I just know in my heart that Jayce Giopara is THE pta parent in another world.
Like, arcane Jayvik? I can’t really see them caring about pta meetings and stuff. I could see them always showing up to school events for their kid, but beyond that? I don’t think that’d involve themselves with the rest of the parents.
Giopara and MH!Viktor?
They’re bitter enemies within the pta, constantly arguing and competing (poor Amaranthine and Naph, they just wanna be friends) and making their rivalry everyone’s problem. Jayce arranges a bake sale? Viktor shows up with a whole bakery of stuff he set up to one-up him. Viktor is in charge of decorations for a dance? Jayce replaces them when he’s not looking.
The only exception to their fights are a) Naph and Amarathine want a play date or b) that one boy-mom, Deborah, tries to one-up everyone and make everyone else miserable.
Eventually, of course, they reconcile, and everyone breathes a sigh of relief that their bitter rivalry surely must end now and they won’t have to deal with them anymore. Except, now that they’re united in their goals? It’s worse. Deborah never stood a chance.
MH!Viktor x Fem!Poison Ivy Reader - Writing Prompt
MH!Viktor with a fem Pharmacognosist (Pharmacognosy is the study of medicinal plants & other natural substances as sources of medicine, so she's both a botanist & pharmacologist/doctor at once) & biochemist Reader who, in contrast with Viktor becoming the Machine Harold, herself becomes something like Poison Ivy or Zyra.
Has greenish skin, long, wavy, dark hair (black or brown, doesn't matter) that reaches just past her rump, bright emerald irises with mint sclera, & wears a long leaf dress with a sexy slit up the skirt to show off some leg.
I dunno, maybe in an effort to try & save Viktor, Reader thought to infuse human DNA with liquified Nature & Healing Magic by making a sort of mutagenic formula with them to try & give humans regenerative abilities & tested it on herself first? Maybe, it ended up putting her into a coma. *shrugs*
The mutagenic formula worked, if she ever loses a limb or something, it just grows back brand new like Piccolo from DBZ or Deadpool. Much like Cell, if there's even one cell left, she can come back, though in those situations, it can take a while & lots of water & sunlight to recover fully. It also gave her phytokinesis/phytomancy (the ability to control plant life).
However, it took a week for her body to adapt as she was turned into a plant person. By that point, Viktor was back in Zaun, modifying himself.
Now, she hybridizes speleo-phytoremedial (cave-dwelling plants that actively clean the air, water, & earth around them), speleo-agronomical (cave-dwelling plants that can be used for food, fuel, fiber, chemicals, recreation, or land conservation), & speleo-ethnobotanical (cave-dwelling, wild plants used for medicine, food, & tools) plants & goes around Zaun growing them to decontaminate the city, healing, & teaching Zaunites how to grow cave-dwelling crops that can survive underground. Because of her, the Lanes are slowly starting to look more like Waterfall from Undertale.
Has recently been using Pearl of the Moon from Shurima in an attempt to make an antidote to alleviate the mutation, & possibly even addiction, effects of Shimmer. Tests have been encouraging. Might even be able to one day create a Shimmer variation used purely for medicinal purposes with little to no adverse effects.
This is what I think it looks like:
She is regarded by some of the Undercitizens as Viktor's exact opposite, his antithesis, & has her own following. Regarding her as some sort of Goddess of Life or the Wild. I'm thinking that she'll be called the Verdant Saint or Veridian Matron or something. Some of Viktor's more zealous followers think of her as a sort of anti-harold & despise her, going out of their way to try & destroy the plants she grows.
She continues to work with her phytomedical mutagen to better control the effects. Those who don't wish to replace their limbs with metal often go to her. Turns out that it only had the effect on her that it did because she, herself, was a magicborn aligned specifically with Nature & Healing magic.
For non-magicborn humans, it instead gives temporary regeneration, allowing them to grow back missing limbs or even help with regenerating/healing organs. It only lasts for 24 hours & the effects are slow-acting, so it often requires daily dosage. It, fortunately, isn't addictive, but it causes the regrown parts to be tinted a green gradient (from their regular skin tone to greenish) with obvious green veins. Said appendages tend to be able to be extremely flexible & able to be manipulated to a much finer degree. However, they are also more easily hurt & tends to require more water, not to mention being more susceptible to temperature. So, it's something of a mixed bag.
Anyway, at one point, Viktor & Reader meet & Viktor's followers bid him end the infidel or whatever, only to be blindsided when they are completely ignored in favor of the 2 openly flirting with each other. Just full witty banter while making eyes at each other. Viktor taking her hand & kissing the knuckle with a smirk on his lips & bedroom eyes while Reader giggles & flutters her lashes at him like a virginal maiden.
I'm thinking that they're somewhat like Melora & Erathis from DnD. So they represent Nature & Civilization or Tradition & Progress or 2 different types of Innovation or Evolution or something to that effect.
She wears a rose behind her ear that she's able to turn into either a rapier, a whip (with or without thorns), a dagger, or shortsword. She also always has rose seeds on her just in case so she's never truly disarmed.
Basically the Thornpiercer from The Griffon's Saddlebag.
Here's a list of all the flora & fungi I could think of for her to grow in Zaun:
This is a list of cave-dwelling plants & fungi that could be used to create a more diverse cave-dwelling ecosystems for Zaun.
Plants that g
Hi darling, i love you idea so much to celebrate our boy, so here are my numbers
2, 3, 6, 10, 15, 16, 54, 55, 57, 87, 112, 127
Please give me the most Dominant and jealous Viktor ever uwu
Most dominant and jealous Viktor ever, huh? That would be the Machine Herald, then. Picked a few of these lines that fit the best. Double the word count because last one, best one 💖
Also I hear you asking, "What the everloving fuck do you mean by too many teeth?" This, my friends. This.
