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@mysticmirth
Ch. 2
Did Silco set this up? No. He couldn’t have. Jayce can read people, and when he left that office, Silco was worried. Not pretending. Genuinely fucking worried. So who?
A bit shorter than anticipated, but I think it's worth the wait. Ch. 2 is up! Go read it!
The darkness pressed in, thick and knowing, settling over the room like a second skin. The air was heavy with something unseen, something waiting. The only sound was the slow, measured breathing that wasn’t his own.
Jayce flexed against the chain binding his wrists to the floor, the metal biting into his skin, unforgiving. His muscles coiled, every instinct screaming for motion, for violence—but the bindings held firm, a cruel reminder of his helplessness.
Above him, golden, predatory eyes watched. Not with impatience. Not with anger. But with something worse.
Curiosity.
Like a scholar dissecting a specimen, like a predator toying with its prey just to see how long it would fight before exhaustion set in. There was no hurry, no wasted movement—only the slow, deliberate weight of that gaze, stripping him bare without ever lifting a hand.
Jayce clenched his jaw, his breath sharp between his teeth. The chain groaned as he pulled again, useless. The man above him tilted his head, a quiet hum slipping from his lips, as if Jayce’s struggle was nothing more than an interesting note in an already foregone conclusion.
"I must say, I am very pleased to meet you, Jayce."
Ch. 2 out tonight 🫶🏻
You can read Ch. 1 here!
Did anyone ask for a partners-in-crime JayVik AU?
No? That's okay. I'll deliver anyway.
---
The knife spins through the air, a flash of steel slicing the dim light of the room. It hits the table with a low, resonant thunk, embedding itself in the soft, splintered wood like a punctuation mark.
Jayce Talis leans back in his chair, boots planted on the edge of the table with the casual arrogance of someone who’s done this before — often enough to make it routine. The black cargo pants and turtleneck stretch over broad shoulders, shadows playing across the lean, hard strength beneath. His hair, dark with streaks of grey that seem more earned than aged, is tied back in a low bun, loose strands falling just enough to look intentional.
He tilts his head, studying the man across from him like one might study a dying animal on the side of the road — not with pity, but with detached curiosity. The smuggler, Gael, thin and twitchy, has a face that screams collapsible. The kind of man whose spine liquefies the moment pressure is applied.
“Talk,” Jayce says, his voice low, steady, dangerous.
Gael flinches, his gaze fixed on the knife trembling in the wood, as if looking at Jayce directly might burn him. “I-I told you,” he stammers, his words catching and tangling in his throat. “I don’t know anything. They don’t actually tell me—”
Jayce exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. He shifts forward, his boots hitting the ground with a weighty thud. The air in the room tightens, compressing, as if waiting for something to snap.
“Tell me, Gael. Do you know what happens when people waste my time?” he asks, calm but pointed. He doesn’t need to raise his voice — his reputation fills the spaces his words leave empty.
---
Or: Jayce, at the ripe age of 30, moves to Zaun.
This fic is called The Reflection and the Rift. Heavily inspired by Hannigram and Jim Moriarty.
Soon:)!
IT'S HERE!!!!
Did anyone ask for a partners-in-crime JayVik AU?
No? That's okay. I'll deliver anyway.
---
The knife spins through the air, a flash of steel slicing the dim light of the room. It hits the table with a low, resonant thunk, embedding itself in the soft, splintered wood like a punctuation mark.
Jayce Talis leans back in his chair, boots planted on the edge of the table with the casual arrogance of someone who’s done this before — often enough to make it routine. The black cargo pants and turtleneck stretch over broad shoulders, shadows playing across the lean, hard strength beneath. His hair, dark with streaks of grey that seem more earned than aged, is tied back in a low bun, loose strands falling just enough to look intentional.
He tilts his head, studying the man across from him like one might study a dying animal on the side of the road — not with pity, but with detached curiosity. The smuggler, Gael, thin and twitchy, has a face that screams collapsible. The kind of man whose spine liquefies the moment pressure is applied.
“Talk,” Jayce says, his voice low, steady, dangerous.
Gael flinches, his gaze fixed on the knife trembling in the wood, as if looking at Jayce directly might burn him. “I-I told you,” he stammers, his words catching and tangling in his throat. “I don’t know anything. They don’t actually tell me—”
Jayce exhales through his nose, slow and deliberate. He shifts forward, his boots hitting the ground with a weighty thud. The air in the room tightens, compressing, as if waiting for something to snap.
