#int: ivy

[blcssom]

closed starter for @erasinglines ft. ivy reynolds

she wasn't sure what it was about them questioning her that plucked a particular nerve. after all, ivy wasn't trustworthy. but for some reason the idea of them believing so.... annoyed her. "if you think i'm lying just say so."

[wtfispatience]

go on, tell me what's on your mind. @fyrewalks

“ why do you assume I have something on my mind? ” nimble fingers work on the coffee pot as she speaks, her eyes avoiding howie’s curious ones. ivy sighs as she debates with herself if she should be honest. it’s been a while since she has joined the 118, already feeling like part of the family, but she has so far avoided really talking about her life before l.a. she rests her hand on the counter top for a moment before finally turning to look at chimney. “ it’s nothing. it’s just… a date coming up that I’d really like not to think about. ” she shrugs, with a little smile. “ but I’m fine, chim. really. ”

[ivytwines]

the sims is so fun until you have to go fishing. this is like hell

[flawcdexistence]

open to m/f/nb possible plot: age gap could be cool (her eighteen year old kid's best friend maybe?), or maybe her neighbor, or her bestie. she's bratty switch material for sure.

"I swear, you have one spread in playboy twenty years ago and everyone thinks they have unfettered access to your tits." Ivy groans, dropping down onto the seat. Yeah, her tits are great and she's worked hard to maintain her physique over the years and sure, it's flattering to know she's still got it when she's two years shy of pushing forty, but she could also live one day without someone staring at her tits. "I mean, they are pretty great," she continues, staring down at her breasts - the bikini she's wearing is doing many favors for her lithe body, the spattering of freckles on her skin only accentuated by the white fabric. "What d'you think?" Ivy queries, still staring down at herself.

[brckensociety]

{ open to m/f/nb {selective with f) | based on this | any connection welcome, assume away. legit go wild. anything from strangers to t*boo stuff. - could also be one or both of them hired her. | please read rules before interacting. }

ivy looked at the pair as she had situated herself on the bed, a smirk on her lips as she spoke out, "come here." when they asked the question of who she meant there was a sweet laugh from her lips. "you said you don't usually go for the same type of girl, only seems fair that you share on this rare occasion," the femme purred flirtatiously.

[blcssom]

her smile was gentle as vaughn collapsed into her, one arm winding around the other woman's waist to keep her upright as greedy fingers took every last opportunity to fill her. "well i don't think i've ever seen anyone look so fucking hot when they cum, i think i came just from watching." there was certainly enough slick heat between her legs to support the theory. "i didn't realize the thought of justified torment excited you so much that's..... incredible." in fact, it made her chest squeeze tight around the affection she felt for the other woman. vaughn had been a convenient cover story, at first. someone to be her alibi if needed. but unfortunately for the blonde, ivy had come to truly care for and obsess over her.... a dangerous fact should things ever go south between them.

her nails dug into ivy's shoulders as her knees began to feel weak, doing her best to stand but finding it next to impossible as the feeling overcame her. "shit, ivy," she groaned out, squeezing her cunt around the girl's fingers until it was next to impossible to continue to thrust inside of her and using her frame to keep herself upright. "what the fuck," she breathed out, trying to catch her breath but not able to with the amount of steam that covered them within the shower. "i... don't think i've came that hard in, like, a really long time, dude."

[littlemisssilvermoon]

Reader is implied to like feminine things, though gender identity is kept ambiguous.

Damian was a good brother. That’s what he always told himself. He was a good brother, a good son. He was cold, rude, and erudite, but he was able and willing to help anyone who needed it.

When he arrived at Wayne manor, Bruce told him the general run down of why you were to be avoided when it came to anything vigilante related. You were still pure, a year younger than Damian but without any of the pain. The only one in the Wayne manor that could have a shot at becoming a normal person. Damian envied that, but kept it to himself. His anger often boiled to the top, drops of green venom dripping from his mouth when you tried to annoy him into spending time with you.

Your complaints of him ignoring you was scalding water on his already raw nerves. Why would you complain about not being the center of attention for five damn seconds? He would trade anything for the life you had. A life where you could lay around after school and never worry about a rogue bullet lodging itself in your arm, or a poisonous plant releasing psychedelic spores into an open wound.

You could and would never join the Robins. You were weak; it was in your blood. Always sickly, always the pacifist. You wouldn't survive a day in his life. And you weren't living his life; you were living his dream.

