#as for the colours... i was left unsupervised with my mother's paints | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tsarisfanfiction · 4 years

Text

Splatter

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: Virgil, Gordon, Scott, John, Jeff, Lucille

And another fic for @gumnut-logic‘s #irrelief! Two prompts for this one: “Little Virgil & Gordon” from @weirdburketeer and “Virgil trying to teach a brother how to art” from @melmac78

Scott was going to regret leaving him to handle Gordon alone, especially when paint got involved.

Nine year old Virgil eyed the paper in front of him critically. It was almost done, almost perfect. Just one more dab of paint… there. His hand retreated and he nodded, satisfied, before movement caught his eye and reflexes honed by necessity caught questing, paint-covered, fingers as his menace of a younger brother reached out to deface his newly completed art.

“Gordon!” he complained at the five year old, who grinned back at him mischievously. “What are you doing?”

“Painting!” he said gleefully, holding up two hands covered completely in a rainbow of colours. With some despair, Virgil could see that damage had already been done – unsupervised, Gordon had managed quite an impressive array of handprints along the furniture and newly wallpapered walls.

Why was their demon brother unsupervised?

“Scott!” he hollered up at the ceiling.

“Scott’s busy!” Gordon chirped, smearing his paint-smothered hands on the table and narrowly missing Virgil’s completed artwork. It was still too wet to move, and Virgil’s own fingers were paint-smeared and needed a wash before he touched it again anyway, therefore it was – somewhat – simpler to instead relocate the slippery creature he was apparently related to.

“Why is Scott busy?” he asked, hoping said brother would appear and take the five year old away before any more paint ended up where it shouldn’t.

“Homework!” Gordon grinned, flailing his hands around. Globs of paint flew through the air, one landing squarely on Virgil’s nose. He swiped it away irritably, only for Gordon to point and laugh.

He still had paint on his fingers. And now on his face.

“SCOTT!” he yelled, as Gordon giggled insistently. “JOHN!”

“What?” Scott’s voice finally floated down to him, sounding distracted. John, predictably, didn’t answer. His nose was probably buried in a book, rendering him deaf to the world. It wouldn’t be unusual.

“Gordon’s being a pain!” he complained. With Mom and Dad taking Alan for a check-up, Scott had been left temporarily in charge and, in Virgil’s opinion, was doing a thoroughly poor job by shutting himself up in his room and letting Gordon run wild.

“I’m doing homework!” Scott shouted back. “You play with him!”

A door shut upstairs, signalling the end of the conversation. Virgil fumed silently at him for a moment, before realising that Gordon wasn’t giggling any more. He looked around frantically, and found him raising a single, colourful, finger immediately above his finished artwork.

“No!” he snapped, leaping at his brother and forcefully dragging him away. Brown eyes looked up at him hopefully.

“I want to paint!” he declared, emphasising his demand with a sticky finger jabbing at Virgil’s cheek. “Let’s paint!”

Virgil looked at his already paint-covered brother, glared up at the ceiling where his elder brothers had both willingly abandoned him to this fate, and then grinned.

If Scott wanted him to play with Gordon, he would play with Gordon. After all, Scott was in charge and he was just doing as he was told.

“Okay,” he agreed, picking up his paints and taking them over to the kitchen floor, along with some vaguely paint-free paper. “I’ll show you how to finger paint.” Gordon’s ever-present devil’s grin was out in full force.

“I already know how to finger paint!” he declared, splatting his hand down in the vague vicinity of the paper, leaving another colourful mess on the floor. “See!”

“No,” Virgil corrected him, leading him to the sink and washing the worst of the paint off of his hands as best he could. Gordon wriggled, not unhappy with the water, but disappointed to see swirls of colour running down the drain. “First, we need clean hands.” He washed his own as well, using his bigger size to keep Gordon pinned in place until his hands were also acceptable. “And dry ones, otherwise the paint will get too runny.”

The towel was accepted with poor grace, Gordon more interested in slapping wet hands on Virgil’s clothes instead. Virgil persevered, however, and soon had Gordon sat cross legged on the floor, in front of the paper and paint, with clean, dry hands. He sat down next to him, keeping most of the paint out of reach.

Gordon lunged for the paint in reach, dabbing his fingers in with precision until each finger (and thumb) had a different colour on, before he lurched for the paper and slammed them all down at the same time. Virgil winced.

“That’s how babies finger paint,” he protested, looking at the hand prints rapidly forming as Gordon mixed the colours on the paper with abandon. “I’ll show you how to do it properly.”

Gordon looked at the mess on the paper – a purple-brown concoction, for the most part – and then at his fingers.

“Clean your hands again,” Virgil told him, picking up another bit of paper. Gordon wiped his hands vigorously on his clothes – freshly applied, the paint transferred readily to the fabric. “Properly, Gordon. Or no more painting.” The blond menace pouted, but dutifully scrambled onto the stool to reach the sink again.

As the water gushed out of the taps, Virgil placed his clean paper over the mess Gordon had made, pressing down on it carefully and holding it there until he was satisfied the paint had stained it before pulling it away.

The water was still running.

“Gordon,” he said, and with a giggle the boy finally shut off the tap and hurriedly wiped his hands on the towel again before skidding back to his side on his knees. “Look.” He carefully dipped a single finger in the green, before dabbing towards the top of the area. “Leaves!” Gordon’s eyes brightened, and he jabbed a finger in the blue before making swirls at the bottom of the paper.

“Water!” he said. “Look.” A wonky circle took up a hand’s-width of the paper, before a single skinny finger trailed a blue line from it all the way to the edge of the paper, and onto the floor. “A lake with a river!”

Virgil grinned.

