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#Traveling Riverside Blues”

preseriesdean · 8 months

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SEASON 4 You were gone. I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you. And what I'm doing… It works.

#spnedit #samdeanedit #supernatural #*#there's no place like home #travelling riverside blues

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myimaginaryradio · 11 months

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Traveling Riverside Blues - Led Zepplin - 1969

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#led zeppelin #traveling riverside blues #classic rock #60s #60s rock #Youtube

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slutdge · 8 months

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the joy that fills me every time i get to tell a hardcore zeppelin fan that one of their songs is actually a cover or an adaptation of an old blues/folk song is indescribable

#do i listen to zep? yes. do i love them? yes. but are they very derivative? abso-fucking-lutely #anyways just to name a couple. travelling riverside blues. nobody's fault but mine.

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ask-sebastian · 10 months

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Let's start with what makes me think of a certain supernatural beings hunter 😌

Representing the classic rock! YES! I have a deep, deep love for classic rock. It's what my parents played for me constantly from the time I was just a wee babe, so it is absolutely my musical foundation.

The guitar in this one just does things to me.

#sebastian's musical owls #rock on #lil-grem-draws #highway to the hell - AC/DC #eye of the tiger - survivor #carry on my wayward son - kansas #ramble on - led zeppelin #travelling riverside blues - led zeppelin #smoke on the water - deep purple

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rastronomicals · 2 months

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6:26 PM EST March 3, 2024:

Led Zeppelin - "Travelling Riverside Blues" From the box set Led Zeppelin (September 7, 1990)

Last song scrobbled from iTunes at Last.fm

I've made comparisons elsewhere to "I'm Not a Young Man Anymore," maybe the band's best song is released for the first time posthumously.

#Led Zeppelin #Travelling Riverside Blues

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faithdeans · 1 year

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actually fascinating that ramble on is dean's fave zepp song...

#not counting travelling riverside blues because it's a cover

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loveissupernatural · 2 years

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**read chapter 1 here** - **read chapter 2 here** - **read chapter 3 here** - **read chapter 4 here**

Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader

In Your Dreams

Chapter 5

“Life is a sleep and love is its dream; and you have lived if you have loved.”

-Alfred de Musset

The following day felt longer than you would have liked. You were anxious for the sun to set, and with it, the answers that would quench the fire of burning curiosity in your mind. Why was the heart of The Dreaming rotting away? Why were you able to escape the borders of your dream and travel there, and why was Lucienne so obviously disturbed by it? Where was Dream? But, most importantly, why did you feel the need to be there in the first place? Why couldn’t you come to terms with this entire experience for the incredible magical adventure that it was and just let it go?

Even though you were filled with more questions than ever before, you could feel in the deepest recesses of your soul that the solutions to all of them lay in The Dreaming.

Your enthusiasm to return to the palace caused you to have trouble falling asleep for the first hour that night. The castle was your new Burgess house – mysteries hid there that tickled at your insides, that whispered to you in the darkness of the night to uncover them.

Finally, after tossing and turning, your eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. Shifting shapes whirled behind your eyelids, flitting from corner to corner, until they gently settled into the outline of a horizon. A warm sun began to rise and filtered light onto the dark line, illuminating the scene for you. You instantly recognized the scent of poppies on the breeze.

That fragrant wind whipped through your hair lovingly, like the soft fingers of a curious child, swirling around your form. You spun with it, arms outstretched, grinning from ear to ear. How you wished with everything within your heart that this place was real, that this is where you could spend the waking hours of your life.

You opened your shining eyes to see the parting gate of horn and ivory before you. You hadn’t even needed to start the journey within the confines of your own dream this time – you were already here. Your path of glinting black and gold marble was still below your feet, humming with welcoming warmth.

You couldn’t contain your happiness when the dividing gates revealed a view to you that had shifted from the night before. The stretches of murky water were trickling into a singular crystal river, sparkling blue and immense. Where unforgiving rock and dark sand had suffocated the landscape, beautiful blades of grass and stretches of green ferns were beginning to emerge. You recognized your favorite flower, blooming white poppies, dancing in the breeze on the riverside. An enormous bridge was sliding into place over the river, cradled by gargantuan stone hands that surfaced from the crystal water.

