Make Her Like Ivy

There was a pressure in her head. Blood and green **** oozed out of the holes in the back of her eyes. The reporter shuddered as a creeping pain cramped her, like an ice cream headache, the burning pain in her womb throbbing with the pulse of her heart, spreading down, down...her thighs rubbing together uncontrollably, green and red clouds crossing her vision, tears running down her eyes, and all she could taste in her mouth was like rotten metal, chewing pennies, acrid and bitter and her vision seemed to fade out of focus as her heart hammered faster and faster...and she barely felt that final kiss against her numb lips, the air **** into her lungs, the hands pounding her chest hard to **** the stubborn lungs to work...

The world fell away. There was no Lois Lane. It was only the shell of her there, a rapidly-cooling husk on the hospital bed. Eyes closed, and it was dark. Dark and warm, underground. Safe and secure.

She couldn't breathe. Didn't need to. Thoughts moved, sluggish. Awareness dawned. Tightly packed, all around. stretched...she could stretch. Things came back to her. Water. Food. Instinct caused her to reach up. It was warmer there. Warmer and warmer. She stretched out more, reaching all around her, and pushed upwards all the time. There was a sense of expectancy, of need, of light and life and...

Her face burst up out of the soul. Blinding heat and light burning down on her. Moments of cold and shadow. Wet, dripping water to ease her thirst. Long dry spells, reaching deep around her for more water, more food, pushing more of herself out...and she wasn't alone. Lois could hear them, all around her. A great chorus of voices, their roots entwining. Overhead, the vast green bulks of the great trees, ancient and terrible in their might, and beyond them...beyond...

A face appeared before her. Haggard, ancient, huge. A rough finger, like the faint memory of a human thumb, brushed her petals apart.

"Welcome to the Green...little Lotus."

On the table, Lois Lane's eyes flew open. They were still a vivid violet, but there was a greenish tint to the sclera. She gasped for breath, sucking in air, straining against the straps holding her down. Her fingers and toes stretched, the paralysis done, and Lois had a hard time not thinking of them as roots. Pale hands undid the buckles, and the former reporter sat up, staring at her nude body.

The greenish tint suffused her pale skin. Yet beyond that, she could feel...things. The blood surged through her body like sap, and though Lois didn't have the names for the chemicals she could taste each of the toxins working their way through her body...and could feel parts of her shift, ready to reproduce them at will, in her saliva, her vaginal secretions. Her womb throbbed, new nerves bundled around ovaries and muscles, and she flexed parts of herself that before she had no conscious control over.

"How do you feel?" Poison Ivy said. "Do you remember who you are? It can be overwhelming at first...I know."

"I...was...Lois Lane," the new plant-woman said. "I am...Lotus."

Ivy smiled. With her thumbs, she wiped away the sticky green tears that had dried against Lotus Lane's cheeks. The reporter was aware, as never before, of Ivy's femininity...the size and shape of her breasts, the heat of her skin, smooth as cornsilk. Beyond that, she could sense...the churning chemical factories between those thighs. Sweet honey, dripping down from the redhead's cleft, carrying complex pheromones, chemical triggers, promises of...pollen. The reporter's own uterus began to respond, configuring itself for conception. Just a few molecules in the air, and yet it was almost like they were already having sex.

"Lotus," Ivy tasted the word, her tongue slipping out of her mouth like the pink insides of a venus flytrap. The black-haired plant woman leaned closer, her own mouth open to catch Ivy's intoxicating scent.

"Such a beautiful name, for such a flower."