“You do the water, I’ll do the plants,” he said, and Gordon nodded enthusiastically. “Look, if you use darker and lighter colours, it looks better.” Finding a dark green and a yellow paint, he dabbed at his green splotches. Gordon watched with wide eyes before smearing a finger with the darker blue and slapping it in the middle of his lake.

“It’s deeper in the middle!” he declared. “Where the fish swim.”

“And brighter at the top, where it sees the sun,” Virgil added, using his yellow to give little highlights to the top of each leaf. Gordon frowned, looking at the paint colours, before taking a little bit of blue and adding some white to mix it together for a pale blue. Virgil added a little more, for better contrast, even though his interference was met with blue paint on his shirt as Gordon pouted, and once the blond was satisfied he added the lighter colour to one edge of his lake.

Then he smeared yellow on his finger and added in small blobs with spikes to both the lake and the river.

“Lots of fish!” he said proudly, before using the orange unbidden to give the spikey blobs darker patches, and then the white for whiter patches “on top!”

Virgil laughed and let him be as he focused on his own leaves, adding in a bright red caterpillar to offset all the greens and blues. Gordon also stole some red for more fish, and green for a frog, and by the time a car could be heard in the driveway, their woodland lake was full of creatures.

At the sound of the car, Gordon froze and looked around, as did Virgil.

The kitchen was a mess, large parts of the floor covered in paint. It was going to take a lot to clean, and Mom and Dad would not be happy. A lithe, paint-covered hand, found the plastic palette of paint and with a Cheshire cat grin, Gordon flipped it face down.

“Whoops,” he said, gleefully. Virgil stared at him in horror, knowing that was one more thing that would upset their parents, before remembering why he’d ended up painting with Gordon, of all the messy creatures.

He grinned back at Gordon and gestured up the stairs. Brown eyes met brown eyes, and a matching look of mischief came over his own face.

“Not our fault,” he whispered. A devious trouble maker already, it didn’t take Gordon long to catch on.

“Scott!” he giggled quietly, and as voices sounded outside the house, Mom and Dad getting out of the car, they crept upstairs and into their bedroom. Paint-covered hands muffled giggles as they sat on the floor and waited.

They didn’t have to wait long.

“SCOTT CARPENTER TRACY!” Dad’s voice boomed out. “GET DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!” There was a sudden scuffling from the room next door, sounding suspiciously like a chair falling over, before the door opened.

“What is it, Dad?” Scott called.

“I said GET DOWN HERE!” Dad repeated, and Virgil and Gordon had to hold their breath not to be overheard as their eldest brother tramped down the stairs loudly – before the noise stopped suddenly.

“What-” Scott started, only to be cut off.

“Your mother and I were gone two hours, Scott. You promised you didn’t need the neighbours to watch you, so why is the house covered in paint?”

“Virgil was the one painting!” Scott protested. “It’s got nothing to do with me!”

“Not just Virgil, judging by the amount of blue and yellow on the kitchen floor,” Mom interjected. “You were supposed to keep an eye on your brothers, Scott, not hide from them in your room.”

“I was doing my homework!” Scott protested.

“The same homework you told me you didn’t have so you could definitely watch your brothers?” Mom replied, and there was silence. Virgil and Gordon stared at each other, wide-eyed, then jumped as their bedroom door opened.

John slipped in, rolled his eyes at the pair of them, then settled on the floor by the window with his book.

“Get paint on me or the book and I will kill you,” he said firmly. “I am not dealing with Storm Scott.”

Virgil nodded, although wondered why John would come here to escape, then turned his attention back to the altercation downstairs.

“Now, you are going to go upstairs, change into your painting clothes, and then clean this up,” Dad was saying firmly.

“But I didn’t do it!” Scott protested, loudly and furiously.

“Your responsible brothers will be helping you, don’t worry,” Mom told him.

“But why do I have to clean up their mess?” Scott demanded.

“Because this happened while you were supposed to be supervising them,” Dad said. “If you want us to leave you without bringing in the neighbours, you need to start taking responsibility. Now get moving – I can’t start dinner until this kitchen is spotless.”

Heavy footsteps stomped their way up the stairs, and Virgil and Gordon both flinched as their bedroom door slammed open, irate brother glowering at them through puffy red eyes.

Instantly, some of Virgil’s glee at payback for Scott abandoning him to Gordon faded. Even Gordon seemed a little subdued.

“Sorry, Scott,” Virgil said before his brother could start shouting at them. “I didn’t think they’d be that mad at you.”

“Have you seen the state you left it in?” Scott demanded furiously. “I trusted you to keep Gordon busy just while I finished my homework, and then you go and do this? Mom and Dad will never trust me again!” The rest of Virgil’s satisfaction fled, and he looked down at his bedroom floor – and the paint that marred it.

“Sorry, Scott,” Gordon echoed, standing and giving his brother a hug, puppy dog eyes in full force. Scott glared down at him, and Gordon started to sniffle, eyes welling with water.

“Well we’re not getting dinner until it’s cleaned up,” John sighed, slotting a bookmark into his book and laying it on the windowsill. “Yell later, clean now. I’ll help.” So much for not dealing with Storm Scott, Virgil thought.

Scott snapped from wavering at Gordon’s tears, and shooting death glares at Virgil, to fix John with a surprised look.

“You are my favourite brother,” he said, whole-heartedly. “Why did Mom and Dad ever give me more?”

That stung, a little, but then Scott ruffled Gordon’s hair, shook his head at Virgil with a small smile, and headed out the door with the blond boy still attached.

Hoping that meant Scott wasn’t too mad, after all, Virgil followed, finding a smile of his own as Scott realised Gordon was still covered in paint… which meant his own clothes were now covered in paint.

