#book!jaskier

[demonstenes]

My take on book!Jaskier (in a traditional Kurpie costume from Poland).

Other polish folk drawings: Jaskier | Geralt

[bluelotus-fanart]

«Swords of the shooting star».

In the books, Jaskier wrote ballads about Geralt, and he also knew that Geralt's swords were made of meteorite ore. Since we do not know the entire repertoire of Jaskier, one of his ballads could well have been about witcher's Meteorite swords.

[fairytank]

🌼 event : @whataboutthebard 🌼

day 5 sept 16

Prompt: MCD or near death experience | Whump the bard

late prompt for day 5 o/ I hope the format isn't unreadable but it was hard to cut in smaller parts.

[kenas-artstuff]

fuck it more very rough doodle dump bc bitches here deserve witcher books content

[jaskierswolf]

Hello wolfie love, 18 tight and desperate, pretty please, I am weak! <3<3<3

Pairing: Gerlion 🥰

CW: none. Dandy's just a bit dramatic and Geralt's a little shit.

_

“Holy fuck!” Dandelion cried, as his foot went straight through the rotten wood. His arms flung out wide to find Geralt’s hand, and he latched onto the witcher like a leach, desperately trying to free his foot from the bridge.

“It’s okay, Dandelion,” Geralt murmured, his arm around Dandelion’s waist to steady him. “Just don’t look down.”

So, Dandelion looked down. Beneath them was a jagged canyon, sharp rocks jutting out from the raging river below; a death trap. His stomach twisted, and he had to clap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from vomiting all over the witcher. Gods, he was never going to make it across the damn bridge alive. He was going to die.

He was too young to die.

“G-Geralt, help me,” he whined, closing his eyes as the world began to spin.

Hot breath tickled his ear, and Dandelion whimpered leaning forward against Geralt’s chest as he tried to catch his breath and slow his racing heart.

“I don’t want to die.” The words came out as a whisper, a prayer on the wind.

“I’ve got you, I won’t let you go, now just steady and let me help you.”

Geralt’s hand wrapped around his foot, firm and strong yet so gentle. Really the way Geralt was talking in a low voice, like he would with Roach when she got spooked, should have been embarrassing, but the low timbre was soothing. The pressure of Geralt’s fingers brushing along his ankle was remarkably comforting and he melted against the side of the bridge, his fingers digging into Geralt’s shoulders.

“There we go,” Geralt chuckled. “Now don’t look down this time, poet.”

Nodding, Dandelion kept his eyes squeezed shut, even as Geralt’s finger’s laced with his and began to guide him blind across the bridge. Every step felt like he was walking to the gallows, and he kept remembering the sickening sound of the wood crunching as his foot sank through the planks. This time, however, they made it to the end without incident, and when Dandelion’s boot kicked a pebble on the edge of the cliff he squeaked, eyes flying open when he realised he was safe.

“All the gods,” he breathed and flung his arms around Geralt’s neck, sobbing a little from the wave of pure unadulterated relief that flooded through him. He knew he was clinging too tightly for any normal man to stand, but this way Geralt and he never complained.

And really Dandelion had just almost died so he was allowed to be a little bit dramatic. Thankfully, Geralt just held him as he clung on, his heart racing faster than lightning.

“You’re safe now, Dandelion, I’ve got you, you’re safe,” Geralt repeated, the words like a drum echoing until Dandelion slowly began to believe them.

He was safe. He hadn’t fallen to his death, mostly thanks to his wonderful best friend. A manic giggle escaped his lips as he finally pulled back from the hug. “We are never doing that again, darling. There must be a better way.”

Geralt smirked and nodded towards the horizon. In the distance, not even a half hour’s ride away… was another bridge. The stone supports of the bridge plunged into the canyon below, and Dandelion could just about make out the shape of wagons making their way across.

“Oh you bastard.”

The witcher shrugged. “Toll road.”

“Toll- you bloody stubborn mare! No wonder Roach is a nightmare, she’s just like her owner!” Dandelion cried but Geralt just laughed and carried on along the path.

_

Taglist: @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde, @comfyswitcherblanketfort, @fontegagrilledcheese, @dani-dandelino, @dapandapod @damnbert @officerjennie @feraljaskier @geralt-of-riviass @kueble @gilberik @llamasdumpsterfire @wherethewordsare @trickstermoose67 @alllthequeenshorses @skai6 @karolincki

[cellberry]

Damn, book!Yennefer!

Just.

Book!Yennefer 😳

[damatrisart]

Book!Dandelion doodles. Jaskier just lives rent free in my head.

[stromuprisahat]

When the barber-surgeon peeled the dressing from the wound. Dandelion groaned pitifully. 'Relax,' Regis said, cleansing the wound. 'It's nothing. Only blood. Only a little blood... Your blood smells nice, poet.' At precisely that moment the Witcher did something Milva would never have expected. He walked over to the horse and drew a long Nilfgaardian sword from the scabbard fastened under the saddle flap. 'Move away from him,' he snarled, standing over the barber-surgeon. 'The blood smells nice,' Regis repeated, not paying the slightest bit of attention to the Witcher. 'I can't detect in it the smell of infection, which with a head wound could have disastrous consequences. The main arteries and veins are intact... This will sting a little.' Dandelion groaned and took a sharp intake of breath. The sword in the Witcher's hand vibrated and glistened with light reflected from the river. 'I'll put in a few stitches,' Regis said, continuing to ignore both the Witcher and his sword. 'Be brave. Dandelion.' Dandelion was brave. 'Almost done here,' Regis said, setting about bandaging the victim's head. 'Don't you worry. Dandelion, you'll be right as rain. The wound's just right for a poet. Dandelion. You'll look like a war hero, with a proud bandage around your head, and the hearts of the maidens looking at you will melt like wax. Yes, a truly poetic wound. Unlike an abdominal wound for instance. Liver all cut up, kidneys and guts mangled, stomach contents and faeces pouring out, peritonitis... Right, that's done. Geralt, I'm all yours.' He stood and the Witcher brought the sword up against his throat, as quick as lightning. 'Move away' he snapped at Milva. Regis didn't twitch, even though the point of the sword was pressing gently against his neck. The archer held her breath, seeing the barber-surgeon's eyes glowing in the dark with a strange, cat-like light. 'Go on,' Regis said calmly. 'Thrust it in.'

Baptism of Fire (Andrzej Sapkowski)

Geralt: *points a deadly weapon at Regis*

Regis, absolutely calm and vaguely amused: Watch’a gonna do? Stab me?!