Creatures were returning, beautiful and terrifying alike, flying through the milky blue sky and snaking through the growing grass around your feet. The air was no longer choked with an eerie silence; insects buzzed, water rushed, citizens of The Dreaming were laughing.

Life.

You followed the massive bridge of stone to the center, where the once-crumbling palace was being rebuilt in the gleam of glorious sunlight. Fallen walls and castle turrets were reassembling themselves brick by brick with meticulous accuracy, as if someone had hit rewind. Rusting spires were shedding their coat of orange muck and shining gold. Magnificent archways were mending their own cracks and rising tall, transforming from ashy grey to glimmering white.

The heart of The Dreaming was returning to its former glory. Pure joy blossomed in your chest like the rosebuds of a vine that was bending around the pillars of the bridge.

You walked into the castle entryway, still grinning like a fool, as you looked up and watched every shard of broken glass and every crushed stone float into the air and return to their homes. A beautiful stained-glass window was mending directly above your head. The colorful fragments gradually slid together to form the image of a Pegasus, and as the last piece fell into place, it sprang to life, neighing triumphantly and beating its wings.

“Not too shabby, huh?” came a proud voice from behind you.

You spun to see a tall scarecrow-like figure with the head of a pumpkin approaching you. His face was the cut of a jack-o-lantern, crooked mouth pulling up at the corner in a tilted smile. He stopped by your side and put his branch-like hands on his thin hips, gazing up appreciatively at the work of glass art. You tried not to stare too rudely at him.

You turned your head back toward the magnificent window, now casting rays of colored sunlight onto you and your Halloween-like companion.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you replied truthfully.

He grunted in agreement, then looked down at you. His triangular eyes narrowed.

“Hey, ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around these parts before,” he said. “You new?”

Your lips upturned at his gutteral New York accent. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Lotsa new folks all around this joint today,” he said, shaking his large head in amusement. “Guess that’s what happens when ya hammer a few nails and splash on a fresh coat a’ paint—everyone comes back to tha neighborhood.”

“It does look pretty inviting,” you agreed, turning to face him. You stuck out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

The pumpkin-headed man stuck out his wooden hand and shook yours firmly. “I’m Mervyn, but everybody calls me Merv.”

“Hi, Merv.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Well, considerin’ you bein’ new and all, why don’t I give ya a bit of a tour? It wouldn’t be my first one today.”

“I would love that,” you beamed, resisting the urge to clasp your hands together like a schoolgirl. Merv nodded and turned, motioning with his stick-like hand.

“Well, then, c'mon.”

He walked like a puppet would without strings, you thought, as you followed behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides. Mervyn led you through a hallway that had one wall built while the opposite was still floating together. One piece of stone almost hit him in the head on its way back to its appointed position, and he cursed at it.

Once through the hallway, you turned into a winding staircase that glinted with intricate gold. As you followed Merv’s spindly legs up the flight, you appreciated the view to your left of an assembling tower. After a few more steps, you reached the top.

“First things first, here’s our pride and joy,” Mervyn announced grandiosely, spreading out his arms for dramatic emphasis. Your jaw dropped. “This is the library.”

The room was warm wood, cozy sunlight, and beckoning shelves that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Books were everywhere, of every size, color, and age. You ran your finger along a nearby shelf, tickling their spines. Some looked thousands of years old, others as if they’d come off the press minutes before.

“How many books are in here?” you asked in wonder, turning in a full circle to better take in the view.

“A helluva lot,” Mervyn answered slyly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not the one you should ask. Lucienne’s the librarian in charge.”

At the sound of her name, the woman that you had met the night before emerged from behind a nearby cascade of bookshelves. Her eyes smiled at Mervyn, but then they settled onto you.

Lucienne’s face paled.

“You’ve returned,” she breathed, striding toward the two of you with a haste in her step, “and so soon.”