#irrelief #irrelief2020 #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #weirdburketeer #melmac78 #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #jeff tracy #lucille tracy #painting #wee tracys #this has not been properly proof read because it's midnight and i should have gone to bed ages ago whoops #ao3/ffn will be posted in the morning probably after some editing #thunderfluff

20 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Pink & Purple Lipstick - Part Two (Trixya) - Lost Imp

A/N Thank you for the love on the last part, I hope you enjoy this part too. Feedback is always appreciated! - Lost Imp

Katya spent the rest of Saturday nursing her hangover while Trixie sat beside her studying, and the majority of Sunday was spent in their favourite local coffee shop, Idle Hour. Trixie indulged in her usual decadent hot chocolate while Katya enjoyed an entire pot of dark, black coffee. Their coffee shop visits were almost ritualistic at this point, a weekly tradition that began when they turned twelve and Trixie’s parents gave her the responsibility of going out alone, unsupervised, for half an hour.

Monday morning, they woke to heavy rain beating on the large bay window of Katya’s bedroom. Groaning, Katya sleepily mumbled something about losing her life in a flood in an unsuccessful bid to stay in bed, which Trixie expected and was used to. After ten minutes of pleading and pulling, her best friend finally dragged herself out of bed, pulling a dark, worn hoodie over a pair of black skinny jeans, topped off with her signature boots and purple lipstick. She also made sure to cover her darkened eye with a large amount of concealer.

“Feeling like a ray of sunshine today, are we Kats?”

“Barbie, the weather is glum, therefore I am glum”

Trixie rolled her eyes as she pulled on a pair of pale pink skinny jeans and a white top and pink pumps to match. Other than the colour schemes they had chosen, they had dressed alike. Katya grinned at their outfit choices before descending the stairs once more, on the banister.

Katya’s hesitant morning start led to a rushed breakfast, which had Trixie on edge. It was drilled into her that punctuality should always be top priority in her life, another gem from her parents. “Beatrice, tardiness is intolerable an unacceptable in this home’, they had told a nine-year-old Trixie when she arrived home ten minutes late from the Zamolodchikova’s.

“I swear, Kats, if I’m late to French this morning I’ll paint your boots pink” Trixie warned, hastily finishing her toast.

“Now, now Trix, if you like my boots that much I’m sure we could find a pink pair for you”

“Have you made it your sole mission in life to torture me?”

“Why of course. Nothing brings me more pleasure than forcefully de-brainwashing you from whatever line about punctuality your parents fed you in the womb”

“Gross, Katya, not while I’m eating” she complained while Katya grinned smugly to herself.

“There is nothing gross about the female reproductive system. You and I both have one. Fun fact, we are at our most fertile stages of sexual reproduction and - “

“Yekaterina, leave poor Trixie alone” her mother laughed, joining them in the kitchen.

“Sorry Trix” Katya giggles, pressing a kiss to her best friend’s cheek before they both grabbed their bags to leave for school.

Margarita handed them their rain jackets and gave each girl a quick hug as they ran out the door to the car. It belonged to Katya though she didn’t use it much. They preferred to walk, especially after an incident involving the car and a tree a few months beforehand.

They made it into school relatively dry before parting ways with a promise to see each other in health class later on. It was Katya’s favourite class because it allowed her to freely whisper sexual innuendos to an uncomfortable and blushing Trixie.

Meeting by the lockers, they walked hand in hand into class, sitting by a couple of their friends who took the same class. Trixie and Katya were inseparable, though that didn’t mean they didn’t socialise.

“Hi Trix, how are you baby?” Danny asked, kissing her on the cheek. Danny wore dark makeup like Katya’s and ripped clothes and they strongly believed in the idea of gender being a toxic construct. And they had always been incredibly affectionate, especially with Trixie.

“Hi Dan” she smiled, cuddling into their side.

“I hate you too, Danny” Katya joked before they had time to greet her.

“That’s ok, I love you Kats” Courtney interrupted, the pretty, blonde cheerleader pulling Katya into her lap.

“Trixie, Danny, we have moved on. Courtney and I shall marry, have multiple children and open an aerial school on the outskirts of town to teach young, impressionable humans how to fly” Katya announced, wrapping her arms around Courtney’s neck.

“Stealing my gig?” Violet asked, arriving in beside her friends.

“Well, Vi, if you’re super sweet and nice we might offer you a job” Katya smirked.

“That’s not very fair. Vi doesn’t know how to be super nice” Trixie interjected, much to Violets annoyance.

“I hate all of you” Violet grumbled, slumping her small, toned body into a seat beside Katya.

“Любите вас тоже, Vi”

Their casual antics were silenced by their teacher clapping her hands loudly from the front of the room, informing the class that their topic for the day was consent, and that any and all questions were accepted and encouraged, as always. Oddly, Trixie felt Katya stiffen beside her, shooting her a quizzical look, as talking about anything sex-related never made her uncomfortable.

Ms. Winters was kind and understanding and she really did welcome all queries from her students, especially given the topic of the week. She began to make her way through the lesson, defining consent, and what does and does not qualify as a safe, consensual sexual encounter.

“Ms. Winters, what about in a relationship?” Courtney asked nervously.

“Great question Courtney” she beamed, “and in a relationship, consent follows the same exact rules, no matter how long you’ve been together. Let’s say, as an example, that you’ve had a couple of drinks, and you may be a little tipsy, and your significant other of three years is with you. Whether they are also drunk or not, they shouldn’t initiate anything that you cannot reasonably consent to with a clear mind.”

“What if they know you though, they know what you like, and that you’d probably be ok with it?” Danny asked.

