#jaskier/renfri

[starving-and-arting]

Some old pieces I never got around to posting. 🙏🏼🖤

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier was created for Geralt, not as a soulmate, but quite literally.

After the incident in Blaviken with Renfri, Stregobor wanted to experiment with the concept of destiny. Using DNA from Renfri's body, a bit of magic, and the previously barren womb of Lady Pankratz of Lettenhove, Stregobor created Julian Alfred Pankratz—a clone of Renfri—to see if Geralt would always kill Renfri. Julian later became Jaskier, oblivious to his origins, even after meeting Geralt.

On the mountain, when Geralt told Jaskier it would be a blessing if life could take the bard off his hands, some magical part of Jaskier deemed the experiment over.

The next thing Geralt knew, Jaskier's eyes turned completely white, and the bard collapsed like a doll no longer being played with.

With no clue as to what happened, Geralt is determined not only to learn the truth about Jaskier but also to bring him back.

[asarum-aurum]

Things I have learned while reading The Witcher series

Anyone who thought netflix was confusing because of different timelines. The first two books/short story collections are just like that.

I significantly prefer the book version of how sorcerers don’t physically age and how they loose reproductive ability

Every story is a dark version of a fairy tale. Ciri is little red riding hood, Renfri is Snow White, etc.

I love Renfri no matter the media

Jesus Christ the smell of lilac and gooseberries is mentioned any time Yennifer is even mentioned

I am still very pro yen/geralt/jasiker

[headcanonthings]

Jaskier: Stregobor is a lot like my mum's Precious Moments figurines collection.

Geralt: I have no idea what that means.

Renfri: He's a fragile little bitch.

[fangirlsfavoritebardboy]

Officially Finished "Welly Boots"!

Fanfiction Title: Welly Boots

Fandoms: The Witcher (Netflix)/The Witcher III: Wild Hunt

Chapters: 4

Words: 23,918

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death

Pairings: Jaskier/Priscilla, Geralt/Yennfer

Summary: Jaskier, Ciri, Yennefer, and the Witchers are bored in Kaer Morhen when one of them asks Jaskier to tell them a tale. He spins a story of love and tragedy, featuring a young run-away viscount named Julian and the love of his life Priscilla. The others are none the wiser.

Features Jaskier attending Oxenfurt, befriending Essi, hating Valdo, and courting Priscilla.

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45894919

[jaskierror]

in ways that can't be said — chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE — SNORES & SNORTS

Geralt, a very tired and very overworked librarian, finds an eccentrically dressed man asleep in the library right as they're about to close.

Jaskier, a very tired and very overworked educator at the local museum, accidentally falls asleep in a library whilst doing research for an upcoming exhibit and is awoken by a devastatingly attractive librarian.

---

By the time closing rolled around, Geralt really, truly, honestly just wanted to go home.

In general, Geralt preferred to not work closing shifts. The library stayed open until 7pm most evenings, but he liked to be home with Ciri as early as possible; Lambert was always happy to watch her until Geralt got off work, given that Lambert’s job in Dol Blathanna’s Public Works department wasn’t a traditional 9-to-5, but, well. Geralt missed his daughter, is all, and was perhaps a bit clingy when it came to her. Sue him for loving his kid.

Despite his reluctance to work past 5pm, Renfri had caught the flu, and Geralt had agreed to cover her shift while she recovered, meaning he would be at the library until about 7:30. Of course, by the time it was half past 5, he was itching to get home—by then, he would normally be pulling into his driveway in Upper Posada, and Ciri would be running outside to greet him while Lambert watched them with poorly disguised fondness from the front porch. He would pick his daughter up, balance her on his hip, ask her about her day at school and what she and her Uncle Lambert had been up to since she got home. He would get to kiss her on her forehead, and cook dinner (lately, she had become a big fan of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets), and—

Anyway. Enough of that.

The minutes and hours ticked by with relentless, deliberate slowness, and Geralt felt nothing but relief when it was finally,  finally time  to start closing. Zoltan offered to organize the information desk and the front seating areas while Geralt swept the shelves for any stragglers and re-shelved any books sitting around.

