getintomyplants | (no subject)

(no subject)

So over the weekend I will almost certainly be in the Land of No Internet, because we will have just moved to a new house! It is a beautiful house! But the internet company will only give our internet back on Monday. Depending on how tired of unpacking/absolutely exhausted after a week of crazy/~inspired~ by boredom I end up, writing may occur.

Tell me one of your characters (that Ivy knows!) and a prompt (even one word is plenty), and you may very well have a drabble on Monday. GO.

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JUBILEE. SMOKE.

Smoke.

To Ivy's mind, Jubilee comes and goes as randomly as falling leaves – or a whirlwind, wreaking havoc in the brief moments she's nearby, with no more malicious intent than a kitten playing in a ball of wool but just as much chaos. She never expects it, even when the plants tell her Jubilee's nearby, because why would the girl even want to track her down? In fact Ivy's pretty certain Jubilee's not deliberately following her, just bouncing around at random. That the randomness happens to coincide with Ivy's own particular paths is nothing more than chance.

But she's there. Almost every day, there's something to do in the forest. Something interesting in the mess hall. Something by the lake, up in the sky, near the hospital, under that sign, hey Ivy, IVY, hi, Ivy, what's going on, what are you doing, and maybe Jubilee does this with everyone (although how she could manage that without cloning herself Ivy cannot imagine) but it seems like she's everywhere.

And in anyone else it would be annoying. Infuriating. Why Jubilee's different Ivy doesn't know. There's something about her that makes even the most constant prattling...kind of charming.

So when the girl turns up again, by coincidence, by magic, and finds Ivy planting a line of chrysanthemums in the sandy soil of one of the drier parts of camp, the plants sit happily instead of lashing out to destroy the intruder. Ivy hides a grin in her sigh. Jubilee will disappear again soon, like a puff of smoke vanishing with the wind. In the meantime -

“Hey! Ivy! Hi!”

“Jubilee,” Ivy says, and gives up, and rewards the girl with a smile.

I WUV YOU

Sophie-Anne, myth.

Myth.

They are both creatures of myth, in a way. Sophie-Anne – well, it's obvious; what culture doesn't have tales of vampires? Every little tribe needed a way to keep children in at night, a fantasy of domination to terrify the young and make adults dream. The succubus, sliding into bedrooms at midnight, draining strength and binding her victim with her sexual power...yes, Ivy could believe that.

For herself, she prefers one of the Greek tales. A nymph tied to her tree, perhaps, or Demeter searching for Persephone beneath the snow. But there's no Persephone here – or anywhere. She doesn't have much here besides another creature straight out of legend, and even then their stories don't match up. Sometimes Ivy tries to think of something that fits them both.

And she thinks of Orpheus, who loved Eurydice so much he would go down into the darkness to save her and bring them both out alive again. She thinks of Medea, who left her family and all she knew to go with a handsome stranger. She thinks of Zeus and Hera, unable to either stay together or pull themselves apart.

She doesn't tell Sophie-Anne about the stories. After so long in the world, she's pretty sure the vampire knows all of them. She watches Sophie-Anne sit in her garden at night, white skin reflecting the light of the moon, and thinks of Persephone. In the day, as the vampire sleeps, she thinks of the way sunbeams would sparkle in the woman's red hair, and dreams of Eurydice emerging into the daylight at last.

The problem with the myths is their ending. Demeter's daughter, who broke both her mother's heart and that of Hades, her lover. Orpheus, who lost Eurydice forever. Medea, her children dead and life ruined. Zeus and Hera, each destroying everything the other held dear for the sake of revenge. If two myths come together, what happens then?

Sometimes – when Sophie-Anne's not around to soothe her with a smile – Ivy worries that it would mean disaster.

Josh, nursery rhymes.

Jean, mysteries!

Mysteries.

Jean's open, and honest, and easy to read. To Ivy, she's like an open book – fiery temper when she's angry, sudden quiet when she's sad, that uncertain smile when she's confused. And she tells the truth when she's asked, and can't keep secrets even when she isn't asked – she'd tell Ivy anything and everything.

She tells Scott everything, too.

So after the first time, when she sees the realization in Jean's eyes, Ivy leans in and kisses her and uses her powers. Sleep, the chemicals sing their siren song, and Jean slips into unconsciousness with only a flicker of surprise and confusion. When she wakes, she's dressed again, head resting on Ivy's lab bench as though she's fallen asleep mid-experiment, and the supervillain glances up and smiles and says “Have a nice nap, petal?”

And when Jean's brow furrows, and Ivy feels the soft sweep across her mind, she concentrates on the past as she wants it to be remembered – the experiments on the lake water; the long hours of tipping in this chemical and that, heating and cooling; Jean's eyes starting to close, and her head tipping forward until the bench was her pillow and Ivy had begun to think she might fall out of her chair.

A lie – a complete lie, fabricated from nothing but desperation and hope – but Jean makes a face, rubs her eyes, and said “Sorry, Ivy.”

“Don't be silly. There's nothing to be sorry for.”

Later – because she can't keep secrets, can't help but tell – Jean say, “I had such a strange dream,” and when Ivy looks up at her with one eyebrow raised in question, the hero blushes and shakes her head and looks down.

After the second time Ivy's ready, and as Jean gasps and arches up against her, she summons her courage and sends the psychic to sleep again. Another strange dream. Another night of experiments, imagined and boring. And Jean shakes her head, confused, when Ivy asks whether she's been getting enough sleep at night.

And then it's too late to stop, because Jean can't be allowed to remember what happens when she comes to the greenhouse, when Ivy smiles and steps a little too close and Jean reaches for her. So the experiments continue, and they don't make any progress on the lake water, and Ivy pretends frustration and never, never thinks of the way Jean's fingers stroke her stomach and down her thighs, never remembers the sharp intake of breath that means Jean's so very, very close...

Not while Jean's nearby, at least. Not while Jean could read her mind and match the knowledge with those mysterious dreams.

She waits until Jean's gone back to Scott. Jean will always go back, and they both know it.

So once the psychic's stepped out of the forest, once she's started to forget the strange realistic dream, Ivy goes back to her bed, wraps herself in the sheets that still hold Jean's scent, and waits to see if someone like her is still allowed to have her own sweet dreams.

fklsdjgskf omg ♥

♥

Victor. Banter.

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