“Well, Danny, it’s that ‘probably’ that gives us issues. Just because you might engage in regular sexual activity, if you cannot, in that specific moment, give full and enthusiastic consent, then that’s not right, no matter how much you trust or love that person. It’s their responsibility to respect your body, whether intoxicated or not,” Ms. Winters explained.

Katya, who had begun to feel exceptionally queasy, abruptly stood up, brushing passed Violet and running out the classroom door.

“Trixie, will you please go make sure Katya is feeling alright?” the teacher asked calmly, “and come get me if you need to.”

Trixie, who was already on her feet, nodded solemnly and exited the classroom quickly.

“Kats?”

“Trixie. I’m fine, go back to class.”

“It’s ok, I’ll wait here with you. What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine. I’m just not feeling well”

“In that case,” Trixie said, leaning against the door of the bathroom cubicle, “let me take you to the nurse.”

“Trixie. Go away!” Katya raised her voice.

“Katya, this isn’t like you. You don’t yell at me. What’s happening here?”

Suddenly pulling the door open, she pushed past Trixie and along the hallway, bursting through the doors to the parking lot. By the time the other girl caught up with her she was already mid-conversation on the phone. The rain from earlier that morning had not eased, and was pouring down on top of them, which Katya was grateful for as it merged with the warm, angry tears coming from her now, more visibly purple eye.

“Kats, please, come back inside, or we can go home. Just somewhere out of the rain” Trixie pleaded, her soft curls flattened against her back in the rain.

“Go away Trixie, Matt is going to be here in five minutes” Katya threw back at her, hanging up the phone.

“You called Matt?” Trixie yelled, feeling herself becoming more and more angry, “why would you call him and not talk to me?”

“Just go inside, I don’t need you. Matt can take care of me!” Katya yelled back.

“Clearly he can’t! All he does is hit you!” Trixie shouted. Her hand flew immediately to her mouth, appalled by what she had just said.

“Fuck you, Trixie!” Katya screamed before turning and running across the parking lot as she saw her boyfriends’ car pull up.

Trixie felt tears pricking her own eyes as she turned and trudged back up the school steps towards the bathroom. She felt awful, and she had no idea what she was going to do about it.

It was Danny that located Trixie sitting alone on the ground in front of her locker after class. She had tied her wet hair into a ponytail and removed all of her makeup, unable to salvage the messy mascara tracks that had run down her face earlier in the afternoon.

“Hi Barbie doll,” Danny said softly, “no more makeup?”

“It got ruined. I had to take it off” she mumbled, as Danny joined her on the floor.

“Where’s your partner in crime?” Danny asked, wrapping their arm around Trixie’s shoulders as she leaned into their embrace.

“She left. With Matt.”

“Is she alright?”

“We had a fight. I fucked things up and she’s not happy with me” Trixie admitted sadly.

“Come on babe, this is you and Kats we’re talking about. I’m sure whatever fight you had will be salvaged over one of your delicious blueberry muffins and a home screening of Contact” Danny smiled.

“I don’t know this time, Dan, she was pretty mad. And I said something awful.” She felt new tears forming in the corners of her eyes as she looked sadly up at Danny’s comforting face.

“Oh honey, you’re really upset about this? Trix, it’s you and Katya. You’re inseparable, always have been. Ever since that manic Russian arrived here twelve years ago,” they soothed, rubbing large tears from Trixie’s bare cheeks as they began to fall slowly, “why don’t you go home for today?”

“I can’t go home,” she sniffed, “I have to stay here. I have two more classes. Plus it’s raining and Katya has the car keys.”

“Well, Trix, I’m not sure how well you’re going to be able to concentrate on class today, and you’re already, like, twenty times smarter than the rest of the school. Also I think you can call your other mother to come get you. She loves you as if you were her own daughter at this point” Danny smiled.

Trixie nodded as Danny stood up, pulling their friend to her feet and into a bear hug, adding a soft kiss to her forehead, “love you, Trix”

“Love you too, Danny. And thanks, for dealing with, you know,” she gestured to her rather dishevelled looking self, “this.”

Exactly five minutes after Trixie texted Margarita to ask if she would come get her, as she wasn’t feeling well, her large car pulled up outside.

“Hi honey,” Margarita greeted sadly when Trixie sat down beside her, “are you sick, my love?”

“No… just.. a bad day I guess” Trixie sighed.

“Oh my poor Trixie. I am so glad you texted me, I was just leaving for my встреча, but now I am able to bring you home first. Unless you need me to stay? Would you like me to stay with you?”

“No, no, Mara it’s ok” she assured, “I’ll be ok”

“And where is my Yekaterina today?”

“She… she was busy. I didn’t tell her I was coming home.” Trixie didn’t want to lie, so she just told half-truth so as not to make Katya angrier with her.

“Ok, my love. I will be back after dinner, you look after yourself” she said, kissing the younger girl’s cheek softly, letting Trixie out of the car outside of their home.

Trixie treated herself to a warm shower as soon as she got in the door, hoping to wash off the horrible feeling sitting on her gut. She knew she shouldn’t have yelled at Katya, but she was worried, and Katya is so stubborn. Attempting to shake the worry from her mind, she pulled on one of Katya’s hoodies over her pink shorts, before returning downstairs to bake. Her blueberry muffins had become her signature piece and making them always cheered her up. Not to mention, her best friend loved them, and they might win her back some favour with Katya.

Trixie baked her muffins, and let them cool, and cleaned the kitchen, and finished an essay, made herself a snack, braided her hair into two French braids, painted her nails a baby-blue colour and read through her history notes, but Katya didn’t come home.

After hours of waiting, she gave in and tried to ring her friend, but it went straight through to her familiar answering machine.