Geralt worked quickly, eager to finish up and return home—in the back of his mind, he wondered what Lambert and Ciri had eaten for dinner—and he was returning a book of traditional Temerian recipes to its rightful shelf when he heard…

Well.

It seemed to be somewhere between a snore and a snort, in all honesty, and Geralt could only sigh deeply and brace himself before rounding the corner.

He had been expecting any of a number of things, really. Typically, it was elderly people who would fall asleep at the tables, but in his years of working at the library, Geralt had practically seen it all.

Still, he was surprised when, in one of the cushioned wooden chairs, slumped down onto the round table and surrounded by a veritable pile of books, was a man with a mop of brown hair actively using an open book as a pillow. There was a peaceful expression on his face, features soft and neutral and relaxed, and he seemed to be drooling onto the book just a bit. His clothing was… colourful, mostly. He wore a pair of bright purple slacks and brown loafers. On top of a short-sleeved button down, he had on a sweater vest with a garish blue leaf pattern covering it. There was a well-made leather satchel slung over the back of his chair, and Geralt spotted an assortment of silver rings on his hand.

Right as Geralt finished looking him over, the man released another ungodly snore from deep within his chest, and Geralt had to resist the urge to snort in amusement as he walked over and shook the man gently by his shoulder. Almost immediately, he grumbled into the book and began to blink awake, and Geralt hastily removed his hand, waiting patiently as he got his wits about him.

After a quick stretch in his seat, the man twisted to face him, still blinking the tiredness from his eyes, and Geralt was shocked by just how blue they were as he stared up at Geralt. The man froze for a moment, looking a bit like a deer caught in the headlights, before he seemed to take in his surroundings and look properly embarrassed.

“Sorry,” the man grinned sheepishly, then paused to yawn and rub at his eye before continuing. “I must’ve fallen asleep. Do you, uh, happen to know what time it is?”

Geralt looked down at his watch, then back up at the man. “Five till seven.”

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed, standing up. (Geralt was slightly ashamed to admit that he hadn’t realized until just then that the man was of a height with him.) He began hastily stacking books and piling some in his arms. “Is there still time to check these out? I can come back tomorrow if not, but I was really hoping that I—”

“Calm down,” Geralt said, raising an eyebrow at the man’s hurried, panicked flurry of movement. “Go to the desk. Zoltan can help you. You can leave anything you’re not borrowing here.”

Relief and hope flashed though the man’s unnecessarily blue eyes. “You’re sure?”

Geralt just nodded stiffly, watching as the man thanked him profusely and gathered his things, carrying a handful of books with him as he rushed off toward the lobby. Once he’d disappeared and his shuffling footsteps faded out, Geralt rummaged through the rest of the titles he’d accumulated. They all seemed to be on art and music across the Continent—a book of Aedirnian folk songs, a history of Kerackian musical movements, an encyclopaedia of Kaedweni sculptors. Geralt hummed under his breath, then began the monotonous job of putting everything in its rightful place.

---

In his defense, Jaskier really hadn’t meant to fall asleep at the table.

Ever since he’d moved to Aedirn, he found himself exhausted more often than not. His life had consisted of a series of rather sporadic, spontaneous moves ever since he decided to leave his family home in Kerack to pursue the arts. He’d moved to Redania years ago to attend none other than Oxenfurt Academy, and had spent his summers gallivanting around the countryside with his schoolfriends. After three years of study, he graduated with degrees in Music Performance and Art History, and a year later, had earned a graduate degree as well. He had then promptly departed for a year of backpacking through Temeria, after which he’d returned to Oxenfurt to teach for a term. Most recently, he had uprooted his entire life to move to Dol Blathanna. He’d decided on a bit of a whim that he needed a change of pace—new places, new sights, new people. As soon as he had a job lined up as an educator and program developer at the Dol Blathanna’s Museum of Art and History—which, everyone had to admit, was truly a perfect fit for him—he had packed his things and been on his way.

