poixonivy
seething ; BLOOMING
Dr. Pamela L. Isley.
Better known as Poison Ivy.
❀
Currently residing in Sokovia.❀
38 posts
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redplanetblueplanet:
Market day, market day. The Martian hummed to herself as she inspected the fruit. She already had more fruit than would be considered inconspicuous, but she had a cover for that. She darn near had to have a cover for that, given how much fruit the denizens of the Mousehole went through in a week. Three pallets of apples. Two of oranges. Green and red grapes, all seedless or there would be a reckoning. More exotic fruit, like kiwi, pomegranate, and grapefruit were in high demand.
Thankfully, the supermarket met that demand for the most part. M’gann had even befriended the manager. Unfortunately, she hadn’t yet been able to take the older man up on his offer of coffee because every time she saw him, she had not only half a market’s worth of fruit, but other necessities that needed refrigeration as well. There were a few things, like fruit, that the Mousehole simply could not produce for itself.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” M’gann said, pulling her hand back quickly. “Here I was just reaching for the lemon curd and whoops! I must have gotten lost in thought.” She was slightly taken aback by the stranger’s bruskness, but it was easy to tell from her telepathic signature that this woman was feeling a bit lost herself. As ever, M’gann erred towards the sympathetic.
Pam blinked very slowly. She hadn’t expected the honey-snatching thief to be a tiny, English-speaking redhead who looked like a second-grade teacher; she was much more used to shoving shoulders with deceptively strong frown-faced old women.
She blinked again as the apology went on, slowly easing the honey off the shelf and easing it into her cart. Then she blew out a sigh, deflating, and reached up to rub at her temple.
“It’s fine,” she muttered, almost-apologetic but not quite. “No harm done.” Then she caught sight of the ridiculous assortment of fruit that seemed to accompany her apparently not-nemesis, and her brows raised. “Are you throwing a fruit salad party? Or baking twenty fruitcakes?” she asked, before realizing the girl was probably an aid worker. Damn it, the woods were making her brain slow. How as that even possible?
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among the moss; self-para
Early June, 2021.
Mistakes on top of mistakes. Damn it.
Pam tucked herself tighter into the ravine she’d curled up in, wrapped in ivy and moss. She didn’t get cold anymore the way she used to, and the temperate June sun should have been pleasant, and yet—she gave a little shiver.
She wasn’t cold. She just felt—tired. Weary. Even now that she’d moved into what felt like a safer part of the woods, somewhere where the flora sat sun-soaked and plump and didn’t whisper to her in strange riddles, she felt a lingering bit of... something. She hadn’t even noticed at first, paranoia and irritability having long-ago become as much a part of her as The Green, but she’d already been feeling awful when she’d decided to make her pit-stop in Sokovia’s forest reserve for some rest.
She should have felt amazing, away from smog and pollution, tucked away in lush greenery. She didn’t.
—But. She’d gotten away from whatever it was that’d put her hair on-end, that’d made her feel the worst migraine in her life just-coming-on but never quite setting in. It had been a couple days. Maybe, in a few more...
Ugh. She’d have to make a trip to town first, though. Even she couldn’t quite subsist on sunlight and water alone... Yet. Soon.
Soon.
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They can bury us deep, but we always grow back.
fandom family edits: poison ivy for @lahnister
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ravaging-rose:
…
“ – Not talking to a deer,” Rose began, a little breathless, as she stared ahead at the woman before her: flaming red hair with flowers weaved throughout, vines wrapping and entwining her legs, and it didn’t take long for the pieces to damn near audibly click into place for Rose. One of Gotham’s finest, transported all the way to Sokovia which ….wasn’t exactly surprising, with the amount of faces Rose had run into lately. Definitely low on the list of surprises, even if her precognition hadn’t exactly held her hand through this and given her a fucking head’s up; that had been a consistent problem, lately. One she’d need to address with more epinephrine, even if that was a double edged sword in an unfortunate amount of ways.
Still woulda been fuckin’ nice to know she’d be going toe-to-toe with the flower lady of Gotham, on this adventure into the woods. Christ, she wasn’t paid enough for this shit.