‘Приветствие, это Катя, Я, наверное, занят или, может быть, мертв. Я постараюсь позвонить вам, если я выживу. До свидания!’

Trixie hung up. To this day, she had no clue what Katya was saying, but she liked it. She loved hearing her speak Russian because it made her smile, and there were very few things Trixie liked more than seeing Katya happy.

Figuring she wasn’t helping anything by worrying downstairs, Trixie went to go to bed, walking into Katya’s room and staring at the bed. She always slept there, but tonight it didn’t feel right. So she left, climbing into her bed in the next room over, where she spent little to no time, wrapping herself tightly in the cold duvet. Trixie rarely went to bed unhappy, but tonight she went to bed feeling somethings she hadn’t felt in a long time, alone.

Margarita arrived home an hour or so later. She found Katya’s bed empty, and Trixie asleep in her room. She knew her girls well enough to understand that something was wrong but didn’t feel the need to intervene just yet. She would keep an eye, and step in when she felt she had to.

When Trixie awoke, the house was just as quiet as it was when she fell asleep. In the kitchen, there was no toast on the counter, no wafting smell of coffee or eggs on the stove. Checking her phone, she realised that if she wanted to make it into school on time, she needed to leave ten minutes ago. However, when she answered a panicked phone call from Margarita, classes lost all priority in her mind.

“Mara? Is everything ok?”

“Is Katya home?”

“No, I don’t think so. Did something happen?”

“She didn’t come home last night, my love. Do you have any idea where she is, or where she was after school?”

Trixie could tell that Margarita was worried, which didn’t happen often. She had never restrained her daughter from doing anything for as long as Trixie had known her. She relied on Katya being able to take care of herself, to make smart decisions and to come home on time.

“I never got a text, Trixie. She always sends me a text if she’s staying out. And she won’t answer her phone”

“I think she was with Matt” Trixie admitted, biting her bottom lip.

“With Matt? For the night?”

The little information Margarita had of her daughter’s boyfriend didn’t amount to much. She had met him in passing a time or two when he collected Katya from their house, but other then that, he was a virtual stranger.

“I’m not sure. I think so, but I don’t know where he lives”

None of their conversation was sitting well with Trixie. As far as she believed, Matt wasn’t a good person, and he was hurting Katya and the fact that she wasn’t reachable by phone and had left in his car the day before added to her growing concern.

“I can text some of our friends, see if she stayed with them?” Trixie offered.

“Oh would you, darling? Thank you. I think I am going to come home to wait for her. Driving around all morning isn’t helping”

“I promise I’ll call you if I hear anything”

“Thank you, my love. Make sure you get breakfast, darling, before school”

“I will” Trixie smiled, hanging up. She loved her second mother almost more than her own. In the midst of losing her only daughter to her college boyfriend for the night, she was still concerned that Trixie wouldn’t eat breakfast.

As soon as she hung up, several texts bombarded her phone.

From Vi: Barbie, where the fuck are you? You’re late for first period and I’m worried you’ve died

: I’m serious. I need to copy your biology homework

From Court: Kats says she didn’t see you this morning. Are you ok? You never miss school.

From Danny <3: I just saw Katya pull up with the bf. She doesn’t look good. What’s going on?

: Are you alright, babe?

: Trixie, I’m worried. Call me, please x

Trixie responded quickly to Courtney and Violet, telling them that she would be in soon, followed by telling Violet to fuck off.

She then returned to Danny’s texts, anxiety rising higher in her chest.

From Barbie-doll: Doesn’t look good how? Her face? Did you see Matt?

: Danny?

: I’m coming to school now.

From Danny <3: I don’t know, it was just vibes

: Plus she’s wearing the same clothes as yesterday

: And Trixie level face make-up with no dark lips??

From Barbie-doll: Ok.

: Danny, I’m staying home. I don’t feel good.

Trixie sent one last text to Margarita, informing her that Katya was in school, and that she was fine. The second part seemed like a lie, but she didn’t want to worry her anymore. She received an immediate response, that made her laugh.

From Mara: Thank you for letting me know, my love. That girl will kill me someday. I am going to go to the spa for the day. Stress is not good. Make sure Yekaterina comes home on time today, please. I’ll be home for dinner xxx

Glad she would have their home to herself today, Trixie shook off the guilt of skipping school as she made a cup of camomile tea to relax the nervousness in her stomach. She tried and failed to stop her brain from concocting the worst scenarios that could have happened to Katya last night. Deciding, for the first time in her life, that she needed a game-plan for talking to her best-friend when she returned, she pulled out her laptop and began researching everything from underage drinking, to relationships with age-gaps, to abusive relationships and domestic violence. By the time lunch rolled around, Trixie was terrified, but confident that she could help Katya.

From Danny <3: Russian hooker asked for you

: I think she feels bad

: ew, I think someone put peppers on my pizza

From Barbie-doll: tell her she has to come home today, Mara’s worried

: also, maybe you could learn to not hate vegetables Danny

From Danny <3: plants are friends not foods, Barbie

From Barbie-doll: you’re an idiot

: I love you

From Danny: love you babe

Katya remained in school until they had finished lunch, when she developed a throbbing headache and decided to take her leave. Switching on her phone for the first time that day, she discovered she had several unopened notifications. She texted her mom quickly, apologising for the lack of contact, letting her know she was fine, and that she had stayed with Violet. It was a blatant lie, but it was easier that explaining what had actually happened.

Opening Instagram as she turned onto her street, she scrolled through her feed until she landed on a picture of Trixie. Katya had taken the photo of her best friend holding her tea at the Idle Hour on Sunday. Something about the soft lighting hitting Trixie’s perfect hair and pearly teeth made her look angelic.