“Oh, you’ve met before?” Mervyn asked, eyes shifting between the librarian and yourself.

“We have,” you told him, trying to make sure your grin didn’t turn into a grimace.

“Just last night, in fact,” Lucienne added. Her perceptive gaze wandered over your nervous form.

“Last night?” Merv repeated incredulously. He motioned over his shoulder. “But the boss hadn’t even started rebuilding yet! How’d she—?”

“A question we all would like to know,” Lucienne answered, fixing you with a penetrating stare over the top of her round glasses. She clasped her hands behind her back expectantly.

“Hey, I’d like to know too,” you said defensively. You crossed your arms, but then dropped them to your sides, not wanting to come off as defiant. “I’ve already told you everything that I know.”

“Lucienne, who is this?” Mervyn asked curiously, pointing a thumb at you.

The librarian sighed heavily but her eyes softened. Her tone was gentle, appreciative. “This, Mervyn, is the young lady that released Lord Morpheus from his prison.”

“No kiddin’?! That was you?!” he questioned unabashedly, shock evident in his wide eye sockets.

You shrugged, not a fan of the intense attention. “Well, yeah… but it’s really not that big of a deal…”

“Not that big of a deal?” Mervyn repeated, voice dripping in astonishment. “Are you kiddin’ me? This place would still be fallin’ apart if it wasn’t for you!”

“That’s why everything looked the way that it did the last time I came?” you asked Lucienne. “Because Dream wasn’t here?”

She nodded somberly. “He was captured for nearly a century and was unable to return. Everything was dissipating, disappearing… it cannot exist without him. He is The Dreaming.”

“But it’s been over a week since I helped him escape,” you said, confused. “Where has he been all of that time?”

“Lord Morpheus was traveling the realms on a quest to reobtain his tools.”

Something hopeful fluttered in your chest. Those nights where you’d been calling out to him and he hadn’t shown himself… it wasn’t because he was ignoring you, it was because he wasn’t even there in the first place.

“Look, uh… I hate to interrupt this conversation,” Merv cut in, scratching the back of his pumpkin head uncomfortably, “but… shouldn’t we tell the boss that she’s here?”

Joy sparked in your chest at his words.

Lucienne hesitated. “There’s still so many questions that remain unanswered. We don’t know how or why she is able to leave her dreams, let alone create a path from their border and through the waters to the palace.”

Mervyn didn’t have eyebrows, but if he did, you were sure he would be raising them in surprise.

“I didn’t have to use the path this time,” you told her, biting your lip. “I just kind of started at the gate.”

“You materialized here, in the heart of The Dreaming?” she clarified, voice filled with bewilderment and cut with that undertone of concern again.

“That ain't normal,” Mervyn shook his head.

“It appears that each time you fall asleep, you are somehow able bypass steps that you’ve previously taken,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. “You’re no longer appearing within the boundaries of your own dreams.”

An excited smile pulled at your lips. “Cool.”

“No, no, not ‘cool’,” Lucienne admonished, turning from you and Mervyn to start rifling through a stack of books resting on a nearby table. “This behavior is quite abnormal, even for a lucid dreamer such as yourself.”

“Lucid dreamer, ‘ay?” Merv inquired, crossing his reedy arms over his chest and leaning back against the shelf behind him. “Not too many a’ you guys left no more.”

“Really?”

“They’ve become exceedingly rare,” Lucienne confirmed, finally picking out a book from the pile. “Consistently lucid dreamers existed more commonly thousands of years ago. Now, well…” her eyes roamed over your confused face “…you’re the first I’ve seen in, at least, a millennium.”

“You always been able to do that?” Mervyn asked you. “Change stuff around?”

“Since I can remember,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair at the ornate table in front of you and sitting. “I’d sleep the day away just to keep dreaming.”

“But roaming through the dreamscape, you said last night that you had only just started?” the librarian asked, peering over the edge of the thick book in her hands. She joined you at the table.

