#if i had four dromedaries
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Si j’avais quatre dromadaires
“Photography is hunting…
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Si j’avais quatres dromedaires was originally produced for German television and was not seen in France until the mid-1970s. It remains unknown to the general public and was for a long time quite fugitive even for specialists; some discussions seem to have less to…
#chris marker#1960s#analogies#apollinaire#common place#comparison#dromedary#film#film still#film stills#hunting#if i had four dromedaries#metaphor#Michael Walsh#movie#objective#photo hunt#shoot#shooting#si je avais quatres dromedaires#the dromedary#film analysis#film criticism
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not accepting 90% of criticisms about that one btw bc people can't seem to make a comment about his admittedly obnoxious brand of western leftism without sucking and fucking the soviet union
#going thru letterboxd for if i had four dromedaries is tantamount to psychological self harm#full of 19 year olds who just learned about communism
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Das Damen- 1986: Keeps Me Wild (Dromedary reissue)
Well what do you know, the debut record by my old favorites Das Damen has been reissued on vinyl by the Dromedary label. This record was originally released on Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace label in 1986 and then reissued on SST the same year, I believe. I had seen the band several times back in the mid-late 80s and they never disappointed with their rockin’, proto-grunge, hair-flying RAWK music.
Cuts like the swaying “Slave Bird” (where they repeat the words of “It keeps me wild…” over and over and thus you got the title of the record) , the tangled beautiful mess of “Trick Question and the freaking classic anthem that is “House of Mirrors” take off like punching the gas pedal on a ’67 GTO. All four of these guys (guitarist/vocalist Jim Walters, other guitarist Alex Totino, bassist Phil Von Trapp, and drummer Lyle Hysen) throw every bit of energy, sweat, and passion into these songs.
In addition to the regular record’s six songs, there’s plenty of outtakes, demos and reimagined cuts too (adding on folks like Thalia Zedek, Dez Cadena, Erin Moran, and Gary Lee Connor) that make this reissue so special.
The vinyl version also includes a new issue of drummer Lyle Hysen’s old zine Damaged Goods and plenty of liner notes by folks like Thurston Moore, Tom Scharpling and any others. A pretty darn cool package all the way around.
Don’t snooze on this one, rocker!
www.dromedaryrecords.bandcamp.com
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“They are generally Richard III. whales, with dromedary humps, and very savage; breakfasting on three or four sailor tarts, that is whaleboats full of mariners: their deformities floundering in seas of blood and blue paint.”
I was confused by this sentence at first but then I remembered, oh yeah, Richard 3 had scoliosis.
#Whale Weekly#Moby-Dick#ashleybenlove posts#And probably most likely had two kids murdered.#child death cw
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- How many? The man smiled confidently.
- Three. And goat.
- Goat no problem. Ride or walk?
- Walk. I think. Woman, but strong.
- Let me see them, the man said, he had obviously had negotiations like this before.
The man studied Noor and Eira carefully.
- OK. Walk.Do you have food? Water?
- Yes, Tjen confirmed.
- Clothes?
- No. Buy? Skins?
- You definitely need new clothes! Eh...Ten skins!!
- What? Ten!!? Tjen protested. No, no no! Four! he suggested.
The man seemed annoyed, but in the end, they agreed on seven skins.
- All right, he said. It’s far too little, but since it’s low season I will let it pass. My name is Gwafa, and I will take you to the port safe and secure. Now let me find some clothes for you.
- Sister, you look very nice! Noor was excited.
- Do you think so? I feel very strange...
- It will take some time getting used to.
- Yeah, I guess. These clothes are really itchy though!
- But look at Tjen! Hahaha! You look so funny with that outfit, Tjen!
- Maybe, but these clothes will be very useful. You will see!
- We need to plan some things. First of all we must feed all the animals very well tonight. You need water for four days, maybe five. And don’t forget your goat!
- How will we carry that much water? And all our other stuff?
- You don’t have to carry anything. We will use the dromedaries for that. But don’t think that it will be easy. It’s very hard, and very dangerous.
- Dangerous?
- Yepp. There are snakes, and scorpions, and wild dogs and bandits.
- Bandits?
- Sure. They are usually just interested in the valuables, but sometimes they take people. For slaves.
- Tjen, he is lying, right?
- Well, not really. But we will be very careful!
