Painter Verse
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The crowd parts for Jaskier. He’s positively beaming, cradling his lute, the damn lute that has a scratch along the body from when Jaskier used it to bash a drowner in the face, when Geralt wasn’t close and fast and careful enough that one time.
Everything else about him is new and lavish and the filigree necklace resting on his collarbones catches the light.
He looks so at home at the center of attention, with the people chanting for him like a victorious general returning from battle. Even the royal couple is applauding much louder than etikett demands, the princesses clapping enthusiastically.
And this, this is how it should have been all along, this is what Jaskier deserves. Pride and shame wash over Geralt, so proud of the artistic genius finally fucking appreciated as it should be. And ashamed because he has no right to that pride anymore./
"Geralt is a fucking himbo who doesn’t realize he’s in love with Jaskier but when he does realize it he scales a goddamn wall of a castle.. like get u a man like geralt"
- StrixalucozosteronsSeries
- Part 1 of Painter Verse