Tags/Warnings: 18+, MH!Viktor x AFAB Fem!Reader, exhibitionism, public sex, jealousy, possessive behavior, groping, gloved fingering, orgasm denial, Reader has an augmented arm
You hate the Chem-Barons.
Viktor hates the Chem-Barons.
But the Machine Herald? He tolerates them. Meets with them and their lackeys, even. Has to, because the success rate of his augmentations is exponentially higher when Shimmer is involved. He needs the medical grade variety, not what’s bought off the streets where it’s cut with impurities and improperly handled. He needs it from the source, and negotiates accordingly.
It’s none of your business. Typically, you don’t go. But as his notoriety has grown—the metal man on Emberflit Alley that can take away your suffering—safety has become precarious. Just yours. You’re nobody special; just a token from another life, and you don’t have a laser claw. All you have is your wits, your loyalty and a newly fitted arm that doesn’t do anything exciting, but at least you’re alive.
Now he takes you everywhere.
Him and his too many teeth, you can feel his sneer behind the mask when people look at you in the street; when they shape their lips to whistle, but think better of it. Has something to do with a metal whirr behind you that you can hear but not see with your gaze fixed forward, head held high.
He’s different now, this man with your long lost lover’s voice, but the jealousy stayed and he remembers what it felt like to love you. It’s made him possessive.
And, well…
You kind of like it.
It’s kind of fun, even, to see what he’ll do when one of the cronies escorting you in gives you the wrong kind of attention. The kind where their eyes linger in all the wrong places, and their hand trails down your arm when they think Viktor isn’t looking. He is, always. The mask just makes it hard to tell.
Hard to kiss you, too. But in the short time you’re waiting at the long, empty table, sat in his lap without a chair of your own, he lifts it enough to shove his strange tongue into your mouth. As you whimper and try to keep pace, he watches your face, your reactions. You can tell by the yellow light that brightens the darkness behind your closed eyes.
He snaps it down, shuts you out abruptly when a door clicks open and people start to file in—some with old augmentations, some with Viktor’s new ones. You know his work on sight.
He’s not done with you, though.
Low, dark synth in your ear says, “I don’t like people touching what’s mine,” and delight twists into your gut like the shrapnel that nearly missed your liver.
Your permission is a whispered, “Please,” spoken with kiss bitten lips, slick and puffy. The kind of please that says use me; do whatever you want.
Only part way through the meeting does he strike—a vigilance for lecherous eyes that are not his own. You can feel it too, the weight of being watched by someone at the table. The one who licks their split, sickly lips when your eyes pass over them, surely.
The hand that had a vice tight grip on your waist eases, and slips beneath the hem of your shirt. He’s not subtle like he used to be, but who would stop a soulless, metal monolith from doing what he pleases where it concerns his little fucktoy? Who would raise a word against him for reaching up to cup the warm swell of your breast, or acknowledge the apathy with which he claims what’s his?
They’re cowards, the lot of them.
Except for maybe Renata, who is terrifying and paying you no mind.
There’s a violent shift in the atmosphere. Literally. Someone draws a knife and shouting breaks out across the table, but his modulated voice is all you hear.
“Only I get to touch you like this,” he murmurs, tugging down the edge of your bra inside your shirt. He thumbs over your nipple, rolls it harshly between the cold, finely ridged metal of his mechanized hand. Only he can hear your breathing stutter, or feel the way you go ridgid to choke down a whine.
Your composure holds, though—spine straight, eyes fixed out the windows. Indifferent.
Perhaps that’s why he drops his hand out, and slips the other up your skirt instead.
Your eyes flare with a sick, thrilled terror as you clutch the hem down over his hand. He wouldn’t like if anyone truly saw you—your bare, soaked cunt—when he wrenches your panties aside. That’s just for him.
Discreetly, you open your legs just enough for the press of his fingers. It’s his human hand this time, warm through the leather glove with which he hides it. Two grainy fingers slip through your pussy and roughly push inside until his palm sits flush.
It takes everything you have not to make a sound, stretched so suddenly, sweet and burning. Is it mercy or torture that he doesn’t move? Just fills you nice and full so that anyone who looks too closely will see who you belong to. One or two must’ve caught on; they pointedly look the other way.
Viktor catches your quick scan of the room; flexes his fingers to draw your attention back. Whispers in a way that has always, always wrecked you, “Would they touch you the way I touch you? Fuck you the way I fuck you?”
Never.
You shake your stupid, besotted head.
“Mm, no, I didn’t think so,” he all but laughs, wicked thing. Not as soulless as he or anyone else wants to believe.
Perhaps a little heartless, though, the way he plays absently with your clit. Sweeps and rolls with his wet leather thumb until you’re trembling and your lungs are burning—suffocating on all those little noises held back. He has you clenching around him so quickly, clawing uselessly at the metal plates of his shoulder. And the closer you get, the less you care for subtly or dignity or proper conduct of any sort. You only want release. You’ll hide your face against his armored neck, gasping quietly as you can to hide what is obviously happening, if it means you can have it.
There’s just one little problem.
Right on the cusp, and you’re suddenly empty. Instead, his hand comes to rest heavy on your bare thigh, glove glistening. Your slick is like fine, gossamer webbing between his fingers. Only then do you realize the gravity of the situation—that he’s not finished, and you aren’t going to, because he grips you hard and murmurs:
