#(Now have fourth drink instinct stuck in my head lol) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dhwty-writes · 4 years ago

Note

I've had 'Just give me a reason' by pink stuck in my head all day lol, I humbly offer it as a song prompt if it sparks anything :D

“If it sparks anything”... Fam, I just astralprojected back to 2013 and my first kiss! I had a lot of fun with it (although I got a bit distracted midway through, I’m sorry!)

I also couldn’t decide whether I wanted to do a post-mountain fix-it fic or a modern AU, so you’ll get both! Here’s the angsty one (that’s way longer than expected) :)

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The unfairness of it all as he staggered down the steep mountainside was overwhelming. Twenty years of his life for... what exactly? For nothing at all!

Over half of his measly human life he'd spent trailing after that grumpy... horse's arse of a witcher. He poured his heart and soul into a song cycle just to change Geralt's undeserved horrible reputation! (And to get rich, of course, but that was neither here nor there.) By rights he should claim ten percent of Geralt's income, but did he? No, of course not!

He'd never asked anything in return. Nothing but company, a friend, a tiny bit of affection even. Not love, of course. He might be delusional and a hopeless romantic, but not that much of an imbecile.

He knew Geralt loved Yennefer and that the affection was mutual. It was pretty much obvious for about anyone who saw them together. And Jaskier wasn't just anyone. He and the witcher shared just about anything — food, coin, clothes, beds sometimes, when it was cold or there was only one room left. And, though the witcher denied that fervently, Geralt talked in his sleep sometimes.

Jaskier had discovered that one freezing night in a tavern in Kovir, when he'd woken up because he was uncomfortably warm. Additionally, to the heap of quilted blankets they laid under, Geralt had draped himself over him, too, clutching him tight against his chest. 'Cute,' Jaskier had thought, 'Geralt's a cuddler.'

But then he had started talking, and it had been torture of the most exquisite kind. Most of his ramblings were unintelligible, but those he could understand were unbearably sweet. "Don't go," Geralt would say whenever Jaskier tried to move away. Or "C'mere" and tug him closer to his chest. There were plenty of "Y'smell good"s and, on one memorable occasion an "I love you". None of them were meant for him, of course. But, oh, how he wanted them to be.

Jaskier had fallen for Geralt the moment he'd spotted him in that tavern, grumpily nursing his tankard of ale. He'd been absolutely smitten as soon as they walked free from Filavandrel and Geralt smiled at his "Respect doesn't make history" nonsense, thinking he wouldn't see. They had travelled together for the better part of a month, before destiny had parted them again. At an inn at the crossroads Jaskier had stolen a pretty lad's virginity and Geralt had ridden off into the sunset, not knowing he had stolen Jaskier's heart in turn. 'Good old days.'

Only that they weren't good anymore. Jaskier heaved a sigh that sounded more like a sob than anything else. What had previously been a rose-and-gold-coloured fantasy of a memory, seemed now rather dull, truth be told.

After a few weeks going their separate way, Jaskier had heard of a witcher near Hagge and gone to seek him out. They had travelled again, on and off. Most of the time it had been him, who had actively looked for Geralt, tracking down rumours about white-haired monster hunters. But not always.

Right before the whole child surprise ordeal, it had been him performing in a tavern and Geralt barrelling inside, interrupting him mid-song. "Jaskier!" the witcher had shouted. "There you are. I've got a contract, come with me?"

Or that other time in early fall. He'd gotten himself a comfortable place for the winter in the home of some noble lady, who he'd been entertaining with music, poems and other uses of his silver tongue alike, when one early evening a servant knocked on their door, quite adamantly insisting there was a visitor for the troubadour. His host had been none too pleased when he'd gotten up and dressed to greet a witcher of all people. "What the fuck were you thinking, bard," Geralt had growled, "not showing up all summer. I thought you were dead."

All in all, Jaskier had thought that his affection was, at least to some extent, reciprocated. And now this.

After twenty years the moment he'd dreaded had finally come. Twenty years of lavishing Geralt with love. Geralt, the person who'd been told he couldn't feel, mustn't feel. Twenty years of shouting his adoration to the heavens, to finally be told that it was unwanted.

To borrow Geralt's words: "Fuck." He needed a drink.

~*~

Geralt of Rivia was an idiot and he knew it. The revelation had dawned on him almost instantly after his foolish outbreak. Well, not entirely instantly. He had a feeling, at the very least, although he hadn't expected the bard to take his words literally.

He hadn't been able to get rid of him with his gruff exterior before, so he hadn't thought he would now. The realisation that Jaskier was truly gone dawned on him, when he reached the base of the mountain a few days later and the bard was nowhere to be found.

Roach was still there, as were Geralt's bags. Their content wasn't. After twenty years of carrying frivolous outfits, chewed-on quills tattered notebooks that smelled of lavender, they were uncomfortably light.

"Fuck," Geralt said quietly. He didn't know why, but some part of him had hoped to find Jaskier there. 'Where he belongs,' his brain supplied unhelpfully. He frowned deeply, trying to rid himself of that thought. Jaskier wasn't some kind of possession to be owned.