That had been nearly two months ago, and Jaskier had been working overtime to establish a life for himself in the city. He’d always been a restless person, needing noise and hustle and bustle to keep himself sane, so he had signed a lease for a rather expensive apartment close to the city’s center. On the bright side, the location made his commute to work rather convenient, and he was near enough to nightlife that he had found a handful of bars and cafés he could play the occasional gig at. He’d also taken to offering music lessons on the weekends to help make ends meet. Between his musical pursuits, unpredictable work hours, and numerous side jobs, he was, well. Pretty tired, all things considered.

However, there was no time to rest! He had been tasked with a laundry list of assignments at work in order to prepare for the summer; the museum always put on educational programming and enrichment opportunities for children when schools were out of session, and Jaskier’s job was to propose and develop said programming. Thus, on one of his rare days off, he had gone to the library to do a bit of light research; he had a handful of ideas for some interactive exhibits, but he needed to flesh them out a bit more.

The research ended up being less light than he had planned, because of course it had, and soon enough, Jaskier had a pile of books around him. By the time he had finished flipping through the third book, he was becoming rather tired, and—

Okay, well. Look. Here’s the thing. Jaskier was tired, and he had been up until very early in the morning because he’d played a gig for some swanky hotel bar in the central business district, and the library was just cold enough that it was making him drowsy, and the sounds of people flipping through pages and trodding up and down the aisles was soothing him, and the books were, in all honesty, starting to bore him, and—

He fell asleep. He fell asleep, okay, and in his opinion, that was a very reasonable consequence given the clusterfuck of a headache his week had been.

Next thing he knew, he was being shaken awake by a man gorgeous enough that Jaskier, for a brief moment, froze in place and forgot entirely where he was. (He froze, which he never does. Julian Alfred Pankratz does not freeze, gods dammit, but sweet Melitele, who could blame him? The man was stunning.) He was tall and broad-shouldered, his long white hair tied messily into an updo with a few strands framing his face; he had honey-golden eyes, a strong brow and nose and jawline, and a few faint scars decorating his face. He wore a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a very flattering pair of black jeans. He also, much to Jaskier’s embarrassment, had a name-tag; in large letters, it read GERALT RIVIA, and underneath, in smaller text, LIBRARIAN . The library’s logo was depicted to the left.

A very gorgeous man, and a librarian to boot? Unfair.

Though he tried to appear smooth and suave and generally like a competent, put-together adult, Jaskier knew he fumbled through his interaction with the man, and he felt a bit like a fool the entire time. As he practically scurried off with his handful of books, his face and neck warmed with embarrassment. At the desk, he found the “Zoltan” individual Geralt had spoken of, a short, stocky man with a mohawk and full beard, and Jaskier hurried through the transaction before practically fleeing from the library. It wasn’t until he had returned to his apartment nearly twenty minutes later that he finally felt like he could breathe again.

He went through his evening routine of taking a scalding hot shower, changing into pajamas, and lounging on his couch with leftover takeout and a glass of Est Est. (Est Est was definitely beyond what he could afford at the moment; that particular bottle had been a farewell gift from Essi.) As he ate and drank, he flipped through the books he had checked out and wrote out ideas, notes, and questions in his work notebook. And if he occasionally remembered his downright embarrassing encounter at the library and then buried his face in a pillow as he tried to emotionally recover, that was nobody’s business but his own.

As the hours passed and the clock crept closer to midnight, he’d come up with more questions than anything else, which was. A bit of an issue.

Even with his extensive studies in art history, Jaskier didn’t know as much about Aedirnian artistic customs—his studies had placed a focus on traditions in remote, mountainous regions of Redania and Kaedwen. He could talk for hours about the production of Redanian watercolour paints, and had quite literally co-written one of the most comprehensive books on Kaedweni folk music, but he’d wanted the museum’s summer programming to have an emphasis on local arts, which meant that he’d need some help.

He then realized that this probably meant asking one of his new coworkers for direction, which he would, to be quite frank, rather perish than do, because he felt that most of them already thought he was silly and foppish and deeply unserious, with the way he was always running to and fro with his head barely attached to his shoulders, never seen without a cup of coffee and bags under his eyes. However, it was either facing his coworkers, all of whom had chronic cases of stick-up-the-ass-itis, or… going back to the library, and potentially facing the tall-gorgeous-intimidating librarian again. (Geralt, his brain supplied helpfully.)