But apparently the effort the family was putting in wasn’t enough.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed that the manor felt… off about two weeks before the fight with Joker. He couldn’t trace it for the life of him at first. When he realized by the second week that he hadn’t spoken to you in days, or really seen you around the manor at all, he wrote off the worms writhing in his stomach. You must’ve been busy with a class assignment and had little time to annoy him with your demands of time together.

After the fight, however, he was a war of a thousand emotions. How dare you leave them? Why would you turn away an easy life fat on nepotism for a group of murderers, con men, the dredges of Gotham’s society?

Were you truly that desperate to be acknowledged that you’d turn your back on the family who did everything for you? He hopes you’re happy there, since you were clearly so upset at not being given attention.

Over time, however, things start to change. A few days after Jason made a full recovery, Damian looked at one of the drones Tim managed to get a chunk of code from. It took a lot of trial and error, and the development of an entirely new program to grab some of the code before it bricked itself, and enough all nighters and energy drinks that any doctor would faint, but it was managed. The code was dense, optimized to work with the least bloat possible, well tagged variables, and even a handful of comments in the code.

//Buy Bane those Boston Donuts from the donut shop on 5th //Why does this code need to be here so it doesn’t auto brick itself. What is in the code protecting it from the wrath of God //Louie likes Texas barbecue ribs. Possible treat? //DO NOT FEED THEM WHOLE RIBS. COOKED BONES BAD. //SINCE WHEN WAS THIS VARIABLE A STRING??? IT WAS AN INT 5 LINES AGO //Help the hopeless lesbians get together. //Would Harley and Ivy dating make Harley my mom or Ivy my big sister? Both???

His eyes skimmed the retrieved comments, laughing at a few. It seems that Bane, Poison Ivy, and Harley Quinn were the most common subjects of the notes, though a few mentioning the Iceberg lounge asking what non-alchoholic drink you’d like added, or Riddler offering you another puzzle to keep your mind active. Even Joker was mentioned, though it seemed mostly transactional.

It was strange seeing you in this light. You seemed to have a lot of spice in you, but a heart made of gold. You were definitely surprised whenever one othe villains offered to take you on some trip to amusement parks, regular parks, even just willingly watching anime with you. It was odd to see. Surely someone at the house did those things with you? He didn’t but he was extremely busy with school and vigilantism. Jason was legally dead, so surely he had all the time in the world.

“How was I supposed to relate to them? They’re what, 12 and into shit like that one with the cat looking dog thing and the robot girl. I have shit to do. Y’know, managing Crime Alley?”

Well, Dick had come over to hang out plenty of times. Surely he’d spent at least a few hours with you every now and then? “I have an entire team and criminals to manage of in another city, Damian. I don’t have as much time as you think to do whatever it was with them they’d wanted to do”

Maybe Tim? “I have college and stuff, Damian. And I don’t have the energy to put into hanging around them. I’d probably just be sleeping most of the time.

Bruce? “I have to manage you, Gotham, and the Justice League, Damian. I barely have time for myself.”

… Alfred? “I tried, Master Damian. However I’m constantly pulled thin between so many tasks. Besides, all you have is school most days, and you’ve had summer vacations and weekends. Shouldn’t you’ve had plenty of time to spend with your younger sibling?”

… He did have the most time outside of vigilantism. And it took him a week to realize you were missing.

You had to realize that they were under extreme stress though, right?He couldn’t spend all his free time with you. He had his own friends to hang out with. How were you two even supposed to relate?

One day at dinner, the thoughts were thrashing in his head, slamming against soft tissue and tearing through brain matter. He aimlessly poked at the food on his plate.

“You alright, replacement?” Jason asked, pausing in his extremely rare dinners with everyone else. Alfred had promised him a tray of fudge to take home this time around, and nobody made fudge quite as good as he did.

“… They were gone for two weeks.”

Everyone stopped eating as he continued.

“Two weeks. Two full weeks before they showed up at that fight. Did anyone here even know? I only noticed after a week and assumed they were just holed up in their room with a class assignment or something.” He was rambling. Everyone was quiet and looking at each other. How did it manage to slip past everyone? They were detectives, for Christ’s sake.

They were your family.

—

Dinner ended with guilt wrapping around their throats and pulling.

Eventually, all of them found themselves in your room. It had been emptied, but showed no signs of struggle. All the small items, the comforter, and your clothes were gone. But what was taken left something behind. Copies of photos of you winning state level competitions, letters requesting your attendance at seminars, photos of gold medals and blue ribbons spread across the floor. Most damning of all was the most recent photo. A certificate by some big time tech company being handed to you. Edward Nashton stood behind you, a firm, reassuring hand on your shoulder.

