, it’s just like tattooing your name. This goes right next to sharing a Facebook profile, doesn’t it?”

Soon enough, Trixie is being pinned to the bed as Katya kisses all over her face, still salty with tears, eyes still wide because of the surprise. “I tend to forget how fucking young you are.” She whispers, even though she’s only three years older. “I’m not a kid anymore, Trixie.  Do I hate the idea of infinity? Yes, I do, because there is no such thing as the infinite. And because I don’t want to be old, and wrinkly and unable to clean after myself. It reminds me of how we give importance to things that don’t fucking matter to the universe.” She reasons, pulling her girlfriend’s hands to her lap, kissing cold fingers. “But I’m not like, scared of being committed to someone forever. Hell, I don’t flee anymore; I have loved every second we spent together.”

“You have always said you hate commitment, Kat.” She tries to argue, not knowing why she wanted to show how bad she had been. It’s almost like she wants her girlfriend to scream at her, because at least then she wouldn’t be this confused.

“I hate the idea of justifying to the government that I’m in love, Trix, c’mon, it’s different. I hate marriage when it’s on paper, in front a priest that wants us queers dead! I love being committed to you, I love that we are growing old together, shit. It’s kind of hot, really.” She mumbles. “Did you think I was going to be running away for five years? Cause if you did, I did all of my loving wrong, I’ve been fooling you for all the time that we’ve been together.” Katya sighs like she can’t believe what is going on. “I’m on your skin, yes, but you are in everything that I paint. You are every poem, every character in the novels. You are permanent in the things that I do and I love it, that’s why I’m not ashamed of my art anymore. I thought you knew that.”

Both of them stop looking at each other, only to look at the tattoo. It’s fresh, and it stings a bit when Katya runs a finger through it. Trixie has stopped crying for a while, now, and she’s just breathing in, taking in the fact that she had gotten everything wrong for a long time. “Do you like it, then?” she asks in a soft voice and smiles a bit when Katya does.

“I think it looks very pretty. I love Verdana.” She smiles, running her hands through Trixie’s hair. “Did it hurt?”

“I can’t remember doing it.”

“Do you regret it?” she asks, lying beside Trixie again and kissing her cheeks, her shoulder, and smiles against her skin when she answers that no, she does not regret it. It’s kind of cute that the only person who gets to see it is her girlfriend.

“If you ever do, we can say you did it for Kesha. She deserves it.” Is said softly against pale skin. “Maybe we can go to a parlor tomorrow.” she comments, making her girlfriend widen her eyes. “I get a tattoo of a small ‘T’, and if we ever go wrong, I can say it stands for Titanic. Or even better, I can say it stands for tits. Mum would be so proud.”

“You can do it in Comic Sans.” She jokes, and Katya nods her head, faking being serious.

“You were very scared for someone that knows that I have a tattoo dedicated to Jodie Foster.” Both of them laugh softly, holding each other. The coffee is cold when Trixie reaches for it, but the toast is still good, and she allows herself to go back to sulking for her headache. She watches as Katya falls asleep, snoring softly. Trixie reaches for her cellphone and laugh as she types.

[04:54 PM] To Smelly: why the fuck did you get a butterfly done, are you an idiot?