Neither option sounded particularly appealing, and both avenues would undoubtedly lead to Jaskier making a fool of himself, so he decided that he would simply go to the library as soon as it opened at nine in the morning; he severely doubted that the man would be working from nine to seven on a daily basis, so he was probably in the clear.

…Probably.

---

AN: hey y'all! hope you enjoy chapter 1!! keep up with me on my ao3, found +here, and my twitter @nottveth. chapters 2 and 3 are already written and posted on ao3, but will be updated here over the next few days.

[emo-nova]

So I was seeing small details in the witchers and some of my favourites is the reoccuring broche that Renfri had. In episode three, Geralt tries to give it away, trying to move on and away from Renfri's words to him and the meaning to her to him.

He accepts it later on in the years in episode 6, and this is me linking years from Jaskier and also by other points in the show that I can't quite articulate, is that the circular part of the broche (I think of it as a shield) on steel sword (seen best on the mountain scene with Jaskier). But I noticed in that scene that there wasn't the line going through (the metaphorical sword) however Jaskier has a golden ring (where he hasn't worn any jewellery in any previous episodes) and that some of the steel sword has a tiny decorant on the other side.

I like to think that this is Geralt accepting Renfri's words and meaning but also accepting that Jaskier means more to him shown by the golden ring and after the djinn incident.

But this is my take and my mini headcanon.

[echo-bleu]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion & Renfri, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Characters: Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri (The Witcher) Additional Tags: Time Travel, Time manipulator Jaskier, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jaskier saves Renfri, Past Character Death, But They're Not Dead Anymore, Trans Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier is a child of the Black Sun, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Grief/Mourning, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Sad Jaskier | Dandelion Series: Part 3 of for all the things that drum Summary:

“Shrike,” he calls out, stilling his hand.

She startles, her dagger out of its sheath before Jaskier can draw another breath. Its tip grazes his throat, and it’s only because he expects it that he stops himself from freezing her altogether. His skin remains intact. He doesn’t move.

“Julian,” she breathes, finally.

She lowers the dagger slowly, let’s go of him, and he finds himself missing the touch. With an involuntary sob, he turns and embraces her tightly.

*

Jaskier has gone back in time thirty years to save Renfri and, through that, give those he loves a fighting chance.

[wren-of-the-woods]

hi, forgive me but may I ask your Witcher ships? If you've already answered a similar question, then I'm sorry.

either way, have a nice day :)

Hello, anon! No worries!

The Witcher ships I've written for before are Geralt/Jaskier, Jaskier/Yennefer, Geralt/Jaskier/Yennefer, and Radovid/Jaskier. I also read Lambert/Aiden and other things involving Jaskier from time to time! Out of curiosity, why do you ask?

I hope you have a nice day, too! <3

[whenthewallfell]

“Tell me the story of Blaviken,” Jaskier says one night as they sit beside the campfire. His fingers skip playfully over the strings of his lute, nonsense melodies created and discarded as easily as he breathes.

Geralt tenses, almost casts him into the flames. He thinks of Jaskier's song of him, of words twisted into some gross mockery of truth. Sacrifices for a catchy tune.

“No.”

---

Oh hey I finally finished my Witcher fic, give it a read if you fancy

[thedemonofcat]

Jaskier has only a few memories of his sister. He recalls her giving him the nickname "Jaskier"; initially, she called him a weed. He remembers discussions about a curse, something related to an eclipse and their birth.

He also remembers being told he was lucky to have been born a boy; that was the last time he saw his sister. A few months later, his stepmother sent him to Lettenhove, and soon after, he ran away to Oxenfurt to become a bard.

When Jaskier began his career as a traveling bard, he had two reasons: he hated the idea of being trapped in court for the rest of his life, and he was searching for his sister. When Geralt and Jaskier meet, the witcher can't help but notice something familiar about the bard. When Jaskier confides that he's been looking for his twin sister for a long time, Geralt wonders if he has met her at some point.