Something caught your eye. The book that Lucienne had plucked from the bunch was bound in black with two golden words emblazoned on the cover: your first and last name.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s that?” you questioned enthusiastically, scooting your chair closer to her. “My name’s on there!”

A proud smile creeped onto the head librarian’s face. “This library contains every story ever written and unwritten, finished or unfinished, everything that has been and will never be.” She tapped the hard cover of your book with a manicured nail. “And this is yours.”

“Wow,” you sighed, resting your chin on your palm. Lucienne’s smile grew at your awestruck expression. “So, what all is in there about me?”

“Everything,” she answered simply.

You gulped. “Like, everything everything?”

She laughed. It was a harmonious sound.

“Relax, even your most embarrassing of moments pale in comparison to many of the things I read every day,” she assured you, eyes twinkling with amusement. She became serious again. “I thought it advantageous to find your book after your unexpected visit last night. I had to be sure that you weren’t a threat to The Dreaming.”

Your smile fell. “I’m – I’m not. I don’t want to be a threat to anybody.”

Lucienne sighed, expression trickling with pity.

“I know those aren’t your intentions. But the fact remains that your recent abilities are those that no mortal should possess.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Merv said, standing from his perch against the bookcase to lean against your table instead. He grinned crookedly at you. “We’ll get this figured out. If anyone can sniff out what’s goin’ on here, it’s Lucienne.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. The thought of being some kind of danger to this beautiful place rattled you. All you had wanted was to find Morpheus, to make sure everything turned out okay after you released him. After all, being imprisoned against your will for a hundred years had to be traumatic for anyone, right? Even the King of Dreams?

You had more selfish reasons, too, but those would stay private.

Suddenly, a voice called out.

It echoed into the large room, gentle but authoritative, soft but commanding respect. With a wave of warmth washing over your skin, you knew that you would recognize that beautiful sound anywhere.

“Lucienne,” his voice called, “I believe it is time we review the findings from the census.”

All three of you froze in place.

The King of Dreams emerged from the nearest aisle, graceful stride filled with purpose. He donned all black, a sweeping floor length coat flowing behind him as he walked, regal. His alabaster skin almost seemed to glow against his dark attire. His hair was as black as his clothing, still so gloriously messy and wild.

He was in his element, thriving and flourishing in a way that radiated from his very being. This was his domain.

Morpheus’s icy blue eyes moved from Lucienne to Mervyn. Then, they locked onto you.

Your breath hitched as you stood, chair screeching back noisily. That feeling, that delicious humming in your bones, it was different here, more alive. It was starlight sparking in your spine. He stood at least ten feet away, impossibly still, but you could feel his presence as strongly as you would if he were inches from you. Time stood still.

A myriad of emotions flickered through his fathomless eyes at the sight of you, none of which you could place, but whatever they were made the air in the library thick. Your eyes drank in his face and his roamed yours, penetrating but swirling with something soft.

Mervyn cleared his throat uncomfortably. It just then occurred to you that you had no idea how long the two of you had been standing like that, staring at each other.

The sound seemed to bring Dream back to himself.

“Lucienne. Mervyn. Leave us,” he commanded quietly, but he didn’t look at them. His intense gaze never once broke from yours.

Their replies came quickly and in hushed tones, almost as if embarrassed.

“Of course, sir.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They scurried away with heads down. As they reached the exit to the library, you could hear Mervyn mutter, “Well, talk about some tension...”

Morpheus blinked at the comment, but you didn’t miss the almost-imperceptible smirk that tugged at one corner of his lips. He was still staring at you.

With a smile that revealed every whisper of your heart, you broke the silence.

“Hi.”

Dream took a slow step toward you, measured. Then another. The curtain of dark lashes framing his endless eyes fluttered as he took you in, gaze roaming to your feet and back up again.

“Hello.” His voice was velvet.

You swallowed, begging the blush that you could feel creeping up your neck to go away. Couldn’t you have at least one interaction with him without your body betraying you? You felt like a fucking teenager.

“You, um, never answered my question,” you said, taking a step toward him as well. One of his dark brows rose. “You put me to sleep first. Rude, by the way.”