Pretty, Katya thought. But then again, she had always found Trixie attractive.

She had always been aware of her own bisexuality and had told her best friend and her mother years ago. Trixie, on the other hand, had always been unable to talk about her own sexuality for as long as they had known each other - it was never something her parents had permitted her to even question. She was only more than happy to engage in kisses with her best friend though, once Katya explained, at age twelve, that kissing your friends was normal if you really loved each other.

She lost her train of thought when she reached the front door and opened it softly.

“Katya?”

“Hi Trixie”

“Katya, we need to talk” Trixie interrupted, staring directly into the other girl’s eyes from where she stood by the couch. She had been mulling it over all day, and Trixie knew, if she didn’t ask now, she would end up letting Katya blow it off for the rest of the night.

She stayed silent. This wasn’t a conversation Katya was ready to have. This wasn’t a conversation she knew how to have.

“I’m so sorry for what I said yesterday, honey, I didn’t mean to. I was just upset, and I had no right and” Trixie began.

“Shh, Trix, it’s ok. Forget it. I’m sorry I ran away”

Trixie silently opened her arms and Katya immediately allowed herself to be enveloped in a tight hug. No matter how hard she willed them to stop, large, quaking sobs began to wrack Katya’s body.

“Kats, hey, Kats, what’s wrong?”

“I can’t… I can’t… talk about… it” she mumbled between heavy breaths, panic rising in her chest.

“Breath, Katya, please. Come on, copy me,” Trixie coaxed as she felt a panic attack approaching her best-friend, “In, come on honey, breath in, hold it” she rubbed up and down Katya’s back rhythmically, “and out. That’s it, in, hold it…”

They continued this pattern, feeling their breathing rise and fall, both girls almost perfectly in synch with one another, until Katya was breathing normally.

When she finally pulled herself from Trixie’s embrace, she sat back, legs crossed, mimicking the other girl, as they faced each other on the couch. Reaching up to run her hand across her Trixie’s soft cheek, Katya leaned in to kiss her, and this time, the other girl let her. It was a short kiss, but it was full of emotion.

“Thank you” Katya whispered.

“That’s ok” Trixie smiled.

Pausing to build up the courage to say what she felt she needed to, Katya shut her eyes, and breathed in heavily.

“You were right” she admitted, “he hit me.”

And Katya broke.

#trixya #katya zamolodchikova #trixie mattel #lesbian au #lost imp #tw implied abusive relationship #rpdr fanfiction #pink and purple lipstick #angst #high school au

46 notes · View notes

mollymauk-teafleak · 6 years

Text

¿Cómo fue? (Coco Fanfic)

This is from a lovely scenario the wonderful @minky-for-short ran through with me that I felt like writing up, all about Hector and Imelda’s first night together and maybe even the one that resulted in baby Coco.

Enjoy!

Of course, Imelda had seen Héctor play before. But she’d never seen him play like this.

He stood alone in the centre of the plaza, nothing but himself and his carefully hand painted guitar and his voice, an expression of rapture and sincerity brushing his long, sharply angled face as his fingers ran in their own complicated dance across the strings. After the wild, bawdy and unconstrained fiesta songs that he and Ernesto had been playing so far that night, the simplicity of his solo was nearly heart stopping, holding the attention of every single person in the crowd as the cooling evening air carried the lyrics to them.

“Cómo fue... no sé decirte cómo fue, no sé explicarme qué pasó pero de ti me enamoré…”

Imelda didn’t quite know how Héctor had begged this quiet, understated solo performance right in the middle of their set from Ernesto, no doubt the price would be paid in a boisterous, brassy bolero of his own later. All either of them had been talking about for the last few weeks since they’d found out they’d be headlining the celebrations was what a big deal this night was for them. People would be travelling to Santa Cecilia from every surrounding town and village and it was their music they’d be seeing. She herself had noted the beginnings of nervousness in her amor’s voice as he’d repeated Ernesto’s insisting that every song they played had to be their biggest, their best, their brightest, they had to seize this opportunity of fresh ears (maybe some sets with the power to elevate their careers beyond the bars and wine sinks of their hometown) with both hands if they ever wanted to be serious about music.

But after just one verse of the haunting love song Héctor was drawing from his guitar, there wasn’t a single doubt in anyone’s mind that music was what he was destined to do.

Imelda watched from where she sat, perched delicately on the railings where Héctor had eagerly placed her before the fiesta began, insisting that it was where she’d get the absolute best view of their performance, where the acoustics would be best and she’d see everything. And it was true, she caught every single flicker of his wrists, every shift in his expression, the moment when tears began building in his eyes halfway through the song. Every single world of the beautiful ballad reached her, so clear she was struck with the idea that she could reach out and catch them, as if they were flower petals floating on the breeze that cut through the otherwise cloying evening. With something caught in her throat and prickling behind her eyelashes, Imelda listened to the love of her life sing.

“Fue una luz que iluminó todo mi ser. Tu risa como un manantial regó mi vida de inquietud. Fueron tus ojos o tu boca, fueron tus manos o tu voz, fue a lo mejor la impaciencia de tanto esperar tu llegada…”

Héctor seemed more hypnotised than anyone as he played, seemingly unaware of the tears that rolled down his sun bronzed face, the way he gripped his guitar like he’d fall to pieces if he let it go, the way every word wrenched from him like he was taking it from the very depths of his own heart. Who could look at him and doubt that he was meant to play for the world?

Imelda suddenly found herself having to grip the black iron railing with white knuckles to stop herself falling, having to pull in air like the smells and sounds of the fiesta were suddenly choking her. Fear had replaced the joy in her heart as quickly as flame takes match paper.