When had this happened? They never remembered hearing of something like this. A news clipping on the back told them it was maybe a week before you left.

“The Wayne prodigy stated that their family had more important things to see to than such an occasion. I can’t imagine something more important that either of my kids being recognized by a multi-million dollar tech company! I remember postponing an anniversary with my husband to celebrate our child placing second in the science fair. But I guess that’s just the Waynes for you!”

That’s just the Waynes to you.

But it’s ok. He can make it better. He can be a good big brother. He can spend time watching anime with you and decorating your room with lace and fairy lights and go makeup shopping with you. You just need to come home. Now.

---------------- Taglist! Ask to be added!

@jjsmeowthie , @jsprien213 , @ladyrosemone

[cottageivy]

i’ve been trying to make a new playlist bc the one ive had for like a year or 2? is getting a little stale but instead my brain insists on only listening to the mamma mia soundtrack. i ahvent even watched mamma mia recently??

[harrisonstories]

George Harrison with his mother Louise (1964)

NOTE: This is an article from The Guardian posted in 2007 which I happened to come across. It's long but a lovely read. Enjoy!

With love from her to me In 1963, like many girls, Lilie Ferrari had a crush on George Harrison. When she wrote to him, she scarcely expected a reply, but an admiring letter did come back - from his mother. It was the start of an extraordinary, enduring correspondence In 1963, I was 14 and, like almost every girl in Britain, I fell in love with a Beatle. "My" Beatle was George Harrison. From the first photograph I saw of the Fab Four, I was drawn to his dark eyes, serious face and enigmatic demeanour. He rarely smiled, even when he was being funny, and this made him all the more mysterious and enticing. Compared to the uncouth boys I had to deal with at school every day, George was a delicate, idealised vision of what I thought boys ought to be like. If he had pimples, I never saw them. If he swore, I never heard it. I never saw his hair greasy, his armpits damp, his shoes scuffed. In short, he was perfect.

We had just moved to Norwich, and I had missed a Beatles concert by a few weeks; but a girl in my class had somehow obtained all the Beatles' home addresses (I daren't think how, looking back) and was selling them at playtime for half a crown each. A bargain, I thought, handing over my two-and-six eagerly. Immediately upon the exchange, 174 Mackets Lane, Liverpool, became the repository of all my fantasies.

That day I hurried home to compose my first letter to George. I had discovered the joy of words, and wasn't about to be intimidated into single syllables by writing to a Beatle. I don't remember exactly what I wrote, but in spite of my best intentions I suspect it was a gauche jumble of repressed adoration, along the lines of "You're the best Beatle" and "I much prefer From Me to You to Come On by the Stones". I don't remember waiting for the postman every morning. By then the Beatles had started their journey into the stratosphere (it was the year the term Beatlemania was coined) and I guess I assumed I was too small a cog in the great Beatle wheel to merit any kind of response.

But one day a letter with a Liverpool postmark did come, addressed to me in careful looped handwriting. I opened it with trembling fingers and, instead of a letter from George, found one from his mum, Louise.

After a few niceties and general bulletins about "the boys'" progress, a question leaped off the page: "Are you," she asked, "by any chance related to a writer called Ivy Ferrari, who writes doctor-and-nurse romances?"

I bellowed a great scream that brought the family running: my mother was Ivy Ferrari, a romantic novelist churning out Mills & Boon paperbacks with titles like Nurse at Ryminster, Doctor at Ryminster, Almoner at Ryminster. I couldn't believe it - I might be a fan of her son, but Mrs Harrison was evidently a fan of my mother. I felt as if I had been raised from one among millions to a special place in Mrs Harrison's head.

Of course I wrote back to tell her that I was indeed Ivy Ferrari's daughter. I was happy to have made the connection - but so, it seemed, was she. I couldn't quite grasp it. Beatles were glamorous; my mum was a harassed woman with inky fingers, unruly hair and scruffy skirts who sweated over a typewriter all day. How could they compare? In the past I might have been indifferent to the overwrought love lives of the fictional staff of Ryminster hospital, but now they seemed to take on a glamour of their own. George never wrote to me, and my mother never wrote to Mrs Harrison, but the two of us began a correspondence that lasted for several years - years that took her from the Mackets Lane council house to a smart bungalow in Appleton, George from gangling teenage guitarist to married man, and me from schoolgirl to young woman.

I sent Mrs Harrison signed copies of my mother's novels. She sent me signed pictures of the Beatles. I asked her intense questions ("Which one is your favourite, besides George?" Answer: "John, because he does the tango with me in the kitchen and makes me laugh"). She interrogated me about the mysteries of my mother's creations, such as whether my mum knew any real doctors like Dr David Callender. ("He was fairly tall and tough-looking, with tawny-brown hair and a lean, intent face. His eyes were dark and compelling, so full of fire and life they drew me like a magnet . . .")

On my 15th birthday, Mrs Harrison sent me a small piece of blue fabric, part of a suit George had worn at the Star Club in Hamburg. Once, I got a crumpled newspaper cutting containing a photo of the Beatles with their scribbled signatures on it, and a big lipstick kiss, which, she said, had been planted there by John Lennon.

She sent me notes that George wrote her on used envelopes: "Dear Mum, get me up at 3, love George." She wrote on the backs of old Christmas cards and odd bits of paper - I never knew why. She told me funny stories about her upbringing in Liverpool, a world of men in caps on bikes and old ladies with jugs of gin. I told her about my life in Norfolk, about my sisters, my pony, the dog, my mother. I told her things I didn't tell anyone else - my fear of failure, my terrible, hidden shyness, my longing to have real adventures, lead a different kind of life to the quiet, rural existence I endured. She was my invisible friend, the silent recipient of everything I had to say.

She always answered my questions, and offered up teasing glimpses of life as the mother of a superstar - "I'm sitting by the pool with Pattie. Had a lovely time at the film premiere" - remarks tantalisingly combined with more mundane observations about knitting and cakes. Of course I never mentioned "real" boys who had caught my eye - that would have been somehow unfaithful to George. That was the only omission I can remember - apart from never articulating how I felt about her son, because I wanted her to think of me as a "normal" girl, and not the wide-eyed obsessive I really was.

After several years the gaps between our exchanges grew longer, as real life began to get in the way of teenage fantasies. I can't remember which of us wrote the last letter, but by the time I was 18 and working in London, the correspondence had petered out.

Soon after we had slipped from each other's lives, I found myself standing a few feet away from George himself, in the Apple boutique on London's Baker Street. He looked tired and unapproachable. The George that I had conjured up in the kitchen of Mackets Lane, propping notes for his mum on the mantelpiece, seemed a kinder, gentler prospect than the gaunt-looking superstar standing before me who might just tell me to get lost. He was close enough to speak to, but I've never been sorry that I backed away in silence.

Mrs Harrison died in 1970 when I was 21. I remember reading about it in the papers. I grieved for her on my own, and remembered her small acts of kindness to a girl in Norfolk she had never met. Her son, of course, made an enormous mark on my life without ever knowing it. I even married someone who embodied all the things I thought George represented: quiet strength, spirituality, the same dry humour, the dark good looks. My husband Colin had been, among other things, a roadie and the owner of punk record shops. Fortunately, he also had a sense of humour and a high level of tolerance. He learned to live with the omnipresence of George, and would sign cards to me "Love from George and The Other One".

As the years passed, my life came into focus and George receded. He married, had a son, as did I. I went back to live in a Norfolk cottage, while George retired to a Gothic mansion in Henley. In 1994 I went to Liverpool for the first time with Colin, as a football supporter rather than a Beatles pilgrim: Norwich City were playing at Anfield. I took time out to stand in front of 174 Mackets Lane and tried to imagine Mrs Harrison sitting at the window in the front room, answering my letters. I wanted to weep, but I didn't. When Norwich scored the winning goal that afternoon and we leapt to our feet, I cheered instead for that kindly Liverpudlian who took the time and trouble to light up my teenage years.

I've gradually lost the priceless relics of those years. They would have made me rich if I hadn't been so careless with my belongings; then again, I would never have sold them. So my side of that eccentric correspondence has all but disappeared, along with my youth.

In September 2001, Colin died of Hodgkin's disease. A month later, George was dead, too. It felt as if two distinct parts of my life had ended all at once: my dreamlike girlhood, and my real, adult life with a beloved partner and friend. But every day in my study at home, I look at something that binds these two parts together. It's a photograph of George taken in 1962 in Hamburg by Astrid Kirchherr (girlfriend of "fifth" Beatle Stuart Sutcliffe). Colin secretly sought it out, bought it, hand-made a frame for it, and gave it to me on my 40th birthday. It is one of my most treasured possessions.