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Previous | Index | Start Ch5 | Characters | Next
#KyriaT#KyriaT-stories#Chapter Five#ts4 story#sims 4 story#history challenge#ts4 history challenge#Generation 2#Early civilization sims#Early civ sims#Once Upon A Time#The First Ones#Noor#Eira#Tjen#Gwafa#simblr
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24.07.-25.07. Merzouga
On our next day we already woke up at around 8, as it was already 38 degrees hot. We walked through the city, had lunch and tried not to melt as it got over 40 degrees during the day. In the afternoon we got to do a camel tour through the sand dunes.
I had the honour of being carried by the camel Jimi Hendriks, the camel that carried Monique was Bibbidi-Bobbidi, and Basil’s camel was bob marley. We directly fell in love with them. They are actually dromedaries, so they only had one hump. They are really calm and chill animals. As we were riding on them through the sand dunes the sun was setting. When we arrived at our tent camp, we were received by the hostel owner, who offered us the camel tour. He was waiting for us with four beers. Which is pretty uncommon as it is pretty hard to get alcohol anywhere in Morocco. However we enjoyed our can beer in the middle of the dunes and went for dinner (tajine) afterwards.
Later that evening there was a little bonfire and drum playing. It was so cosy, and we could see the Milky Way. I’ve never seen the stars that clearly as in that night, as there was almost no light pollution around us. Me, Monique and Basil actually fell asleep on our blanket in the sand under the night sky as we were watching the stars.
We woke up to the sunrise around 6 and went back to our camp.
Early that morning we went back to the hostel, packed our stuff and started our way up to the north, to Rabat.
Right before leaving Merzouga we did try fresh camel milk. It is salty and sweet at the same time, so definitely worth a try :)
That same day we drove up to Erfoud. We spend the day by discovering the little village, searching for food and waiting for us to take the night bus to Rabat.
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If I Had Four Dromedaries (Chris Marker, 1966)
#if i had four dromedaries#chris marker#left bank#french new wave#french cinema#photography#fave!#filmlog
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Si j'avais quatre dromadaires (If I Had Four Dromedaries, Chris Marker, 1966)
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Chris Marker
- Si j'avais quatre dromadaires AKA If I Had Four Dromedaries
1966
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If I Had Four Dromedaries (Chris Marker, 1966)
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If I Had Four Dromedaries (Chris Marker, 1966)
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If I Had Four Dromedaries (Chris Marker, 1966).
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Chris Marker - If I Had Four Camels (1966)
#film#short film#experimental cinema#chris marker#if i had four camels#si j'avais quatre dromadaires#if i had four dromedaries#1966#mine
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films on youtube: part i
Updated on September 29th 2021.
Below is a selection of films available on YouTube. As I try to update this list as regularly as possible (for this is a lenghthy process), please refer to the original post for the newest version.
IMPORTANT NOTE: Apparently, Tumblr restricts the number of links you can have all on one post. Therefore, this list is divided into two parts. You can access part two by clicking on the link below:
PART II HERE.
For a visual reference of all the movies available, click here.
Titles are alphabetized by director, and organized by year of release.
Gozāresh (1977), Abbas Kiarostami
Close-Up (1990), Abbas Kiarostami
Taste of Cherry (1997), Abbas Kiarostami
Shirin (2008), Abbas Kiarostami
Dreams (1990), Akira Kurosawa
Trans-Europ-Express (1966), Alain Robbe-Grillet
L'Homme Qui Ment (1968), Alain Robbe-Grillet
Rien Que Les Heures (1926), Alberto Cavalcanti
They Made Me a Fugitive (1947), Alberto Cavalcanti
Downhill (1927), Alfred Hitchcock