“Poison Ivy,” Rose returned after no more than a beat had passed, still holding strong to that grip on her katana as it readjusted just slightly. “Welcome to Sokovia. Long way from Gotham. Air’s a lot cleaner here, yeah?”
She had to tread carefully. Pam wracked her brain for what she knew about Ravager, and, frankly, it wasn’t much. Deathstroke’s baby girl, enhanced human, a hero before Pam’s time as a villain, and now contracted with the ISA. Not much to go on, but hopefully enough.
She eyed the sword in Ravager’s hand. Pam could grow back a limb, but what about a body? That was a good question. Just in case, she kept up her pathetic lean against the tree, palm to the bark; steadying herself with its presence. (She didn’t even really need to act too much. She still felt pretty damn awful.)
“Air’s cleaner everywhere than in Gotham,” she replied, not without a little bit of snark, before shaking her head. “What’re you doing here?” Good question to start, she figured.
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spoilingstephanie:
…
At least it wasn’t cold out, Stephanie decided as she unzipped her sweatshirt to peel off the smoothie-soaked layer and fully assess the damage. At least the sweater was already purple, even if she was grumpy about the spill; staining wouldn’t be the end of the world. And, double bonus, it hadn’t soaked through too badly to the (…also purple) shirt beneath. The weather was nice enough that she’d survive without the outer layer, and she could wash it when she got to the station. Definitely could’ve been worse, even if her mood was soured and her breakfast was definitely ruined with little time to fix that with how perpetually late she was.
“Corporate-funded-charity – I’m an EMT, you – ” Stephanie cut herself off as she looked up, and frowned a little. Tilted her head to one side as she looked the other woman over, a slight sense of dread undeniably beginning to settle in her stomach. “ … You look familiar.”
She was who she was. And that meant that Pam felt a vicious curl of satisfaction at the girls obvious offense, watching her cheeks redden with anger. Yes, good. Cry about it some more, she thought, feeling particularly cruel after her no-good-absolute-shit past couple of weeks.
But then the girl paused, and Pam’s eyes narrowed. “I doubt it,” she clipped out, despite the fact that it was wholly possible the girl recognized her. Her face had been on the news enough times, after all. And, though she’d barely stopped to register it... Pam was pretty damn sure that was a Gotham accent she was hearing. “We’ve never met,” she emphasized, breathing out a pheromone of suggestion into the air. “Now, didn’t you have somewhere to be?”
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ravaging-rose:
@poixonivy
Into the woods, like that musical she’d half sat through before sneaking away at intermission for teenage bullshit all those years ago. She wasn’t a big fan of the woods, to be clear. Rose much preferred urban landscapes, was very much a city rat and felt more at home with towering sky scrapers, streets packed with herds of people and city traffic to serve as white noise. Rose had never been much of a nature girl, despite the name, and yet here she was…surrounded by trees. At least the snow had melted, even if this mission still wasn’t her cup of anything.
There was some fishy bullshit happening in the woods, and Rose had been instructed to go have a look-see. Hard to say no, considering she’d been saying no to a lot lately in the wake of her brother kicking her ass clear into 2025 and figured she had to give the ISA good reason to keep signing her paycheck. So, sure, into the woods it was.
Rose was whistling to herself as she made her way through the trees, idly swinging one of her katanas in her right hand as she made her way in deeper. A crack of branches caught her attention, and Rose ceased her swinging and her whistling, enchanced senses catching on as she turned in a slow circle. “Someone is either very, very lost or I’m talking to a deer. Hoping for the former, for the record, because othwerwise I am still talking to a deer.”
Someone was coming.
It was that echo from the trees that forced Pam up from her hiding place. She... hadn’t been feeling very well since she’d gotten to Sokovia, since those first few nights. Enough so that she’d found herself spending most of her time curled up under the lifted roots of an enormous pine, sleeping and soaking up the sun to restore her energy. The patch of forest she’d moved to felt different than where she’d first settled, whatever there was having poisoned her after her encounter with the ARGUS agent.