[brckensociety]

tag drop | dahlia, ivy & sage beaufort

[brckensocietyarch]

Ivys' brow quirked at the response she had gotten as he opened the door. She had been out late thanks to a job and when she had realised she was in Augusts' neighbourhood it seemed like the perfect chance to reunite with one of her sisters' old friends. A sultry red dress she'd worn clung to her figure pairing nicely with the black high heels she wore. A sweet laugh escaped her when his demeanour changed, "Would it be corny to say I was in the neighbourhood?" The femme smirked, eyes raking down his body. "In the neighbourhood and in need of someone to take this dress off me for some fun?"

open to females plot: august gets a desperate booty call connections: best friend, fwb, gf, ex, sibling’s best friend, best friend’s sister, whatever works

“Yo, what the fuck is wrong with you? It’s two in the damn morning-” August opened the door with an annoyed expression, about to chew out whoever decided to bang like crazy on his apartment door. That is until he saw who it was. The expression almost instantly melted from his face. “Whoa, what are you doing here?”

[bvrninghill]

INT. WOODSIDE COLLEGE — AFTERNOON

It’s hard to imagine Ingrid ever fitting in here, in this institute of higher learning, all hallowed grounds and ivory towers and a faint musk of egos hobbling and awaiting tenure. Not that she’s ever tried, per se; that had been the whole point of dropping out. Better ride the high of these short bursts of enthusiasm rather than dragging it out to three, four, or five more years of coursework so mind-numbing she’s sure she’d inadvertently signed up for a randomized controlled trial by said egos. And yet, here she is, two-something decades later, haunting lecture halls—not quite in a tragic way, but in a poltergeist sort of way—to only bother. It’s a morbid kind of penance, really. 

This time, at least, the professor is hot, a far cry from the thinning-haired, acne-punctured teaching assistants who’d marked her ill-lived time at an Ivy. Iggy’s meant to be auditing these classes silently, poking and prodding at said professor’s brain as minimally invasively as possible—not unlike a millipede-sized parasite—but it’s quite an ordeal for a five-foot-ten tall boot-clad woman who’s at least twice the age of this current undergraduate cohort. 

“I’ve got another joke for you,” Ingrid announces, now walking to the front of the room once the rest of the (full fee-paying) students have, blessedly, trickled out. She’d been well-behaved today, only made the class burst into laughter once. She hovers on the edge of the desk with the kind of lean that suggests she’s halfway through deciding whether or not the desk is sound enough to hold her weight, and, just enough not to convict on if, or when, Lorelai decides she’s too much. “Why do fossils hate parties?”

She hums a little under her breath, “Now ask me what the punchline is. Please. I worked really hard on it.”

( @invsblstrngs )

[blcssom]

"only if you kept your mouth preoccupied and didn't speak to anyone.... but you love to talk shit, and we both know it'd get you in trouble." she has an uncanny ability to talk herself out of the trouble she gets herself into, though, something ivy can't help but admire. her fingers loosen from around allie's wrist, not permission so much as a show of.... impassiveness. "and if you expect me to smooth over your issues, you're out of your god-damn mind: we're not that close."

instinctively, her hand remains between the other's thighs inching closer and closer toward ivy's heat. "what makes you say that?" partially offended, her fingers stall near painfully thin lace. "i'll admit orange isn't really my color but, the women there would love me."

[lilac-rose-writes]

FIRST FIC OF THE YEAR!!! ft @stars-artacc @mattdrawssometimes @strangerofartisticvalue l*roy ol*ver mr h*xley & loserboy h*go xx

Oliver did not know where he was. It was very strange and remotely oval-shaped. Ovular, so to speak. Not like oviduct ovular, moreso ROUND. Oilver was not partial to roung. it rememende him of the round bouncy balls he was hit wiht as a chid for his insolence.

A really big snake reared its great head. we're talking BIYVG BIG here brestie. huge ahh cobra. it was green adna little bit ugly but not as ugle as oliver. he glared at it to assert his dominanc eas an alpha wolf, btu as is was a snake it did not understand his canine languege :ALPHASIGMA:.

"What th e freAK is this!?" asked a sudedn ovice. oliver whirled aorun to face it, his boring grey eyes narrowing in suspicion, only to focu son.... an entirely unassuming oboxioucois young man. Wiggly mini snakes of dark hair squirmied over irritating blue eyes. Oliver fetl an odd sort of kindred fspirit with the weird little man.