The Lodger (1927), Alfred Hitchcock
Elstree Calling (1930), Alfred Hitchcock and Adrian Brunel
The 39 Steps (1935), Alfred Hitchcock
Sabotage (1936), Alfred Hitchcock
Young and Innocent (1937), Alfred Hitchcock (Part I / Part II)
The Lady Vanishes (1938), Alfred Hitchcock
Rebecca (1940), Alfred Hitchcock
Spellbound (1945), Alfred Hitchcock
Notorious (1946), Alfred Hitchcock
The Paradine Case (1947), Alfred Hitchcock
Under Capricorn (1949), Alfred Hitchcock
The Trouble with Harry (1955), Alfred Hitchcock
Salomé (1923), Alla Nazimova and Charles Bryant
Goodbye Again (1961), Anatole Litvak
Ivan’s Childhood (1962), Andrei Tarkovsky
Andrei Rublev (1966), Andrei Tarkovsky (Part I / Part II)
Solaris (1972), Andrei Tarkovsky (Part I / Part II)
Stalker (1979), Andrei Tarkovsky
Nostalghia (1983), Andrei Tarkovsky
The Sacrifice (1986), Andrei Tarkovsky
Very Nice, Very Nice (1961), Arthur Lipsett
21-87 (1963), Arthur Lipsett
A Trip Down Memory Lane (1965), Arthur Lipsett
The Chase (1946), Arthur Ripley
A Separation (2011), Asghar Farhadi
Werckmeister Harmonies (2000), Béla Tarr
The Turin Horse (2011), Béla Tarr
Un Homme Qui Dort (1974), Bernard Queysanne
Il Conformista (1970), Bernardo Bertolucci
By the Bluest of Seas (1936), Boris Barnet
Sherlock Holmes Jr. (1924), Buster Keaton
The General (1926), Buster Keaton
Steamboat Bill (1928), Buster Keaton
Mikaël (1924), Carl Theodor Dryer
Love One Another (1922), Carl Theodor Dryer
Night Train to Munich (1940), Carol Reed
The Way Ahead (1944), Carol Reed
Odd Man Out (1947), Carol Reed
The Running Man (1963), Carol Reed
Behind the Screen (1916), Charles Chaplin
The Gold Rush (1925), Charles Chaplin
City Lights (1931), Charles Chaplin
Modern Times (1936), Charles Chaplin
Monsieur Verdoux (1947), Charles Chaplin
Statues Also Die (1953), Chris Marker, Alain Resnais and Ghislain Cloquet
La Jetée (1962), Chris Marker
Sans Soleil (1983), Chris Marker
If I Had Four Dromedaries (1966), Chris Marker
The Seventh Veil (1945), Compton Bennett
Come Back, Little Sheba (1952), Daniel Mann
Brief Encounter (1945), David Lean
Oliver Twist (1948), David Lean
Madeleine (1950), David Lean
Summertime (1955), David Lean
Il Sorpasso (1962), Dino Risi
The Monsters (1963), Dino Risi
Shockproof (1949), Douglas Sirk
Interlude (1957), Douglas Sirk
Man With a Movie Camera (1929), Dziga Vertov
Twenty Years Later (1984), Eduardo Coutinho
Mikey and Nicky (1976), Elaine May
Agony: The Life and Death of Rasputin (1981), Elem Klimov
Come and See (1985), Elem Klimov
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945), Elia Kazan
A Face in the Crowd (1957), Elia Kazan
The Kreutzer Sonata (1956), Éric Rohmer
Stéphane Mallarmé (1968), Éric Rohmer
Ninotchka (1939), Ernst Lubitsch
That Uncertain Feeling (1941), Ernst Lubitsch
Journey Into the Night (1921), F.W. Murnau
Faust (1926), F.W. Murnau
Sunrise: A Song of Two Humans (1927), F.W. Murnau
City Girl (1930), F. W. Murnau
Tabu (1931), F. W. Murnau
Love in the City (1953), Federico Fellinni …
La Strada (1954), Federico Fellini
The Swindlers (1955), Federico Fellini
Nostos: The Return (1989), Franco Piavoli
Voices Through Time (1996), Franco Piavoli
Landscapes and Figures (2002), Franco Piavoli
Fragments (2012), Franco Piavoli
7th Heaven (1927), Frank Borzage
A Farewell to Arms (1932), Frank Borzage
Mr. Deeds Goes to Town (1936), Frank Capra
Meet John Doe (1941), Frank Capra
Marketa Lazarová (1967), František Vláčil
Die Nibelungen: Siegfired (1924), Fritz Lang
Die Nibelungen: Kriemhilds Rache (1924), Fritz Lang
Metropolis (1927), Fritz Lang
M (1931), Fritz Lang
Hangmen Also Die (1943), Fritz Lang
Scarlet Street (1945), Fritz Lang
Cloak and Dagger (1946), Fritz Lang
House by the River (1950), Fritz Lang
Major Barbara (1941), Gabriel Pascal
The Cigarette (1919), Germaine Dulac
The Battle of Algiers (1966), Gillo Pontecorvo
Coração Materno (1951), Gilda de Abreu
Death Laid an Egg (1968), Giulio Questi
Intermezzo: A Love Story (1939), Gregory Ratoff
Simple Men (1992), Hal Hartley
Hamlet (1921), Heinz Schall and Svend Gade
Kiss of Death (1947), Henry Hathaway
Woman in the Dunes (1964), Hiroshi Teshigahara
After Life (1998), Hirozaku Kore-eda