It was disconcerting. Pam hadn’t felt weak or ill in years.
But she didn’t feel too weak to deal with an interloper. Pam crept closer, bracing herself against the trunk of a tree. She wasn’t dressed for company, in the organic biosuit she usually favored outside of public. Shame, it gave away her identity as obviously as the flowers threaded through her hair and the vines crawling up her legs. Except—
Except this was someone she knew. At least in passing. Pam licked her lips, an idea sparking.
“Ravager?” she asked, voice coming hoarse and reedy as she rested more of her weight against the tree.
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spoilingstephanie:
…
“ – Maybe I?” Stephanie floundered, blue eyes over-wide as she looked up from the steadily-seeping-in stain to the woman in front of her. “Maybe – maybe you should watch where you’re going, lady.” And it could definitely be said that Stephanie should watch where she was going as well, but it was so much easier to focus on the anger steadily smoking away between her ears. “Some of us do have places to be, and now some of us need to go home and change.”
Pam could feel her expression curling in anger and had to bite down on her tongue to keep from retaliating immediately, reminding herself that she was on the run now (actually), and she wasn’t in Gotham (the single most ridiculous place on earth), and that it wasn’t three years ago (obviously). If she got caught by the ISA, if Waller finally got her hands on her—
But she wasn’t going to tolerate some mouthy twenty year old calling her lady. What a brat. “What a pity for you, then,” Pam snarked anyway, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head. “I’m sure that whatever corporate-funded charity you’re getting college credits for will be able to survive without you for another fifteen minutes.”
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spoilingstephanie:
“ – Fuck!”
Blurple smoothie, all down the front of her purple sweatshirt, making the material much more purple than it had been a few moments before as well as wet and sticky. Maybe she should’ve been watching her corners, maybe she shouldn’t slowed her roll a little bit, but regardless of that she found her on-the-go breakfast poured down her front and onto the floor at her feet when she’d run smack into someone coming hot around the corner. Missed her shoes, at least - something about small miracles, but it was hard to focus on those when she was wet and cold and her breakfast had gone down the drain (or, well, down her shirt).
“Where’s the fire? And there’s better be a literal fuckin’ fire, I’m wearing my smoothie.”
Pam barely managed to catch her balance, canvas grocery bags gripped tight in her hands. She wobbled dangerously for a moment before catching herself and glaring ferociously at the smoothie-covered blonde she’d run into turning the building’s corner.
“Then maybe you should watch where you’re going? Since you’re the one carrying around smoothies and some of us have places to be?” she snapped, her persistent headache too annoying of a dull throb for her to even attempt civility. She didn’t even stop to question why the other woman was speaking English, she just wanted to go back to the woods, find a less-awful, less-haunted patch of ground, and curl up and sleep. “It’s a good color on you, at least.”
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OPEN!
Pam had a pounding headache.
It had started as a tickle in the back of her head a week ago, coming and going, and had somehow gotten worse and worse no matter what she did—no matter what plants bloomed to aid her, no matter what twists and turns she attempted with her own bodily chemistry. Her head was aching, and worse than that—
She felt... Unbalanced. Unmoored. Paranoid, yes, but she’d been paranoid for years now, and this was something new. A foreign growth in the back of her mind, scaling the walls of her consciousness like...
God. This little spit of a town was supposed to be a pit stop, the forest a place for her to rest and recoup for a few days off the radar. And now... Now Pam felt too off-balance to go anywhere. And Woodrue’s trail had gone cold in the meantime. (That damn ARGUS agent had been right. Pam was going to be bitter about that for a while. She hoped he’d tripped into a ravine and snapped his neck.)
So, given that she was stuck, she may as well get herself some supplies. Pam was still waffling about whether she wanted to stay in the woods, pondering as she picked through the local supermarket.
“—Excuse you,” she snapped on reflex as someone’s hand bumped into hers as she reached for a bottle of honey, turning to shoot them a glare.
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Summer Wine // Lana Del Rey
“Strawberries cherries and an angel’s kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things”
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“THE AGE OF FLORA HAS DAWNED.”
