trixie young

Lucifer and Maze

The juxtaposition between the reveal of their true forms was absolutely beautiful.

The were both so vulnerable in that moment, when they decided to let Trixie and Linda see what they really were.

Maze was lucky. Trixie is young, even if she doesn’t fully understand what she’s accepting, acceptance is easy for her. Maze was seen, and found amazing.

Lucifer was seen, and found wanting.

Their expressions were perfect in their contrast. That’s some quality character development right there.

Church of the Poison Mind Ch.2 (Trixya) - Dahlia

AN: Writing this was honestly like pulling teeth, I’ve forced it all out of me and it’s been as cathartic as it has been terrifying. I would not have made it through without the l i t e r a l s t e p m o m to my fic Lale!! Also the lovely Matilda, and Bromeoandjooliet!! Thank you everyone for all of the lovely feedback on the last chapter and don’t be afraid to drop a line by my Tumblr DahliasForKatya!!

Even from a young age, Trixie spent a good chunk of her time in the water. She couldn’t wait to get home from school and retreat to the bathroom; a towel draped over her shoulder. She’d draw her golden hair back in a high bun, and sit haphazardly at the bottom of a stalled shower. The water beat hard against her freckled back, until the cold tile settled into warmth beneath her skin. She’d sit until the water ran cold, and the pads of her fingers pruned. When the mere act of breathing became relentless, Trixie would find herself craving the stinging spray of scalding water across the surface of her body. There wasn’t a problem in the world a that hot shower couldn’t solve, or at least postpone. Sanctuary.

Trixie’s mother would often scold, “You’re running up the water bill!”

And of course, as with most things, a terrible guilt would run through her. She’d resign herself from that happy place and apologize, from there, she’d retreat to her small bedroom. Sitting for hours in a towel, contemplating going back in anyway. Things weren’t always like this, her room used to be sanctuary enough, her home, her mother’s touch; but now she felt distanced from herself, vague, like navigating life through a video game. Have you ever looked down at your own hands, and hardly recognized them? Trixie could feel the meaning of every word she spoke hitch on her lips, each consonant skipping on the beat of its own arrival. Words scattered, wandering across time, lost in the hollows of the space between her ears. She’d wander the halls of her school, a ghost in a shell, auto piloting her way from class to class. Mindless. That sour sting was all that could revive her, all that could bring her back down to land.

The sun peered in rich that morning, and Trixie was reminded of how much she hated wearing sunglasses. She hated the feeling of wearing sunglasses because they were too distracting; she didn’t like the weight on her face, on the bridge of her nose. She’d too often find herself staring at the rims, missing what lie right in front of her. She found the distortion of color irritating, like she was dreaming half of the day away. Lately, removing sunglasses felt no different than leaving them on.

Trixie’s mother used to make blueberry pancakes every sunday morning, but always mixed way too many blueberries into the batter. They were especially runny that morning, especially bitter. Trixie choked them down as she always did, with a warm smile to acknowledge her mother’s hard work. From her seat at the table, she peered around the stairway, willing her father to come down. Her eyes landed on her mother’s pursed lips, and she sunk down in her chair, too nauseas to eat. He hadn’t come home last night. Again.

Trixie’s stomach was churning quietly in anticipation of the day’s classes. She could hear Jinkx’s words still, flowing in and out of her mind. She carried those words with her throughout the day, to her first class, Acting and Stage Presence with Professor Del Rio. A heart of gold, but definitely not the kind of person you’d want to rub the wrong way. This rang true, mostly. She took comfort in the way Jinkx played a witty banter with their professor, she aspired to that confidence.

And then on to Vocal Studies with Professor Minj, where Jinkx had left her outside the door with a smile of warm wishes; She’s a real tough broad but her class can be a hoot if you play your cards right. Trixie worried then about how she’d find her next class without aid. She turned a small glance in the direction of a pale haired girl seated adjacent her own desk, a first year just like Trixie. She seemed friendly enough, quiet, with a smile of gleaming teeth and thin lips. Trixie thought maybe she’d introduce herself, but discarded the idea. Maybe, she’d come to Trixie a bit later on and they’d hit it off. Maybe she’d never even learn the girl’s name.

Trixie gathered her things at the end of class and began down the narrow hallway, headed toward the staircase. She assumed the two in room 203 meant the second floor, at least that’s what she had hoped. Trixie wasn’t keen on being late, but she had terrible navigation skills. This was part of the reason she frequently bummed rides off of Kim.