THESE ANAIMASL DONT LOSTEN NO NOT ONE LITTLE BIT ITS UP TO ME TO STOP THEM AS PLAINLY U CAN SEE ITS GOTTO BE MYDESTINY N ITS WHAT MY CUTIE MARK IS TELLIN ME I TRY TO KEEP EM LAUGHING PUT A SMILE UPON THEIR FACE BUT NO MATTER WHAT I TRY IT SEEMS A BIT OF A DISGRACE I HAVE TO ETNERTAIN EM ITS PLAIN FOR ALL TO SEE ITS GOT TO BE MY DESTINE

"what is that infernal racket?!" a third voice enquired, hackels clearly raised. Oliver cower d int hr face of such an alpha sigma :ALPHASIGMA:. his poofy hair and sharp moustache were a clear sgign of superiority. and also awful fashion else but you knwo. "rarity does NOT need my help!"

"My cutie mark is telign me i should LEAVE." wiggly nodoel man rolled his eyes, then glanced at the two fo the lazily. "i'm ||l*roy||. you?"

"terribly sorry, good man, but your name got CENSORED," oliver replied scathinglhy. "what did you do?! respect a woman??"

a collecivve GASSPPSPPP rang out.

"NOO, OF COURSE NOT!"

"My name is ||Ol*ver||" Oliver tried. when it failed, his face BURTSTI into flamed outhrage. "||Ol*ver! OL*VER!!!||"

"Have no fear, i can read censored!" Mr Huxley anounced alphasigmaly. "leroy, oilver, it appears we have eben IMORISONED."

"not nowwhgfj!" the newly named ||leroy|| cried out in desptiar. "the big games tonight!"

"you wathc soccer/????" merican oliver enquired in itntrugiement.

"no??" ||leroy|| roliged his eyes. "FOOTBALL! good ole british footie."

"yuk."

then, the door BURST OPEN. surprisingly... it was NOT door. a shame really. Sorry Door my queen you shine every day you spakrle fest.

"it is me caonnon star and im here to say you suck." canon dtar told the ma ll soelmnyly. "stop this foolish mission watch a true magician give an exhibition howww pick up your silly twig boyyy youre playing with the big bios now"

so oil picked up his silly twig covered in gresesa and pojinted it at canon sttar!!! then a piano fell on him. TWANG. rip ripr ip lmaosoooo

"what the freak 2 electric boogaloo"

"THIS IS FOR IVY!" Canon matt apeared and threw a really big bath bomba t mr huxley. ||leroy|| reociled in horror when isack helped maty explode the alphasigma leader, stumblgin away into a secret pasaegawya

then ||leroy|| fell off ot fhe clif. it was as big as his fragile asf ego. he died painfuy on the gourhnd <3

"WOO!" the canosn cheered gllefully.

sudenyly loserboy was set alight. "what the fish" he said sadly. then he died.

yippe skipy! sylvia chnaged her ways abd became a cocane dealer. nobody eledse diesd and the worl dwas well. all thanks to st\AR and co!!! co is matpat and isarkc! how spekndiferous!!!!!!

and everybifyd lived hpapily every after while the suckos went to galaxtic L prison in the sky where they learned to sigma grinfset and not suck sm. unforuthnately ut was fruitless as they were dead xx

the end!!!!! :star_struck:

[blcssom]

closed starter for @touchbased

plot: f/f roommate/dormate shenanigans give me inexperienced x experienced or rivals trying to get the other to fold first.... either way it ends in them making out 10/10 times

"have you been digging through my closet again?" likely looking for her own clothes, which ivy had a bad habit of borrowing and then stowing away in her dresser. "sweetheart, your boobs aren't nearly big enough to pull that shirt off, don't kid yourself."

[sentientgolfball]

Ghoulette Appreciation: Week 9

not gonna lie I was almost late with this one

Read here or on Ao3

Word Count: 1982

Pairing: Mistshine

Summary: Mist gets caught between Sunshine and Ifrit

Sunshine giggles to herself from where she’s sitting at the table in the common area. It’s Sunday which means she has the whole place to herself unless Delta decided to pay a visit. She doubted he would though, he usually liked to visit Pebble and Ivy on the quiet days at the Ministry. She used this to her advantage. 

It’s been about a week since she recovered from her water induced illness and she’s been more energetic than ever before. She’s been keeping up with her messenger ghoul duties just fine, but she’s been itching to do something more. Really she can’t be blamed for the envelopes she’s stuffing full of glitter. It wasn’t her fault Ifrit had splashed her while on cleaning duty with a shout of ‘fish out of water’ and a laugh. Truly she can’t be blamed. Ifrit started it. 

“Do I even want to know?” 