Bringing Up Baby (1938), Howard Hawks
His Girl Friday (1940), Howard Hawks
Hard, Fast and Beautiful (1951), Ida Lupino
The Hitch-Hiker (1953), Ida Lupino
Crisis (1946), Ingmar Bergman
Summer Interlude (1951), Ingmar Bergman
Summer With Monika (1953), Ingmar Bergman
The Seventh Seal (1957), Ingmar Bergman
Wild Strawberries (1957), Ingmar Bergman
The Virgin Spring (1960), Ingmar Bergman
Through a Glass Darkly (1961), Ingmar Bergman
The Silence (1963), Ingmar Bergman
Winter Light (1963), Ingmar Bergman
Persona (1966), Ingmar Bergman
Hour of the Wolf (1968), Ingmar Bergman
Shame (1968), Ingmar Bergman
The Passion of Anna (1969), Ingmar Bergman
Cries and Whispers (1972), Ingmar Bergman
La Belle Noiseuse (1991), Jacques Rivette
Playtime (1967), Jacques Tati
Man Friday (1975), Jack Gold
Diamonds of the Night (1964), Jan Němec
Who Saw Him Die? (1968), Jan Troell
The Flight of the Eagle (1982), Jan Troell
Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (1970), Jaromil Jireš
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@ride-a-dromedary also wanted #12 for the Mouser’s Palace gang, so here’s some extra angst for you, Jemi!
Old Deuteronomy had been present when the prisoners of the Mouser’s Palace finally came back. All seven of them, kittens included, had been rushed into the Healers’ den to have their wounds inspected and to be given some kind of sleeping draught to slake their exhaustion after running so far. When he’d first arrived, Jenyanydots was just emerging from the den, wiping her paws on a tea towel and looking rather exhausted herself. While she was still too overwhelmed to give a full account, she managed to explain their conditions in some detail, and a few times she had to pause to stifle tears and let the full weight of her words sink in.
“They’ll need time,” she said at length, twisting the towel in her paws restlessly. “I can’t say how much, after—after all they’ve been through, but… I’m so sorry, it’s all such a mess…”
He silenced her with one paw on her shoulder and another cupping her face, lifting her head as he would a kitten’s. “Nothing to be sorry for, Jeny. You go and get some rest—I’ll stay with them for a time.” Giving her a reassuring smile, he waited until he saw a weak little smile bloom on Jeny’s face in return before letting her go and watching her climb over the car boot to her own den. Once she was gone, he entered the Healers’ domain and made himself comfortable on a pile of blankets in one corner, gently pushing aside shoeboxes full of various herbs and wicker baskets of bandages.
In front of him, Demeter lay tightly curled around Jemima, and Alonzo lay curled around her in return. Bombalurina was stretched out on her side with Electra tucked up against her, as if they’d both fallen asleep in the middle of nursing. And Mungojerrie lay sprawled out on his stomach with Rumpleteazer draped sideways across him like a hastily-thrown blanket. Deuteronomy had only known four of these cats in this life, and two of them had been gone since they were scarcely more than kittens. Nevertheless, he’d committed all of their names to memory, as if they’d been a fixture of the Tribe since the beginning. No doubt there was already gossip afoot about the newcomers, about their intentions, about their relationships to Macavity…
(And Deuteronomy would be lying if he claimed he never felt a terrible squeeze at his heart at the mention of his eldest son… how he could be capable of such cruelty, he’d never understand. Or perhaps his lack of understanding had more to do with it than he realized…)
But none of it mattered. What good was idle speculation when there were seven traumatized cats in front of them, in desperate need of care and understanding? Deuteronomy had seen too much suffering over too many lifetimes… faced with these brave souls, offering anything but comfort was unthinkable.
A few inches away, Rumpleteazer groaned pitifully and rolled over in her sleep until the top of her head bumped against Deuteronomy’s knee. Her eyes groggily fluttered open before widening in recognition as she looked up fully into the Jellicle Leader’s face. “H—Hi,” she croaked, as if uncertain of her own voice.