Back at it again, this time with a proper villain! Say hello to the lovely Dr. Isley, residents of Sokovia—or, as she’s more often known nowadays, Poison Ivy!
THE BASICS:
Name: Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley, PhD.
Age: 34.
MBTI Type: INFJ.
Occupation: Super-villain; bio-terrorist; botanist.
Height: 5'9"
Public identity?: Yes.
Affiliations: None; formerly ISA.
Human, mutant, metahuman, alien, inhuman, or other?: Metahuman.
Powers/special abilities, if any: Trained botanist; secretion of floral toxins and mind-controlling pheromones; immunity to toxins and pathogens; ability to heal and transfer toxin immunities to others; ability to control the growth and actions of plants; superhuman healing factor, including the ability to grow back entire limbs.
+ Intelligent, determined, sensitive
- Suspicious, callous, hateful
EVENTS UP TO NOW:
**TW: sexual manipulation, power imbalance, non-consensual bodily modification.
This is how it began: with deception, and heartbreak, and pain.
Pam Isley was a shy, reserved girl who grew up in a quiet suburb in Gotham—far away from all the hustle and bustle and danger of the city. She was studious and often overlooked, focusing more on the comfort of staying in her shell than focusing on her social life. Pam enjoyed science and her books, but the one thing she was truly passionate about was the environment. From articles to documentaries to aggressive activism, Pam worked hard to bring attention to the way humans were destroying the very world they inhabited, killing it slowly then quickly like an unbeatable disease. But more often than not, it seemed to her that no one cared.
Almost no one. By the time Pam began graduate school, (by the time the hero ban was put in place,) she had developed quite the crush on Dr. Jason Woodrue. He was brilliant and kind and listened to her when she would rant passionately about the state of the world. He shared Pam’s opinions and encouraged her further, even inviting her to help him with his own research. (Even inviting her into his bed.) Pam was besotted; she happily agreed to work with Jason, promising she wouldn’t tell a soul about his top-secret research.
Even though some of the things he was doing confused and frightened her, Pam kept that promise. She kept it all up until he strapped her down to a metal slab and began injecting her with various toxins of his own design.
(The rest was a blur; she wasn’t sure if her screams were what led to Jason’s lab of horrors being discovered, but she remembers her body aching and her blood burning. And crying, and crying, and crying.)
Recovery took a long time. But even though Pam’s body healed, her mind didn’t. At first she was frightened; her moods would swing wildly in a way they never had, and she would fall into screaming rages only to snap back to sweet and calm moments later. Sometimes she could only cry. Sometimes all she could think of was finding Jason and making him hurt. It wasn’t long before Pam began noticing changes in herself: as the mood swings slowed to a stop, something else had begun.
Plants would bloom from her nearness. Men would turn their heads as she walked down the street no matter what she wore. Her mind grew sharper and her beliefs grew absolute. She grew taller and stronger and more and more beautiful through no action of her own. Synthetic fabrics began to grate against her skin. People began to do what she told them. The plants began to speak to her.
The plants wanted to kill for her.
She tested herself as the years passed, carefully at first and then with more daring: she learned that no chemicals could affect her any longer, from aspirin to pepper spray to tear gas, and that a smile from her could get the weak-willed to do what she wanted. That a kiss from her could make anyone do what she wanted. Including die. Any people sent to subdue her fell before her, and the ones who didn’t bend to her will were destroyed by the various, horrifying plants she had learned to create.
And as Pam’s powers grew, her vision of the future sharpened and her fear evaporated.
And so Dr. Pamela Isley became Poison Ivy, shedding the withered petals of her old identity and blooming into something wholly new.
—
While she hadn’t cared when the “hero ban” happened, Pam did care when the tide began to turn against mutants and metahumans. Luckily for her, she had options. Options such as being granted clemency by the ISA as long as she agreed to play nice. And play nice she did—for a while. Until she learned that she wasn’t the only botanist blooming their way out of human flesh in their midst.