Sunny jumps with a yelp when she hears the voice from her left. She whips her head in the direction only to see Zephyr emerging from the bedroom hallway. 

“Zeph what are you still doing here?” She chuckles nervously. 

“Decided to take the day off” they stalk to the kitchen, leaning their cane against the counter while they sift through the fridge. 

Sunny’s eyebrows shoot up “Does that mean Frit is here too?” 

“No I told him to go off, but he’s on standby incase it gets worse” 

They emerge from the kitchen with some snacks and one of the heating pads with an animal face on it. Sunny frowns at the pinch in their expression. 

“I could help if you want. I’m not as warm as Ifrit, Alpha, or Dew but still.” 

They shake their head giving her a small smile “Really it’s fine. Ifrit will come if I need him, plus I wouldn’t want to take away from whatever that is” they gesture to the pile of envelopes and glitter. 

She giggles “Alright if you say so, but uh if you doooo end up calling for Frit let me know so I can hide.” 

“Will do” they give a mock salute and head back to their room. 

Sunshine watches them go before returning to the task at hand. 

~~~

“What is the purpose of this?” Mist asks, crossing their arms watching Ifrit. 

“Sunshine has been dealing with a lot recently, yeah? Everyone being gone on tour, the bullies, her little element sickness.” 

“Correct.” 

“Figured I do something for her to help cheer her up a bit. Remind her she’s cared about.” 

Mist tilts her head. 

“Not that you’re not doing a great job of that! You are! But just…reminding her that other people still care about her.” 

“That makes sense, however what does that have to do with that?” 

Mist gestures to the stack of sponges that are currently half covered in frosting. She had come into the main kitchen hoping to grab some leftovers from lunch. Instead, she ran into Ifrit in an apron surrounded by mixing bowls. 

“This my dear sweet Mist is exactly what Sunny needs.” 

“You are aware you cannot eat sponges. If you want to bake her a cake I am sure there is a recipe for a real sponge cake somewhere in here.” 

“Controlled chaos Mist. Controlled chaos.” 

“I still do not understand, but if you are doing it to help Sunshine feel appreciated then I would like to help.” 

Ifrit breaks into a wide grin “Excellent. All I need you to do is—“ 

His phone pings and he glances at it where it’s propped up against the carton of heavy whipping cream. He wipes his hands on the front of his apron before grabbing it, quickly typing out a reply. 

“Okay change of plans, Zeph needs me. If you wanna still help all you gotta do is finish covering the sponges in the frosting and then write something on the top. Maybe congratulating her for her work with her water, just make it look as close to a real cake as possible.” 

“I will try.” 

Ifrit smiles at Mist. He gives her a quick kiss on the forehead before putting his apron away and leaving for the den. 

~~~

It’s not until a day later that Sunshine and Ifrit interact with each other long enough for Sunny to strike. Ifrit had come back to the den and Sunny was nowhere to be found. When dinner rolled around and Ifrit nor Zephyr emerged from their room, she knew it was not her day. 

Oh but now. Now she was able to corner him. With tour being underway Sunshine wasn’t very busy when it came to her duties. The Clergy was too focused on the success of the Ghost Project. She occasionally had some texts to deliver from the archives, but nothing overtly important. She was mostly given busy work, but for once this worked in her favor. 

She had found Ifrit with a group of Siblings. They were busy cleaning the chapel. Ifrit was there to lift the pews to make it easier for them. Sunny giggled at the obvious looks he was getting everytime he moved and his muscles visibly rippled under his uniform. 

“Hey tough guy” she calls “I have something for you!” 

He sets the pew he had picked up down, turning towards her with a questioning tilt of his head. Sunny waved an envelope in the air. 

“Got your assignments for next week!” 

His eyes light up and he turns to the closest Sister, asking to be excused for a moment. He pats her on the shoulder, thanking her before bounding over to Sunshine. 

“Whatcha got for me Sunny bunny?” 

“You lucked out. I don’t know who’s dick you’re sucking to get these easy hours.” 

He takes the envelope with a chuckle “I can answer that question for you.” 

“I would rather you didn’t, but it’s totally Terzo isn’t it.” 

He flashes a fang filled grin before slicing through the envelope with a claw. The moment he does blue glitter explodes out, covering him in the shiny dust. Sunshine giggles watching him spit glitter out of his mouth and slowly blinking open his eyes. The Siblings look up at the noise, groaning when they see the mess. 

“How did you even get it to do that?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”

“Mhm well this little magician better run away before the Siblings get ahold of her.” 