Trixie, so consumed with the prospect of getting lost, became lost, quickly. Suddenly, she was looping circles around the second floor, passing the same doors, full of the same people and their watching eyes. She couldn’t seem to leave her headspace; that class is crazy, absolutely bonkers, but arguably one of the best at this school! Quite brilliant, actually!  Trixie wondered how something could be crazy and brilliant all at once, how those two could marry and craft a science class.

As the clock struck lateness and rounded 2:30p.m., her lack of sleep was becoming more apparent. She found herself caught between reality and dreams. She could still feel that girl all around her, her mystery, red lipped beauty; could still picture her through the darkness, the way her lips parted and trembled against her own. There was some kind of magic there, in that space, some kind of beginning. The two of them melding in the night, like soft hands braiding underwater. Trixie ached then, there was also some kind of end.

Trixie wandered further down the corridor, passed doors 213 and 211. It was 2:45 now, and she was grateful to have found her way, but reeling. She pictured what the class would look like, students already seated and settled, having to apologize as she walked in. The feeling followed her like an omniscient pair of eyes, stalking her down the floor of the classroom, calling on her tardiness. 207 now, 205, she was getting close-

Lost in thought, Trixie’s forehead collided with the shoulder of someone rifling through papers outside of room 203. The jolt sent both of them to the linoleum, busied papers floating around them like ashes, sweeping to the ground. Trixie looked up, they locked eyes, and her heart plunged deep into the pit of her stomach. Her. It was her. All red lipped and slender. Mystery girl. Trixie’s face flushed, speechless. She could tell from the girl’s ghostly expression that they were both thinking the same thing. Memory overcame her, swelling in her temples.

Her teeth sink into my bottom lip, vicious and stinging. Her moans are like my symphony, beautifully poised as they glide over my lips, their melodies ringing in my mouth. She’s salty with sweat but delicious, and I can’t stop my tongue from trailing up the length of her chest. She pushes my head down where she wants me, needs me, and I tease the daylights out of her, plunging my teeth into the soft flesh of her inner thigh. And then I taste her, and she melts into my mouth, dripping down my chin. She’s stifling her moans now, reaching for my hands and placing them on her breasts. Every part of her is taut and lean, glorious and glowing. She’s too good for me, and she knows it. She feels fleeting, but for right now she’s mine to worship. Her curls are splayed across my pillow, and I’m hoping I can still smell her shampoo come morning. The skin of her thighs is soft against my cheeks, and I feel her legs tighten around me. Her body jerks, and releases, gentle sonatas careening from her lips. I let her music engulf me, consume me, fluid harmonies rising in my ear drums. Turn up the volume, drown out the silence. She pulls me back up to taste herself, and we’re at it again, electric,kinetic. My skin is on fire, her nails scrambling down my back, I’m praying she breaks skin.

The scratches down Trixie’s back lit up like a switchboard, fiery paths radiating down the surface of her skin, hot with anxiety. Her throat felt scorchingly dry, where the words hid from her tongue, shaking in a back corner. Their eyes met again as they scrambled to pick up papers, their faces stark, dumbstruck. She watched the other girl’s hands scattering; and in the light, she couldn’t have been much older than her, maybe a few years. Acid crept up her throat, Trixie wondered if her own skin still lay beneath the girl’s fingernails.

“I - uh, I’m so sorry,” Trixie gathered the remaining papers and rose to her feet, her palms slick with sweat and unease. The girl muttered something soft in reply, but Trixie couldn’t hear over the blood pounding in her ears. She felt the strings tighten, constricting around her. She wanted to say more, but didn’t know where to start. She was even more gorgeous in the light, and her clothes clung criminally to each contour of her body. She had to break eye contact, say something, do something. Anything but this. Both stood quietly, minds racing. Trixie’s eyes darted to the ground in self defense, but she was only more flustered by the sight of the girl’s pointed red pumps. Correction, she wasn’t a girl, she was anything but. Especially then, as Trixie couldn’t help but picture what lie beneath her clothes, she wanted desperately for the bruises.

They brought Trixie’s mind back to the color of her lips, bright against the cream of her complexion. And Trixie stood again, thinking about her lips, wondering what it would feel like to reach out and touch them; to stain her fingertips red, and carry a bit of this woman with her to class. Trixie pictured sitting a few rows down from her, stealing glances, borrowing a pen, unable to look away. She could never be so bold. She knew that the minute they stepped through the door, Trixie would never so much as look at her again.