“Hello,” he whispered back, smiling and offering her his paw to take. “Welcome home.”
For a moment, she just lay there staring at his paw with naked fear in her eyes, as if it might suddenly scratch or strike her. When it didn’t move, a muscle worked frantically in her jaw as she tried to speak, perhaps to offer some explanation or apology. But nothing came out. At least not at first. She pulled herself into a wobbly sitting position and reached out to take his paw with both of hers, not using it to brace herself to stand… just holding it. Grounding herself. After another long moment, it was as though a dam burst, and suddenly she was crying bitterly, clinging to him with her head bowed over his fur as she wept.
Deuteronomy didn’t hesitate for a second—he lifted her into his lap and let her curl against him, stroking her fur and pressing gently at her back through each tremble and gasp. Be safe, little one—the worst is over. You’re safe now. You’re home. We shan’t let you go again, we promise… I’m sorry I ever let it happen.
He would be here until she fell asleep again, and he would be here until the others woke up.
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A Health Hazard
This took a lot longer to write than it had any right to. The first 1.5k words were written in under 2 hours, the rest in thrice that time.
I'm done with today and this prompt.
Written for day 3: Reading by the fire/cuddling by the fire of @witcher-and-his-bard‘s winter prompts
Have fun!
Summary: Geralt of Rivia is bored. This hasn't happened in forever. Literally. He learns to understand Jaskier's whining a lot better.
Warnings: none, besides the fact that this is unedited
Read on AO3
All things considered, it had taken a surprisingly short time for the impossible to happen. Apparently, all that it took was three weeks. Three weeks cooped up in Jaskier's generously-sized lodgings in Oxenfurt with nothing to do and lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia was bored. Bored! Could you imagine that?
It hadn't been so bad in the beginning. After five days he finally hadn't felt the need to rise with the sun and had let Jaskier kiss him goodbye, running late for a lecture, while he turned over and slept in. He couldn't remember when he had last done that. Truth be told, he couldn't remember if he'd ever done that.
Certainly not since he'd gotten to Kaer Morhen; there was no slacking in the witchers' keep. He briefly wondered if passing out after a fight and waking up days later could count as sleeping in. Probably not.
No, sleeping in was something for the safe and comfortable, and for the first time since he could think Geralt could count himself among them. All thanks to Jaskier, of course, who did his best to spoil his lover rotten. All on the cost of the Oxenfurt Academy, naturally.
The Academy spared no cost or effort to ensure the comfort of their lecturers—and Jaskier wasn't just any lecturer, he was probably the most popular bard on the continent. Geralt had first realised that Jaskier was rich when he had seen his personal study, stocked with books right up to the ceiling. Most of them were beautiful leather-bound tomes, written by hand with detailed pictures. He had felt a bit faint when discovering that some of them were in the second row.
No matter what Jaskier said about gifts from colleagues and magical innovations called a printing spell, books were immeasurable luxuries. And the bard owned close to a hundred of them. Personally.
Still, Geralt had been hesitant, at first, to make use of the private bath that came with the four-room apartment, or to call upon a servant to fetch him things. That was until Jaskier had told him outright how much they paid him for a single lecture, let alone several of them each day for months. If they were willing to pour that much money down the drain, he couldn't really feel bad about it.
So, the following days and weeks Geralt allowed Jaskier to teach him how to enjoy himself. He learned how to sleep in, indulged in almost daily baths, spent his days reading novels and poems out of Jaskier's personal collection. He didn't protest when the bard ordered too much food. Didn't comment on the overabundance of sweets—he even admitted he liked it. And when Jaskier asked for too exotic spices he only raised his eyebrows.
Once he had even ventured into the extensive Academy library—Geralt had never seen so many books in one place in his entire life—to find a collection of chivalrous legends Jaskier had told him about. He had been welcomed by an overly polite librarian, who had gone ahead to recommend him a dozen other books with the same topic, complete with annotations noting upon all the different possible interpretations. And if that hadn't been enough, he had been offered to take them with him. All of them. At once. As long as he liked. With no credentials but the name "Pankratz". He couldn't fathom how the library hadn't been robbed empty yet. When he had told Jaskier so, he had only laughed and kissed him gently, calling him a silly witcher.
It all had culminated when later that day, after Jaskier had ordered their dinner to be brought up to their rooms, it had been Geralt to stop the servant by the arm and ask for a bottle of wine.
