#secondxchanced

@secondxchanced​ || liked this for a starter

“Morning, James,” Tony mumbles in tired greeting to the other man as he makes a beeline for the coffee maker. Whether he’s heading for his workshop or his penthouse is unclear, given the odd hours he tends to keep thanks to insomnia, though given the momentary confusion that he shows even as he pours himself a fresh cup of coffee, it’s likely he’s been up for a couple days already at least.

@secondxchanced​ sent [ point + knife ] {from jask to geralt}

POINT + KNIFE ]   your muse holding mine at knife point.

VIOLENT REACTION PROMPTS

Status: ACCEPTING

Golden eyes constrict in their ANNOYANCE, head tilting to the side in an attempt to get his neck away from the knife as much as possible without actually stepping to the side. “What the fuck are you doing, Jaskier?” It is said in between clenched canines. 

it had been some time.     geralt didn’t often find many who were this openly belligerent,  oftentimes disgusted,  afraid,  from time to time annoyingly antagonistic,  perhaps even petulant.     right now,  though ?     receiving a verbal lashing from a man no taller than his sternum  ?     it would damage the witcher’s pride to admit how much he wanted to gut him.     the fool had insisted there was wargs plaguing his livestock,  but it had been nothing but a few starving wild dogs trying to get an easy meal.     yet,  even when provided with evidence,  the dullard simply grew angry and began to sling insults and curses,  calling him a liar and a fraud,  even spitting at geralt’s feet. he’d withstood it,  even preventing himself from getting in a few snide jabs here and there as that would just worsen the situation.     he’d collected his coin,  and he had left the pub where they had agreed to meet,  counting the pittance that had been given to him.     he grumbles under his breath,  walking towards roach without glancing up from the pouch.     as soon as he does,  though,  an odd sight greets him.

@secondxchanced​ sent "Are you alright? That bite looks rather nasty." {from merlin!}

Indeed it is. A werewolf had decided to take a bite right into his arm and now it’s bleeding quite heavily. If it wasn’t for him being a Witcher, the bite would have no doubt inflicted a curse upon him. He’d been trying to help lift the curse but ended up having to kill the werewolf instead.

“Is that so?” Loki fixed the other man with an unimpressed stare, folding his arms across his chest and tapping his fingers impatiently against his upper arm. He wasn’t surprised to be meeting this kind of hostility considering the past he and Tony shared, but it was frustrating nonetheless. He had exhausted every other option he had before coming here, meeting failure at every turn. This was his last resort, and what little patience he usually had was long depleted. 

“Would you like to know what I think?” He leaned forwards ever so slightly, keeping his expression carefully controlled to ensure none of his desperation showed on his face. “I think you are intelligent enough to infer that I wouldn’t come here expecting a favour from you out of the kindness of your heart. I need a service from you, and I’m willing to compensate you for it. You need simply name your price. Resources from beyond this realm, an enemy dispatched, knowledge no other human possesses. I can offer you things you can get nowhere else.” 

The gruff voice ringing in his ears, this is the most fun Loki has had in weeks. And things have been pretty fun exploring this realm. He’s been thinking of taking a trip to Skellige to proclaim himself their lost god, but he’s sidetracked by the fact he’s got the attention of a highly renowned man with cat eyes and white hair. 

It’s his own fault. Of course it is. He’s spent enough time with the bard to mimic him and this he does, drawing out Jaskier’s dangerous friend. Probably more than friends, let’s be honest. Geralt suspects Loki to be a Doppler at first but his scent isn’t right and silver seems to be no different from steel in its bite. 

The Continent’s new god of mischief flees Novigrad on horseback, Witcher in pursuit. Loki grins, for he lures Geralt to Drahim Castle - a small fortress in spite of its name - where he’s woven illusions. He’s prepared for this game, scattering wine on every floor, hiding items of Jaskier’s all around to spread the scents. His clones lie in wait, their tricks not only in light but in senses, trying to fool the Witcher’s mind to prevent him from sniffing out his prey. Just to make things even less fair, illusions hide the true paths up through the floors.

Loki scrambles up to the penultimate floor and kicks the ladder down. He smirks at Jaskier who he’s kept tied up and gagged here but unharmed. They’re sort of friends by this point, after all. At least until Loki pulled this stunt.

“Oh, he really likes you. If I survive this you owe me a drink.”

He reaches over and tugs the cloth from Jaskier’s mouth as the sounds of Geralt fighting phantom Lokis grows ever louder below.

“Enough games, mage!”

@secondxchanced​ sent txt: good morning geralt !!! 🤩❤️🥰💖🥺👉👈💘💝🤠💞 {from jask ofc}

There’s a groan as his phone goes off and alerts him to a new text message. He doesn’t need to look at it to know who it is. Fucking Jaskier - waking him up at - what time is it? 3 am? 4 am? 5 am? 6 am? Who the fuck knows.

For a second, Geralt considers ignoring it but then a split second later, he decides to check the message. Ignoring it will only make Jaskier text him again and he’s not looking to get bombared with tons of messages.

His eyes have to adjust to the harsh light of the phone as he unlocks it and opens the message. There’s too many emojis and Geralt doesn’t want to spend time trying to figure out some of them, so instead he simply texts back.

(text; Buttercup); It’s too early for you to be texting me, Jaskier.

Send me a ★ and I will generate a number from 1-300 for what my muse will say to yours.

Status: ACCEPTING

“There’s no time to argue!” They are being SHOT AT. Or, more specifically, Arthur is being SHOT AT. There’s always SOME ASSHOLE shooting at him - usually because someone has done something to piss another person off. Dutch is unhinged, there’s no telling who he pissed off this time.

“Get down! Behind the bar!” Somewhere that isn’t going to end up in the other being SHOT. There’s the sound of glass breaking around them, bottles of what seems like expensive booze shattering into pieces. The place is surrounded and silently, Arthur CURSES whoever is out there.