“Tell me, Gael. Do you know what happens when people waste my time?” he asks, calm but pointed. He doesn’t need to raise his voice — his reputation fills the spaces his words leave empty.
---
Or: Jayce, at the ripe age of 30, moves to Zaun.
This fic is called The Reflection and the Rift. Heavily inspired by Hannigram and Jim Moriarty.
Soon:)!
Cannot get over the power of an absolutely wasted Viktor dancing to Gladiator and locking eyes with a very stunned Jayce because you know,
"Viktor— is your only payment."
Attention, Marvel fans!
I want to write a modern, AU, domestic Poolverine story. Real names, maybe "forced" roommates (like Erasmus or something like that), slow burn, an angst with a happy ending. And smut.
Throw some ideas my way!
He so rude and mean and hate my character so much.
I think i will marry him.
forever in love with the grumpy honey-man.
Aemond "I'd kiss you as the lights went out, swaying as the room burned down" Targaryen.
Lucerys "I'd hold you as the water rushes in, if I could dance with you again" Velaryon.
Daemon's awfully quiet while the rest of them rage on, his eyes fixated on the map they'd spread across the table. He takes a deep breath, already knowing that they're not going to like what he's about to say. "They're brutes," he states, and can already feel eyes on him. "Savages. They're taking him across the sea, most likely to keep him as a slave." His teeth are gritted, but he talks about the matter as if the thought of those worms touching his child doesn't drive him mad.
Most likely to keep him as a slave.
Aemond wants to throw up. He can feel Rhaenyra's hand rubbing his shoulders in an attempt to soothe him, and he wants to snap at Daemon for talking such foolish words. Except he can't, because Aemond saw it all unfolding in front of him.
"We have our dragons," Aegon suggests. "We can attack them while they're still at sea, they won't be on guard!"
"That risks them hurting him."
Aemond recalls what happened two days ago. Daemon had sent him and Lucerys to town, with guards to settle some nonsense matter. One second Luke was laughing, actually laughing at a comment Aemond made, and then Aemond was paralyzed on the ground, the guards were dead and Luke…
Luke was being dragged across the plaza and into a carriage. One had grabbed him by the throat, another by the arms, by the hair. Their hands were everywhere, and in his paralyzed state, Aemond could hear Luke screaming. Screaming for help, screaming for Aemond.
Aemond runs out of the Council room and barely makes it to the halls before emptying his stomach on the floor.
— Everything Black, Ch. 5
The author regrets nothing.
Tonight, I am going to be reading All The Young Dudes for the very first time. My friends started bombarding me with texts about getting tissues and my comfort stuffed animal.
I am scared.
Alicent decides it right there and then, while helping her son and the nurses to patch up a half-dead Lucerys and screaming for someone to notify Rhaenyra and Daemon immediately, that things had gotten out of hand. She decides it while she recalls all the times Aegon teared up at the mention of him becoming King, and she had slapped him for not being responsible enough. She recalls all of Helaena's worried looks every time she had to share another nonsense riddle. And the biggest strike is when she sees Aemond glued to a chair next to Lucerys' bed, wiping his own face from the wetness that Alicent is certain is not just rain.
Am I sorry? No, no I'm not — also redemption!Alicent is my aesthetic.
So.. they got me. You can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands - when Lucerys would grow up he would be strong boy for real - tall, muscular and hairy sailor, while Aemond would still look like this subtle handsome elf
I will die for this incest, your honour.
Listen to me:
Lucerys screaming for Aemond while being abducted, and Aemond dracarys-ing the shit out of those poor bastards who dared to touch his beloved nephew.
Writers of AO3, please, update your fanfictions, I am unwell.
Alright, I think we've created a massive collection of awesome scenarios of Shoto teaming up with Dabi against Endeavour. But hear me out:
Shoto going full psycho because Dabi dared to touch his father.
No? Alright, I'll cry myself to sleep.
Take a moment to imagine tipsy Zevi, with Zeke mouthing lyrics from Lay All Your Love On Me into Levi's mouth and Levi realising that he's madly in love.
Nero watches in horror as the ground collapses beneath Vergil's feet, and Vergil starts falling. There's a glint of something — regret — in his eyes when he looks at Nero as the gravity forces him down the Void.
Nero briefly sees a spectral wing before his vision goes white, and he screams.
"Dad—!"
— The Oncoming Storm
So my period decided to make her evil self present after being unreasonably late for two weeks, I saw an old sefikura art on my phone and now I'm sobbing into my pillow about Sephiroth and Cloud being canonically soulmates and doomed to be apart forever.