What if this was Héctor’s big break, as Ernesto had been insisting? What if this opened the world beyond Santa Cecelia for him, all of it eager to hear him play? He clearly loved music so much, it was in every movement he made up on the raised platform, every note he plucked from the strings, every word he sang.

How could his love for her compete with that?

Imelda tried to fix her eyes on her amor, resisting the urge to look away and flee the plaza entirely. She’d promised she’d be here to support her Héctor but now the doubt and fear was like a twist of pain in her stomach, the horrible thoughts taking hold of her with a grip so tight she wasn’t sure she’d be able to take it much longer.

Until, through her tears, she saw those deep, honey brown eyes she loved so much meet her own, even across the distance between them, shrinking the entirety of the plaza down to nothing at all, making the crowds around them disappear until there was no one but her and him.

“Mas no sé, no sé decirte cómo fue, no sé explicarme qué pasó pero de ti me enamoré…”

Héctor smiled as he sang the song’s final words directly to her, until they weren’t just words she was there to hear as part of a crowd, they were a gift with her name written on the tag. All that passion and emotion and sincerity, he gave it to her all wrapped up in the delicate, slightly mournful music. His words to her.

And how could she ever doubt them?

Imelda had managed to dry her eyes by the time Héctor finished his song, left his guitar to one side and found her in the crowd, stood at the edge of the throbbing, bouncing, golden pool of light and music and dancing that flooded the plaza.

“Mi amor…” he opened his arms for her, smiling a mile wide, eyes glittering in the echoes of the lanterns behind them.

“Héctor,” she beamed right back at him, flying into his arms gratefully, feeling confident doing so with the prying eyes of the town otherwise occupied by a different band, “You did so well!”

“Yeah?” he grinned, clutching her tightly to his chest the way he’d clutched his guitar up on stage, “And my solo?” He sounded hesitant, hopeful, her opinion on that last song clearly meaning a lot to him.

Imelda had been wracking her brains since the song ended, trying to think of the right words to describe the song he’d sung for her. Still none the wiser now he was here, she just pulled him down to close the height difference between them and kissed him full on the lips for a long, wonderful moment.

“Wow…” Héctor breathed, smiling crookedly once the need for air had pulled them apart, “That good?”

“That good,” Imelda giggled, nodding emphatically.

Together, without needing to say a word, they walked hand in hand into the gathering night, both of them wanting to leave the noise and light and colour behind them for a moment and be alone. They went just a short way, down to the river’s edge. This always seemed to be where they drifted, as if some instinct made their feet turn this way. It was where they’d played as niños after school, abandoning socks and shoes and wading into the cool waters to shake off the heavy dust of a day of rather stifling lessons. It was where they’d spent their adolescent summers with their friends, trying to knock each other off of shoulders and into the water, swinging on the old tractor tyre Héctor and Ernesto lashed to the old, bent backed tree that guarded the river bank. And then, when life had pulled them away from such games, it was where the two shy lovebirds met alone, in the few spare hours Héctor’s myriad odd jobs and Imelda’s mother’s long list of chores gave them, where they’d talk and sit together and kiss, out of sight of eyes who’d be horrified to see two unmarried young people unsupervised.

The river seemed to have different moods, depending on the day. Tonight, it seemed half asleep, barely crawling along, turned the deep, inviting pink of guava juice by the sunset, which seemed to have come out in full colourful force in honour of the fiesta, illuminating their hiding place so beautifully. Imelda felt instantly more relaxed in their little clearing, just as she always did, completing the transformation by kicking her shoes off with a relieved sigh, letting her hair fall loose down her back and flopping gracelessly down into the grass. Héctor chuckled, preferring to enjoy the beautiful sight she offered him like that, before slipping off his mariachi jacket, the one she’d mended and put new buttons on for him in honour of the performance, and going down to the water, taking a handful of the sweet, cool water and splashing his face, allowing him to relax a little. There was still a whole other set to go of course, to close out the fiesta but he’d be damned if he’d let the worry of that poison his time with his amor.

Imelda watched him as he unwound his tense muscles, as he combed his dripping hand through his long black hair, leaving it sticking up in a mess of cowlicks and shining with water droplets that caught the sunset like a hundred little flames. He smiled at her when he caught her looking, his playful, dazzling smile, the one that was half an invitation.

In that moment, Imelda made up her mind. She was done doubting Héctor. She was done doubting, full stop.

She was going to trust him.

“Come here, mi amor?” she murmured, smiling softly, crooking her finger for him to sit beside her.

He went gladly, sliding an arm around her shoulders, left bare by her favourite violet dress. The sun was making freckles break out across them and Héctor took the opportunity to press a delicate kiss to each one, at least until Imelda was squirming and giggling.

She stopped him by taking hold of his face, kissing his lips instead, so hard her red lipstick smeared his own mouth when she pulled away.

Such an endearing image it made, such a possessive thrill it gave her that what she’d meant to delicately hint at just tumbled out of her mouth in her typical blunt way.

“Héctor, I want you to make love to me.”

She winced as his eyes doubled in size like a startled cat’s and his jaw swung open like it was on a hinge. That wasn’t how she’d wanted that to go, not exactly.

“You…’Melda, I…” he spluttered, all the suaveness and confidence he’d displayed on stage suddenly incredibly hard to believe, “Are you serious?”

“If you want to,” she said quickly, biting her lip anxiously, “But, yes, I want to.”

“Oh…” Héctor scrambled to recover some of his composure, now he was sure he’d heard her correctly and this wasn’t just his fantasies bleeding into reality somehow, “But...I mean…we’re not…”

“I know,” Imelda murmured, “But…I don’t feel like I need to wait for that? Not with you, Héctor.”