His smirk wasn’t nearly as well-hidden now.

“My deepest apologies. And what question would that be?”

You took another step closer, still not breaking eye contact. You clasped the back of a chair with one hand to ground yourself.

“You’re… you are alright, then?” you asked quietly. For the smallest of moments, his eyes betrayed everything. He was touched by your concern.

“You have journeyed through The Dreaming, to the heart of my realm, simply to ask after my well-being?”

His voice held an undercurrent of emotion, but he attempted to hide it with the slightest lilt of tease.

A playful glint sparkled in your eye. “Well, I did play spy for over a month just to get into that basement. What’s a desert and an ocean or two?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes was shuttered by the weight of your words. It seemed that once Morpheus got past the initial surprise of seeing you there, the same realization dawned on him that concerned Lucienne.

“You traveled through the outer lands of The Dreaming,” he stated, brows furrowed in unease. “You left the confines of your dream and found yourself here?”

The general trepidation from everyone surrounding your ability to leave your dream world disturbed you. You saw it as a gift, but it seemed to be one that you were not meant to have. You let out a sigh.

“I created a path,” you told him. “It took me through the desert and through an ocean… and then I ended up on that dock out there.” You tilted your chin toward the windows. “The path ended at the gates, and when I touched them, they opened. Then I came here.”

Morpheus was close now, taking in every word you that escaped your lips with rapt attention. His powerful stare was not angry, but perplexed. His eyes were swimming with anxious confusion.

“How is this possible?” he whispered to himself. His pale hand rose, ever so slowly, to ghost the line of your jaw. The touch was barely there, so very brief, but it left tingling chills in its wake. He examined your every feature, searching for the answer. “For you are not a vortex.”

For a moment, you’d forgotten how to speak, mind still reeling from the fact that he had just touched you, and that it felt so indescribable. His fingers had barely brushed an inch of skin, but that starlight sparkling in your spine had overtaken every nerve ending.

“Vortex?” you asked when you found your voice. Your eyebrows came together. “What’s a vortex?”

To your dismay, Dream stepped away from you. He turned toward the table where you were previously sitting with Lucienne and Mervyn, delicate fingers flipping through the many volumes that were stacked over its surface. His hands settled on a red hardback, lifting it so that you could read the gold lettering on the cover.

“Rose Walker,” he replied, face impassive.

At your obvious confusion, Dream stepped back and motioned with a graceful hand toward the archway where Lucienne and Mervyn had disappeared moments before.

“Where are we going?” you asked, walking in the direction he indicated.

Morpheus was tall at your side, right hand ghosting the small of your back, featherlight. The stars in your backbone twinkled at the touch.

His voice was euphonious when he bent to your ear.

“Follow me.”

**read chapter 6 here

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thechanelmuse · 7 months

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Pink Anderson (1900-1974)

Pink Anderson was a historic figure whose music included Piedmont-style blues, folk music, ragtime, and traditional ballads. He was born in South Carolina and early on sang in the streets for pennies. He was self-taught as a guitarist and toured throughout the Southeast with a variety of medicine shows (including Dr. William R. Kerr's "cure all medicine") during 1915-1945, picking up work wherever he could. He was employed not only as a musician and a singer but as a dancer and comedian.

Anderson recorded four titles in 1928 but did not make another record until Harlem Street Spirituals in 1950 for Riverside. At that time he recorded such traditional folk material as “John Henry,’ ‘The Ship Titanic,” and “Wreck of the Old 97.” He continued to work at parties, street fairs, and medicine shows during the first half of the 1950s before retiring for a time due to ill health. But in 1961, the Bluesville label recorded three albums of unaccompanied performances by Anderson, documenting him in Spartanburg, South Carolina. The titles of the three records, Carolina Blues Man, Medicine Show Man, and Ballad & Folksinger, vol. 3, sum up Pink Anderson’s life well and are a large slice of the repertoire that he had performed during the previous 35 years.

Pink Anderson stayed active on a part-time basis up until the time of his death in 1974. His music represents the Carolina blues, and the tradition of the constantly traveling folk singer.