After Pam learned that Jason Woodrue had been employed by the ISA—that he had been the one studying her—she escaped, and spirited herself away to his last known locations; Sokovia is a convenient stop along the way. And recently, she’s stumbled across a handsome Oddfellow in the woods...
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Abandoned Conservatory by Mathias Mahling.
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whathappensintheswamp:
Riots. About NOVA? So, everyone knew about the federally mandated sadism, now. Whoever broke that story must’ve had a hell of an in. And got a choice desk out of the scoop - corner office, nice view. Light-headed, upright by the grace of a good, solid tree trunk, Curt listened along. Not failing to notice the edge, there, to Pam’s smile. She had this sharpness to her, a sting. Thorns in the roses, to stick with the theme around here.
Still the nicest… maybe-human-being he’d met, in recent memory. Really.
Prisoners freed, headquarters blown to hell, the whole organization in retreat. Sounded too good to be true, honestly. “Jesus. Busy night, wasn’t it?” He couldn’t quite give her a grin of his own, even if something warm and tarry and terrible was sticking in his chest at the thought. Curtis wouldn’t say he was glad, exactly. But he sure wasn’t about to hurt for NOVA. Done enough of that.
Little old me. Yeah, little old her. Curtis worked up a very, very agreeable smile. “Right. Yeah. Aren’t I the lucky one, eh?” Wasn’t he just. Scads of luck. Piles of it. Still, as downright fuckin’ unnerving as Pam the plant lady could be - this was going well. And he’d just have to make the most of that. Until it went wrong. Then he’d slither off, as usual. “Ah…” rolling his recently bullet-riddled shoulders, Curt gave that offer due consideration; wasn’t at all above help, when he could get it. He took a step off that tree, trying his balance out. Better. “Think I’m set, for the moment. The one’ll do me.” All he had in stock, at present. Stopping to get that empty, bloodstained mug, Curtis trailed after her. Not quite able to help himself from admiring the not-wilderness around them. “So this - this is great. Just beautiful. Native plants, they’re so often neglected, like, in landscaping. Dreadful shame…”
.
Ivy kept a careful eye on Curtis as he righted himself, not particularly wanting him to stumble and squash her plants. But he seemed to have things under control so she relaxed, leading him at a steady pace towards the sealed-off little bathroom. “I agree,” Ivy said with a smile tossed over her shoulder, pleased at the praise to her plants. Sometimes she couldn’t quite shake the feeling of being a proud mother. “Aren’t they just wonderful? So lovely and vibrant, a room feels empty without them. I wanted a little bit of everything here, plants from all around but with a good chunk of native. A little piece of paradise, in a Star City seaport warehouse.” The thought made her chuckle at the irony of it all, shaking her head.
The closer they headed towards the barely-visible walls of the warehouse, the less wild the area around them was. One Ivy led them past a couple large ferns, nudging aside their leaves, an actual living area came into view. The occasional flowering vine twisted over the furniture, but it was still unmistakably normal; an open kitchen painted in light colors with a dining area to the left, a sprawling lab setup with multiple plants in various stages of study in the middle, and a square walled-off room to the right with a large armoire pressed against its outer wall and a clothing rack off to the side. Large windows stretched across the upper half of the warehouse walls, where the walkways lined them. Early morning light spilled in, green-tinted from the plants creeping along their edges.
“It’s not much,” Ivy said as she led Curtis towards the cube-like bathroom, “but it’ll do.” The bathroom door opened under her hand and she showed Curtis inside. “Towels are in the cupboard above the toilet. Right knob is hot, left is cold, middle is shower. Take as long as you want, use whatever shower things you like. I’ll work on getting rid of the mess out there.” Then she paused, raising a finger to request he wait before heading over to the armoire.“Let me just find you something to wear. I don’t have much that’d fit you, but...”
Ivy unearthed a pair of sweatpants and a plain, oversized t-shirt and shrugged. “This should do.” She said as she headed back to the bathroom. The clothes were left on the closed toilet lid, and Ivy inched away. “Anything else you need, just yell.”
And with a flip of red hair, she left the room.
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