Sunny glances past Ifrit’s frame, making eye contact with three very irritated looking humans. 

“You maaaaay have a point” she roots around in her bag “here. Your actual assignments for next week are somewhere in here.”

She hands him a stack of 10 identical envelopes. 

“Good luck figuring it out!” She calls as she books it out of the chapel. 

He watches her go with a glint in his eyes “exploding glitter” he muses to himself. 

He turns around to face the Siblings. He opens his mouth to say something but is immediately cut off.

“If you open a single letter in here you’re getting sacrificed on the next Sabbath.” 

“Noted.” 

He exits the chapel, leaving a trail of glitter behind him. 

Sunshine spent the rest of the day on her toes. She knew Ifrit would do something to get her back, she just didn’t know how quickly he could strike. Though, the longer the day went without an incident the more she relaxed. If he tried something in the den it would be easy for her to evade. Maybe he wasn’t even going to get her back today. That gave her more time to come up with something bigger and better. 

Once she finished taking pictures for Mountain in the greenhouse, she made her way back to the den. She was immediately greeted to the sight of Aether and Ifrit curled up on the couch. Mist and Zephyr were sitting at the table sharing a quiet conversation over tea. She can hear Alpha in the kitchen cursing at a plastic container for not opening. 

She hesitates only for a moment, eyes quickly scanning the area to see if Ifrit planted anything. When she’s satisfied she closes the door behind her and greets everyone, making her way over to the table to sit next to Mist. When she sits, Mist stands. She makes a confused chirp, tilting her head. 

“I have something for you” they inform her, heading off to the kitchen. 

“For me? What did I do?” Her tail flicks excitedly behind her. 

Mist returns with her hands behind her back “You have progressed quite far, I feel like you deserve this.” 

They present a cake with white frosting, the word congratulations written in cursive with blue frosting. Sunny’s eyes light up when they place it on the table in front of her. She looks between the cake and Mist. 

“You made this for me? For me?” 

“Yes” they nod, “you have come very far with your water lessons, so I wanted to do something.” 

Mist steals a glance at Ifrit on the couch while Sunny is distracted with the cake. He smiles wide and gives her a thumbs up. When they return their gaze to Sunshine, she looks like she’s ready to pounce. 

“Sunshine ghoulette please do not use your hands” Aether calls from the couch. 

She hisses at him but relents “Alpha! Bring me a knife!” 

Alpha growls from the kitchen. There’s a brief moment of silence before he walks over, setting the knife down with more force than necessary. 

“Did you have to give her the biggest one we have?” Zephyr raises an eyebrow. 

“You wanted a knife I brought a knife” he grumbles, stalking back to the kitchen. 

“What’s got him so fired up?” Sunny asks examining the cake, trying to decide where to cut first. 

“He lost the fight to the leftovers container” Zephyr whispers. 

Sunny giggles as she sinks the knife into the cake. It goes through the top layer of frosting with ease, but it stops. She pauses, raising an eyebrow before pushing down again. 

“What the fuck?” 

She starts to saw with the knife, hissing when it barely starts to break through. 

“Household appliances two, ghouls zero” Zephyr deadpans, watching the struggle. 

Sunny abandons the knife in favor of her claws, tearing through the cake with ease. She stares at the inside of it for a moment, processing what she sees. Ifrit sits up and laughs. She glances up at him, then over to Mist, and then back down to the fake cake. 

“Do you like it? Ifrit said this would make you feel appreciated” Mist asks. 

“Mist” Sunny sets the halves down, frosting covering her hands “this is…” 

“Yes?” 

“This is amazing! I expect something like this out of sparky over there but this is even better! I didn’t know you had it in you!” 

Sunny grabs their face, pulling them to a kiss and smearing the frosting all over them. Mist chirps in surprise before kissing her back, loosely wrapping her tail around her waist. Ifrit makes a fake gagging noise. Sunshine breaks the kiss and stares at him. 

“You!” She hisses before jumping over the back of the couch to tackle him. 

“Sunny I swear to the hells if you stain this couch” Aether threatens, but there’s a smile on his face. 

Mist returns to her spot at the table, watching Ifrit and Sunny wrestle with a soft smile. Zephyr chuckles. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing I just. You have no idea the can of worms you opened.” 

“I do not care. It is worth it if I get to see her like this.” 

Mist had decided long ago they’d do anything to keep Sunshine smiling, if they had to cause a little trouble here and there to make it happen then so be it. The feeling in their chest, the glow in her eyes would always be worth it. Sunny was always worth it.