He considered that, realising the depth of trust in him that implied, and him just a flying-by-the-seat-of-his-pants, living-above-a-dive-bar, scoundrel musico, really no fit partner for a beautiful, respectable girl like Imelda.

“And of course, we will be married,” he nodded emphatically, “Soon, very soon, Imelda, I just need to save a little more, but I promise…”

“I know,” Imelda smiled, blushing with pleasure at how certain he was in their future, putting her hand over his and sliding her fingers through his calloused ones, “So, why should we have to wait?”

“Yeah…” Héctor smiled, eagerly seizing on her train of thought. Why not, indeed? After how well the performance had gone, after she’d so clearly loved the song he’d indented specifically for her, with the few shots of tequila he and Ernesto had done before going on stage to help with nerves, with the warm sun and sweet scents in the air, with everything feeling so perfect…why couldn’t something so amazing as having his beautiful diosa happen too?

Imelda only needed the simple okay. She leaned back in and kissed him, though this time it tasted so different. There was promise in it, there was a little more fire, a delicious unfamiliarity, a new path to follow. It was a gateway, a door, to something entirely new to them both, something they’d both ached for and was now within dizzying reach. And Héctor answered in kind.

Delicately, he moved her back against the grass, the fresh, green scent of it as well as the richer, amber tones of the cempasúchil that bloomed at the riverbank was almost intoxicating around them, beckoning them forward. Imelda moaned his name against his lips as they snatched a breath, making a shiver run through his long limps, spurring him to take her further, arms wrapping around her and hands knotting in her long, raven black hair. Other parts of him responded too, parts he didn’t have as much control over but were certainly exerting their control over him.

Imelda giggled as she felt something hard press at her leg and, in a moment of daring, reached down between them and lay her palm against it, shocked and delighted at how it made Héctor jerk like he’d been electrocuted.

“Diosa…” he groaned throatily, sounding almost musical, like this was a new song he was singing for her.

“Take them off,” she whispered, grinning, more than a little of a command in her voice that Héctor immediately knew he liked a lot.

He did as she asked, pulling away his uniform, the mariachi clothes he never truly felt ready to perform unless he was wearing. But this wasn’t a performance, this was real. There was only him and his amor. His Imelda. So, there was no hesitation or shyness as he stripped himself down to nothing, not even when he pulled away his trousers and his erection sprang free in a way he absolutely could not describe as sexy at all.

But Imelda didn’t seem to have any complaints. Her eyes grew wide as each piece of clothing was abandoned on the grass, the blush spreading from her face and down her collarbone right to the tops of her breasts.

He was beautiful. There really was no other word for it. He was purely and simply beautiful.

She very nearly ripped her own dress off her body but Héctor took care of that too before she could do something so reckless, reaching forward and pulling both that and her shift over her head in one fluid motion, the rest coming away easily too until she was as naked as he was.

Héctor gave a strangled moan as he was given his first glimpse of her, not quite knowing whether to cry, to lose himself completely over his own thighs and make a complete fool of himself or to take her and pin her to the grass before that could happen. But then Imelda smiled, her beautiful, confident smile that had ensnared his heart since they were barely children, and drew him against her. God, she was so soft.

Neither of them had done this before (though Héctor knew a little from some of the dirtier songs that went down so well with the bar patrons) but it wasn’t so hard to work out, not when every nerve in both of their bodies was screaming out for exactly this.

The gasp Imelda gave as he breached her was more beautiful than any song he could ever hope to write. He held himself completely still for a long moment, frightened he’d hurt her, frightened by the reality of what they were doing made sharply clear, suddenly feeling as delicate and empty as a hollow glass sculpture of a man. But then Imelda wrapped her legs around him, heels pressing into his lower back in silent permission and he slid the rest of the way into her and that was that. Things suddenly felt right and beautiful again.

Imelda gazed up into the flame red sky as Héctor began to move in her, her fingers holding the back of his head, gripping his silken hair like it was her lifeline. Soon the sky broke up and blurred and melted into running watercolours as tears of ecstasy built in her eyes, breaking free at the same moment as the soft, high pitched gasps did, every time his hips met her’s.

Héctor’s fingers gripped the grass as his hips picked up their pace, “Dios mio…oh, Imelda…”

Imelda was beyond the reach of words as she twisted underneath him, having to grip his shoulders, only able to gasp and moan. There weren’t words to describe how she felt in his embrace.

It ended far too soon for either of them, though the moment they both shuddered and let go, in perfect time with each other, was so sweet that they cursed the fact that they hadn’t given into their desire sooner. And although it was over, there were still Imelda’s fingers carding through Héctor’s hair, there were still his lips pressing exhausted, shaky kisses against her collarbone, there were still their hot, ragged breath mingling together in the evening air that had suddenly turned into full, grey night while they were both preoccupied.

“I love you, Imelda,” Héctor was the first to speak, he’d never been comfortable with quiet, “I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Imelda giggled softly, kissing his cheeks, pulling him up so she could hug him tighter, the two of them lying tangled on the grassy bank, “I love you too, Héctor. So, so very much.”

He smiled against her, treasuring her words. He wouldn’t be returning to the plaza that night, he knew, despite all of Ernesto’s insisting that this was their big break, this performance would be the one that sealed their futures.

Héctor couldn’t care less. Ernesto could have that if he wanted, it was all his.

But he’d found his own future down by the riverbank and it was better than he ever could have imagined.

#imector #imelda x hector #hector rivera #mama imelda #smut #fluff #romance #pretty proud of this #I finished my embroidery so I had nothing to do tonight so I was like hey why not write #pixar coco #coco #coco fanfic #please reblog if you like!#this will also be on Ao3

55 notes · View notes