"Right away, sir," the servant had answered. "Do you have any preferences?"
"Umm-" After a quick glance back to Jaskier, who had smiled encouragingly, he had added: "Est Est?"
He had half expected to be reprimanded, but the servant had only looked at him as if that had been obvious. "The year, sir. Do you have any preferences for the year?"
"I hear 1260 was especially good," Jaskier had piped up and that had been the end of that. They had had a very nice evening and an even nicer night, albeit neither of them had gotten a lot of sleep.
The problem was that since then over a week had passed. Geralt had read through all the books he had borrowed and leafed through a number of volumes of Jaskier's personal collection. He wasn't feeling like reading anymore. He had visited several taverns to play Gwent, but that too was interesting only for so long.
He had taken Jaskier up on his offer and accompanied him to a few lectures, but that had grown boring, too. Of course, he could talk about his adventure and the content of the poems, but that wasn't what Jaskier and his students were talking about. Instead, they lead very heated discussions about rhymes and metaphors and what Jaskier called a meter ("It's like a rhythm, Geralt."). But in the end, he didn't care if the rhyme was a pair or not, or if the rhythm was an asbestos or a dromedary or something.
He flopped down on the couch with an uncharacteristically dramatic sigh. Jaskier had returned from his last lecture an hour ago and was now holed up in his study doing... something. As if him being away all day wasn't bad enough, he had to continue working afterwards!
Geralt sat up with a start. Shit, was that how Jaskier felt all year round on the Path? It was a horrifying thought; no wonder the bard was so whiny all the time. Well, Geralt was different. He certainly wouldn't stoop so low. No, he definitely wouldn't whine.
~*~
"Jaskier," Geralt whined from his place on the extra armchair they had acquired the previous day. "Are you done yet?"
The poet mouthed some words along while he frantically scribbled them down on yet another snippet of parchment. "Almost, darling, give me a minute," he muttered absentmindedly just like he had half an hour ago.
Geralt threw his head back and groaned loudly. He was going mad; he was sure of it. It was not normal for people to go such a long time without someone charging at them with swords or claws or dirty underwear. It could not be healthy. "D'you think I should talk to Shani?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jaskier mumbled under his breath, flipping through the hundreds of pages of notes he was keeping.
"Hmm." So Jaskier agreed that boredom was a serious health hazard. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. Maybe he should go do it right away?
He got to his feet and was almost at the door when he halted. No, it was late already, sundown a few hours past. He walked back to the armchair. But maybe-
"Geralt," Jaskier said with a heavy sight and put down his pen. "Love. You're pacing."
"Really?" The witcher grit out. "Wouldn't have noticed."
"Can you just-" He rubbed at his temples. He looked incredibly tired. "I'm sorry, five more minutes, alright? Then we can do whatever you want, what d'you think of that."
"Hm." Geralt thought that was bullshit and that Jaskier should take a break.
But the poet was too engrossed in his own mind to even hear it.
'Alright then,' he thought and sat back down, arms crossed. 'Five more minutes.' He could manage five minutes of meditation. Easily.
He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing, waiting for the calm to settle over him. What followed were probably the longest five fucking minutes of Geralt's life.
No sooner were they over that his eyes snapped open and he rushed over to his bard, holding him close from behind and nuzzling against his neck.
Jaskier chuckled softly. "Hello there. Five minutes over already?"
"Yes," Geralt said resolutely. "What're you writing anyways?" he asked, trying to peer over his bard's shoulder.
Still scribbling, Jaskier answered: "A novel, dear."
"A novel?" he replied and pulled back a little. "Since when?" Jaskier never wrote novels. Songs and poems, yes, and on one memorable occasion a play, too, but they had both agreed that it was horrid and that he should stick to shorter stuff.
He shrugged and slammed the piece of paper onto one of the piles. Apparently, there was an order to the chaos. "The day before yesterday, I think? Didn't really pay attention."
Geralt snorted. That went without saying. "Please tell me you didn't write all that in-"
Jaskier gasped softly and pulled up another sheet of paper. "Shh, give me a minute, love, else I'll forget this sentence. Oh fuck, this is so good-"
He bared his teeth. "You said-"
"Please, Geralt," Jaskier begged. 'Fuck.' The cursed bardlet knew damn well that he couldn't resist him; not with the pure desperation in his voice.