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Floyd Council (1911-1976)

Floyd Council was a blues singer and guitar slinger who played in the East Coast / Piedmont style. He didn’t record solo often, but he’s still said to have recorded 27 songs, many backing up the legendary Blind Boy Fuller.

Born in North Carolina, Floyd began his musical career on the streets of Chapel Hill in the 1920s, performing with two brothers, Leo and Thomas Strowd as “The Chapel Hillbillies.” He recorded twice for ARC at sessions with Blind Boy Fuller in the mid-thirties, all examples of the Piedmont style. He was sometimes promoted as ‘Dipper Boy Council’, and ‘The Devil’s Daddy-in-Law,’ but these were likely the invention of record companies, not genuine nicknames.

Council suffered a stroke in the late 1960s which partially paralyzed his throat muscles and slowed his motor skills, but did not significantly damage his cognitive abilities. Folklorist Peter B. Lowry attempted to record him one afternoon in 1970, but he never regained his singing or playing abilities. Accounts say that he remained “quite sharp in mind.” Council died in 1976 of a heart attack, after moving to Sanford, North Carolina.

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Pink Floyd

Pink Anderson and Floyd Council were both featured on a Blind Boy Fuller album called Country Blues: 1935-1940. The sleeve of that album caught the eye of Syd Barrett, the frontman for London band, The Tea Set. Barrett changed the band's name to Pink Floyd, and the rest is history.

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#pink anderson #floyd council #blind boy fuller #syd barrett #pink floyd #piedmont blues #black american history #music history #thechanelmuse trivia

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mittensmorgul · 1 year

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also absolutely LOVE the fact that the episode we learn Ramble On (tied with Traveling Riverside Blues) is Dean’s favorite song is the episode where we first meet Chuck. The episode Chuck first writes himself into the story.

And now it’s in the episode where Dean basically does the OPPOSITE for this alternate version of his parents. He hands them all the tools they need to protect themselves from ever being used by the universe again. He FREED them from the cosmic narrative.

The Colt, which is a gun, but also a key. More like an insurance policy here. And Dean’s journal where he conveyed such important knowledge as “driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole” lol.

Because we also know now why some of the monster lore in that universe failed to match up with what we knew from spn prime. It was a different universe all along-- different Loki, different Rowena, different djinn, different vampires... all of it. It was little hints all along, but never anything big enough that we all cried foul (because who would’ve watched at all if we were told from the drop that these were not the characters we knew already?). It doesn’t matter now, we love them for THEM now.

Dean wrote himself into their story, just a little bit. And like Chuck he used an alias lol (James Hetfield... boy are john and mary gonna be weirded out in about nine years when the first Metallica album drops...)

But unlike Chuck, he did it because he wanted them to be HAPPY. To have a chance to NOT get caught up in the bigger wheels of the universe. To make their OWN choices and live their OWN lives! And he didn’t WANT to make it more complicated for them!

He’s like... the Anti-Chuck? As Storyteller? And I love that for him.

and I really, really hope he has more stories to tell us. more of Chuck’s problems to undo, finally, because I don’t know that Dean can ever truly be at peace until he does

#the winchesters #spnwin s1 spoilers #spnwin 1.13

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green-fifteen · 2 months

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Day 8: Slow Blink

Prompt: Smile Fandom: The Witcher (TV) Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier Summary: Jaskier discovers something interesting about his companion. Word count: 1,404 read on ao3 instead

written for @fluffyfebruary

Jaskier had been traveling with Geralt for four years when he finally learned something absolutely fundamental about his friend. The witcher might disagree, but to Jaskier this was the most important discovery he'd made since he'd found the man himself.

It was a hot day and they were stuck in mud up to their ankles, trudging through some hovel right at the edge of a wide river.

"Why are we here, Geralt?" Jaskier had whined, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. His companion had only grunted and walked on. "Geralt. Geralt! You know, I'm sure Roach would have a thing or two to say about you dragging her through this mire. We could catch a disease! What if we all get a parasite! And for what!"