What Geralt doesn't know is that Jaskier's real name is Prince Julian of Creyden, Renfri's twin. Neither does Jaskier know that his sister is dead, nor that Geralt was the one who killed her. But when Stregobor begins to take an interest in Jaskier, believing that the boy born during the black sun might not have escaped the curse, secrets are bound to be revealed.

[jacks-long-coat]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Dara Characters: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion, Renfri (The Witcher), Triss Merigold, Dara (The Witcher), Original Characters Additional Tags: Families of Choice, Coming of Age, Questioning, Coming Out, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bartenders, Horse Girl Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Complicated Relationships, between Ciri and her family of origin, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Racism, Angst with a Happy Ending, Polyamory, Established Relationship, POV Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, POV Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, POV Third Person, Podfic, Podfic Length: 3.5-4 Hours, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Format: MP3 Series: Part 3 of [podfic] SummerFrost's Witcher Bartending AU Summary:

[3hr 56m 51s] Yen eyes her sidelong. "You're pretty shy for a kid who, what—climbed out the window and tracked down a man she barely knew?" "Walked out the front door," Ciri mutters. "Grandpa was playing video games." AKA: When Geralt's goddaughter turns up outside the bar on karaoke night, Yennefer is the one who convinces him to let her stay. [Written by SummerFrost.]

[coreofgold]

rain, sender and receiver both get stuck under the same awning when seeking shelter from sudden rain. ( to Jaskier from Renfri)

Old Meme || @renfri-vellga

"So. . .you think this place'll let us stay until the storm doesn't kill us," Jaskier offered up. He could always flirt his way in if needed.

[bloodofthefates]

' so that was a bold-faced lie! ' @ renfri.

Renfri possessed little patience even on a good day, but any good will she held for the bard out of respect for Geralt waned as he continued to open his mouth in defiance of her command for him to shut up already. She had not cultivated a reputation of murder and violence only  to be seen as understanding and benevolent, but Jaskier was truly testing her and the urge to reach for the hilt of her weapon was growing stronger the more she heard the sound of his voice getting shriller in opposition. “It wouldn’t have been a lie if you’d just kept your damned trap shut!” She reminded him, firing a glare in his direction with her feet firmly planted in a prepared fighting stance and dominant hand ghosting the familiar handle of her side arm dagger. “It would have been the truth if you could’ve stopped talking for five minutes!” She frowned at him, snapping at him with the clamp of her teeth like a caged and untamed wild animal. It should have been a simple con job, enough of a diversion for the sloppy drunks assembled in the tavern around them ignorant and a few coins lighter a piece. Jaskier’s recognizable face among the local population and relative fame however and the subsequent list of disgruntled lovers he’d left behind without warning in his wake had drawn more attention to them than she’d anticipated. “I don’t care where your cock has or hasn’t been Bard, only that we’re now outnumbered twelve men to two and unless you have a sword hiding in that lute or care to part with it, get behind me. Now.” Renfri commanded, no longer asking for compliance as she drew her weapon and sidestepped to put herself between Jaskier and the closest armed patron with the entire room going silent and all eyes on Renfri with her blade drawn.

[roughentumble]

@hale-of-stiles-heart

Also, here's some cuteness, genderbent Jask.

And another one:

That reminder me of her <3:

[wren-of-the-woods]

For the WIP word ask, maybe 'crying' or 'thought'?

Thank you for the ask!! Both of these are from today and were written very quickly so I can't vouch for their quality, but I'm having fun :D

Crying (from my recently-rebooted Yennskier kidfic):

He’s spent enough time recently dealing with a crying child whose mother is gone, the logistics of trying to keep her alive, and his own tiny breakdowns in the rare moments she is actually asleep that he thinks it’s excusable to be rather less put-together than usual.

Thought (from my Renfri lives AU):

She suspects he can’t be very far past adulthood; he might be around the age she was when she was killed. The thought makes her a little sick, so she stops thinking about it. 

Send me a word and I'll give you a sentence from one of my WIPs!