So, Geralt contented himself with grumbling displeased and pressing his nose against Jaskier's neck, while he waited for the scratching of the quill on paper to finally subside.
Thankfully, it didn't take too long for Jaskier to slam the quill down and forcefully push the paper away. "Done," he declared, exhaustion plain in his voice. "I'm done for today."
He raised his eyebrows. "You sure?"
"Y-yeah. I'm sure." The tiny pause was enough for Geralt to know that, no, Jaskier wasn't done in the slightest. If not for him the poet would probably stay up until the early hours of morning, crafting one masterful line after the other. Until he'd inevitably collapse from the exhaustion, smudging the ink of his uppermost sheet of paper all over his face.
He couldn't fathom how much self-control it cost Jaskier to turn around and ask: "So, what is bothering you so terribly, my beloved witcher?"
Geralt glared at him defiantly. It took him all of three seconds to cave. "I'm bored," he complained and frowned.
The effect was instantaneous and his expression grew soft. "Oh, my dear, I'm terribly sorry."
There was something about Jaskier's voice, something about his touch, about the way he brought Geralt close for a gentle kiss. Something that made him go from wanting to believe his words so badly to actually believing them.
The smile on his bard's face was nothing short of adorable when he asked: "Anything I can do about it?"
"Hm." Well, he could think of quite a few things to bide their time.
Before he could voice any of them, though, Jaskier continued: "Yeah, that's what I thought." He stood up and took his hand. "Come on, Geralt, I'm dead on my feet. Let's get somewhere more comfortable, then we can figure that out."
He gladly let himself be led. As long as it meant spending time with Jaskier, he was hardly about to object. The poet flitted around their apartment, collecting pillows and blankets, while he sent Geralt off to heat the kettle and get them some tea, all the while humming with excess energy.
Not fifteen minutes later Geralt found himself on the floor in front of the fireplace with a lapful of bard who was cursing quietly whenever he sipped his too-hot tea and inevitably burnt his tongue. Geralt couldn't help but smile as he cradled his Jaskier closer to his chest.
"What's your novel about?" he whispered into his ear.
"Oh, it's a romance!" he replied cheerfully.
Geralt pulled back, a horrible thought dawning on him. "Jaskier...," he growled. "Please tell me you're not writing a romance novel about us."
"Well," the poet drawled and Geralt groaned. So that was a yes. "I am not writing about Geralt of Rivia, the witcher, and Jaskier the bard."
"But?"
"But it might be that the two protagonists are a chivalrous monsterslayer and his loyal painter companion."
"Jaskier...," he pleaded even though he knew it was useless.
"What? In my defence, it was you who dragged in the knightly ballads!"
"Hm." That was a shit defence and they both knew it. Unwilling to start an argument, though, he just pulled Jaskier closer against his chest and leaned his forehead against his shoulder. "Tell me more."
And tell him more he did. Thank the gods it was so easy to get Jaskier rambling. He told him about the two protagonists, Eric and Dandelion, who had met shortly after the artist had abandoned the court; he had been living at, to find real inspiration out in the world. He was, apparently, entirely insufferable and a notorious womanizer-
"What?" Geralt interrupted him with a quiet chuckle. "Next you tell me he set out into the world to draw nude portraits of all his lovers."
"Oh no!" He felt Jaskier tense up before even the lament had left his mouth. "Oh, fuck, Geralt, that's brilliant, I-" His mouth snapped shut. His eyes flitted around nervously as he was obviously contemplating what the worse fate was: abandoning his lover or risking the loss of an idea.
Geralt quickly made the decision for him as he opened his arms. "Go on, bard," he said with a soft smile. "Write it down before it's gone again." He had lived with Jaskier long enough to become well acquainted with all of his sorrows.
The smile he got in return was almost worth it. "You're the best, I love you, I'm so sorry," he blabbered, scrambling to his feet. He pecked him on the mouth with a quick: "Be right back."
'No, you won't,' Geralt thought adoringly as he watched him bolt to his desk. "Just bring something to write with when you do!" he called after him and leaned back against the couch. He couldn't quite bring himself to wipe the lopsided grin off his face.
It was going to be a long winter. But he wouldn't have it any other way.
#my writing#geraskier#geralt of rivia#jaskier#julian alfred pankratz#geraskier fanfiction#the witcher fanfiction#geraltxjaskier#geralt/jaskier#winter prompt challenge
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