He looked over at the horse in question to see what she thought of the situation, but Geralt moved in front of him to feed her a treat from the saddlebag.

"Roach is fine," he said. She did look fine-- crunching down on the hard, rooty end of a carrot and somehow making it through the mud like it was water instead of awful sludge that was trying to take Jaskier's shoes off his feet every time he took a step. He stopped walking, overheated and annoyed.

"That's it!" he cried. "I'm finding an inn--" he looked around at the sad little huts and gardens. "--or a tree stump, or somewhere I can go and wait for you to come back. This is ridiculous."

Geralt looked at him and said, "Okay," and gave him a look that clearly meant, Why should I care? It would be hurtful if Jaskier hadn't spent so much time with him. Geralt never wanted him to come with him on Witcher business. By now the bard was good at convincing himself it was solely because Geralt cared so much for his health and well-being.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier made to turn around and stride away, forgetting for a moment that his shoes were firmly stuck in mud. He felt his bag drop first as he flailed his arms to steady his balance, and then he was tipping backwards as if in slow motion, gazing up at the unfairly blue sky as he finally landed on the ground. His lovely linen shirt squelched into the ground as his legs bent at the knee, his shoes still planted.

Roach stepped away, alarmed. Geralt patted her side reassuringly while his gaze was on Jaskier, who blearily noted how fetching his yellow eyes looked against the summer sky. As he watched, the witcher closed his eyes and opened them again, too long to be a blink but too short to be anything else.

Furrowing his brow, Jaskier stuck out an arm to Geralt, who sighed but heaved him out of the mud. His clothes and shoes left the ground with an awful sucking noise.

Subtly, he watched the witcher's face as he dragged himself back into order, wiping mud from his elbows and the backside of his satchel. After a few seconds, Geralt blinked, short and unremarkable. Jaskier was tempted to call it a fluke-- after all, blinking slightly longer than usual could mean anything, or nothing at all. On top of that, the bard was frustrated with Geralt, covered in mud, and wanted nothing more than to strip all his clothes off and plunge into a cold bath.

He simply said, "Right, well. I'll see you when you're finished, I assume." He tried to be subtle as he took Roach's sack of treats from the saddlebag, but it didn't work. The horse nosed at him and the witcher tilted his head and frowned even deeper.

"So you both come back," he quipped, trying to sound like he was joking even though he wasn't. "I'll just be taking this with me on my quest to find suitable lodgings. Don't be out too late, dear." He stuffed the sack into his own bag and carefully marched away.

Two days later, Geralt came back to the little riverside town, smelling truly awful and with the head of some hideous swamp-thing strapped to his saddle. Jaskier had been fortunate enough to find an old, unused stable and made himself a nice little bed out of smelly hay. He hadn't felt inspired to play (he wasn't sure anyone there would be able to pay him for the privilege) so he worked on composing new songs instead as he waited for the witcher to return.

When he did, Jaskier didn't notice at first, too busy staring into the distance and counting off lines of metered verse. He was sitting on a boulder on the riverbank with one foot on the ground and the other propped up on his seat. He had nothing with him but his lute and his leather-bound notebook.

He jumped when he felt something shove his shoulder. Roach was behind him, Geralt looming above on her back. He sprang to his feet.

"Geralt! The Lady Roach!" he said, then stopped. "What is that smell?"

Before Geralt could answer (or, more likely, not answer), Roach pushed him again with her nose. Then she pushed him again and he stumbled to keep his balance.

Geralt made a noise that might have been a sigh. "Where are her carrots, bard?"

Jaskier was trying to pet the horse into submission but she wasn't interested in being mollified and began to nose her way into his jacket.

"Is that what this is about? I have her little bag in the stable just there--," his voice cut off with a warble as Roach took a step forward, shoving Jaskier along with her, and he lost his battle to stay upright. For the second time in three days, Jaskier watched the earth turn to sky in front of his eyes as he fell backward, this time directly into the river.