Mystery girl cleared her throat, bringing Trixie back from her thoughts, and flashed a meager smile before turning for the door. Trixie, in reflex, held it out for her, secretly reveling the scent of her perfume as it lingered behind her; the same perfume that undoubtedly still clung to the fabric of her pillow cases.

The classroom was quite larger than the others she’d seen that day, with black industrial tables and stools in the place of desks. Various wires and tubes wound out of them, connecting tanks below to the burners that sat atop the surface. The walls were lined with large glass cabinets, containing beakers and other related paraphernalia; the amount of equipment seemed almost superfluous given the scant headcount of the room. There might’ve been twenty students at most, but no professor at the head of the class. As Trixie scanned the room, she was privily grateful the professor was later than she, but still, an apprehension simmered within her. Her eyes crossed the room in search of her mystery girl.

Much to Trixie’s surprise, mystery girl now stood at the head of the room, facing away to scribble something across the whiteboard. It read in messy, coiled cursive:

Yekaterina Petrovna Zamolodchikova

“Okay class! I’m sorry I’m late, I got caught up in the dumpsters out back. Very messy! Anyway, as you can see from the board I’ll be your professor for this term. And look, I know name seems daunting, so you can just call me Katya.”

ocs wooooooo

i said i’ll explain these guys a bit so here it goes also i’m not the best at explaining or writing so this might come out real bad :p @backyard-bonanza​ (you seemed interested in these characters soo)

don’t mind the strangle deformed grass knuckles on the comic

so first is trixie i may or may not have named her after the pony trixie she’s a young rose that’s still blooming (explains why here hands are buds) her cape is handmade by her and her mom or well fake mom but still, she doesn’t live with her mom because that over on the zombie side instead she lives at one of her best friend’s place his name is max he’s a cactus in THIS drawing he also has a little sister

she’s a very happy person in general and gets along with about anyone  

her favorite hero happens to be grass knuckles and always has at least one comic with her she’s real obsessed with the comics

next

jose is a yo yo master because he has nothing better to do with his time

he like about anything he’s fav color is black i’m mean he REALLY likes black

he died at age 9 right when the whole apocalypse started ya real young he doesn’t remember his life when he was alive, also he didn’t die with those clothes his mom fake mom found them for him and he loves them to death even tho he doesn’t get the reference on his shirt

hes best friends with a peashooter names james and a baby cactus named mai (she’s the younger sister of max) they hang out as often as they can

he’s not as big of a fan if the comics unlike his sister but if he had to choses his fav hero is solar flare he team l.e.a.f.

and here’s willow a disco zombie

her outfit is based of the regular disco zombie i literally designed 3 other outfits for her and ended up liking the original disco outfit :p  

willow died at age 31 she was killed in a car crash back in the late 80s early 90s way before the apocalypse, she remembers most of her life when she was alive. she was married and had a daughter named olivia who was 5 when she died and she may still be alive

she found jose when the apocalypse started and being the mother bird she was decided to take care of him

trixie on the other hand is something i haven’t thought out yet i’m still working on these characters  

she takes good care of the kids or well to the best to her abilities

this is literally the most i have ever worked on ocs  

slycooperandcarlosfox  asked:

Trixie would tell a young Sly not to be afraid of the boogieman because she told care of his personally.

YESSSSSSSS

Li’l Sly: Thanks, mom! You’re the best!

Trixie: You’re more than welcome, sweetheart. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe and happy. And remember…

Both: “If something’s worth shooting, it’s worth shooting twice.”

Trixie: That’s my boy!

Conner: what has my life become

Katya (Trixya) pt 1/? - Skyline

AN: Hellooo World! I’m back back back back back again with a new Fic! Sorry I haven’t been around, went on a Holiday in New York to see Christmas Queens and it was magical. Came back and was a bit busy. Just recently watched the movie Carol and was completely inspired to write a Trixya fic about it, so here we are! Just so no one is confused the first few paragraphs are kind of a flash-forward which is how the movie begins but I will put it in italics so it’s easier to decipher. There is gonna be a little bit of change regarding color of clothes and maybe personality but if you haven’t watched the film you won’t really notice. This ones probably gonna be a slow burn cause the movie definitely takes a while to get goin’. Also going to be a lot of parts considering this first chapter is only the first 15 minutes of the movie lol so expect at least 7? maybe more. Hope Ya’ll enoy, Gonna try super hard to make this one good. Feedback would be lovely <3 - Skyline

Summary: Lesbian Trixya AU based off the incredible movie Carol, set in New York during the 50’s. Katya, a mother struggling through a messy divorce meets young, inexperienced Trixie at a department store and they hit it off.

Keep reading