When he came up spluttering, he saw Roach pawing the ground and the witcher standing next to her and staring at him. When their eyes met, Jaskier glaring in disbelief, Geralt closed his eyes again in that same long blink as before. Then he turned his head to look at Roach and did it again at her.

Jaskier stood up and dripped, looking around at the river. The water was cool and relatively clear. "There isn't an inn here, Geralt," he said. "This is probably the best place to bathe for several miles." He did want to grumble a bit at the hair plastered to his face and the soaked feathers in his hat, but the water felt like heaven in the summer humidity.

"Also, I can smell you from here."

Geralt huffed and looked away, but he tied Roach to a log and undressed. As he waded into the water and felt the grime and sweat wash away from him, he did it again. One moment his face was hard as the steel of his sword and the next his whole expression seemed to soften and his eyes fell closed, then opened again.

Jaskier felt epiphany close over him. Oh. He was reminded of the cats his sister had kept growing up. Their nurse had told them to watch and listen whenever they could because not every creature used words like they could. Pay attention to everything else, she'd said, and you'll get the message anyway.

Jaskier was paying attention. He was paying the most attention. He thought he might have just made the discovery of his lifetime. Namely, that the witcher Geralt, White Wolf and the Butcher of Blaviken, smiled. Not only that, but he did it often.

After that, Jaskier was on the lookout for Geralt's peculiar little smile. Unfortunately, he saw it most often directed toward Roach or whenever Jaskier managed to embarrass himself somehow. It wasn't until they'd been traveling together nearly ten years that he started to see it more regularly even when he hadn't just fallen over a tree stump or ripped his trousers.

When they met that spring, Jaskier spotted him at the stables before Geralt had turned around.

"Geralt!" he shouted, joy making his limbs feel light. He had stopped resisting the urge to hug Geralt somewhere around their seventh year, so he didn't hesitate before throwing his arms around the witcher, who simply looked down at Jaskier and blinked, long and slow.

He couldn't wipe the beam from his face for days.

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alexsoenomel · 1 year

Text

Jamming with Dean Winchester in the Impala would include:

“Driver picks the music-”

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole! Yes, Dean I know!”

You being irritated.

Dean not letting you pick the song you want

Always bickering over who will play the next song

“I want Pink Floyd!” You demanded.

“And I don’t want to get depressed, (Y/N)!”

Dean putting Zepp’s Ramble On

You rolling your eyes in protest

“How many times are you going to listen to this one?”

“Oh come on, (Y/N)! You love this band just as much as I do!”

“There are far better songs than Ramble On though!”

“Oh yeah? Tell me Ms. Expert!”

“Living Loving Maid? Black Dog? Rock and Roll?”

“Living Loving Maid is a nice choice!”

“SEE? I know a thing or two about Led Zeppelin!”

You eventually caving in and actually singing the lyrics

“ Ramble on And now's the time, the time is now To sing my song I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl On my way I've been this way ten years to the day Ramble on Gotta find the queen of all my dreams.”

Dean joining you

For a second you both forgetting you’re going on a hunt

“Can I chose the next one?” You asking nicely once the song is finished.

“FINE!”

You putting on Heaven and Hell by Black Sabbath

“OOOOOOH NICE ONE, (Y/N)!”

“Since you don’t want Pink Floyd....”

You putting your sunglasses on, completely dissociating and enjoying the song

Dean feeling the dopamine kicking in, jamming with his hands on the wheel

Both of you singing the your favorite part

“ And they'll tell you black is really white The moon is just the sun at night And when you walk in golden halls You get to keep the gold that falls It's Heaven and Hell, oh no Fool, fool You've got to bleed for the dancer”

Yelling the last part of the song

“Fool, fool Look for the answer Fool, fool, fool”

“Your turn, Dean! And if you put on Traveling Riverside Blues I’m gonna scream!”

“Okay, okay! Metallica?”

“Sure!”

Dean choosing Enter Sandman

“God, I used to have the biggest crush on James Hetfield.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah still do. That man can make me do anything with that voice.”

“You’re gross!”

“And you talk to much!”

You blasting the volume