But when he settled down for the night that evening, the forest devoid of any melodic chattering, of joyful laughter, of life, he knew it was true. Jaskier might not belong to him, he mused as he crawled into his bedroll. 'But he belongs to my side all the same.'

Somewhere along the twenty years of companionship — gods, was it truly twenty years? It was nothing for him, but such a long time for humans, who aged so fast — Jaskier had managed to firmly worm himself under Geralt's skin, to the point where there was something missing now that he was truly gone.

Geralt slept terribly that night. When the sun rose the next morning, he set out on another hunt. Not for a monster, that time, but the best thing destiny had ever given to him, that he had chased away with his brashness.

The scavenger hunt led him halfway across the continent, until he stumbled into another tavern on the coast of Temeria. Jaskier's trail hadn't been too hard to follow. Apparently, his friend had been fucking and drinking his way through three kingdoms.

And the bard looked as if he was doing a good job of adding a fourth one. He was more than just a little tipsy, sitting rather than standing on the stage. An agonised look passed over his face when he saw Geralt. He wanted to rush over and pull him into a hug, but then Jaskier started singing and the witcher was just frozen in place. It was the most heart-wrenching ballad yet. It took him only about three lines to realise who it was about. 'Fuck,' he thought.

All his instincts told him to flee. He wasn't prepared for this. He couldn't do this. But Jaskier had seen him already. No getting out of it now.

So, he shouldered his way through the crowd Jaskier always attracted and tried to hide in some secluded corner of the tavern. It took incredibly long for the bard to finally finish his set, and even then he made no attempt to seek Geralt out. Instead, he languidly leaned onto the bar, flirting with the barmaid behind it.

He barely suppressed a growl. 'Fine,' he thought and got up to confront his mistakes. He slammed his tankard down next to Jaskier, scaring the barmaid off in the process. "Jaskier," he greeted him.

"Oh, great," he sneered in response. "There goes my bed for the night."

"Hmm," he answered and ducked his head. "I'm sorry."

"What, for chasing off my newest conquest? I fucking hope you are!"

"No, Jaskier," he answered honenstly. "I'm sorry for what I said to you."

"Hmph, you need to do a lot better than that," he said and reached over the bar for a bottle of strong-smelling liquor. He poured himself a glass and knocked it back. Without pause he continued: "Because you know what? I'm fucking angry, Geralt."

"Do we have to do this here?" he hissed. They were attracting glares. Never a good thing for a witcher.

"No," Jaskier admitted and stood up. Bottle in hand he walked towards the stairs. "You're paying for the room."

"Sure," he grumbled and flagged down the innkeep. By the time he had managed to acquire a key, Jaskier had already dragged himself upstairs and drained a good portion of the bottle.

Geralt snorted and unlocked the door, but didn't comment on it. "What I've been trying to say-" he began, and was promptly interrupted:

"How about trying to shut up?" Jaskier hissed and kicked the door shut. "How about trying to listen to me after twenty fucking years?!"

"Jaskier, what I said-"

"This isn't about what you said! Don't you understand? What you said is only the tip of the figurative dragon mountain. I thought you actually liked me! I thought we were friends."

'Shit,' Geralt thought and ground his teeth. "Hmm."

Jaskier laughed hoarsely. "Oh, great. That same old story again. Why am I even bothering...?" He drank straight from the bottle, swaying a bit on his feet.

"You're drunk," he tried to say as neutrally as possible.

"And you're shutting me out again," he countered. Neither of them were wrong.

"I don't know what to say," Geralt tried.

Jaskier wasn't impressed: "Evidently." He made no attempt to follow that up with anything.

After a few moments of silence, Geralt realised that it was his turn to try and fix this mess with words of all things. "I can't sleep," he tried. "Not since you left."

"Poor you," Jaskier mocked cruelly. "I can't either."

"I can't sleep without you," he tried again. "It's cold. I'm dreaming. And when I wake up I'm alone. Roach is a horrible conversationalist and my camps are too big."

Jaskier put the bottle down slowly, gaping at him.

"I walked the path for decades without you and it was fine. It's not anymore. I can't do it any longer. And I guess... I guess I was scared." The words weren't any less intimidating once he'd finally said them. "You said I talk in my sleep?"

"You do."

"I don't. It's been beaten out of me in Kaer Morhen."

"So?"

He closed his eyes as tightly as he could. It was stupid, he knew. Childish, even. But he couldn't look at Jaskier for this. "So, I meant it. Every word of it."

No reaction.

"Please, Jaskier, I need you to forgive me."

"Give me one reason and I just might." He could hear him come closer. "Say it," he demanded. "Look me in the eye and say it."

It took him every ounce of his discipline to open his eyes and look at Jaskier, barely two feet away from him. "I love you," he said quietly.

"Louder."

"I love you. I've loved you for years, and it scared me, so I couldn't let you know. Witchers aren't supposed to be scared, and that scared me even more, and-"

The rest of his words was silenced by Jaskier's lips. The bard practically leapt at him, snaking his arms around his neck and pulling him close. "You're an idiot," he said when he pulled away. "A fool, a nitwit, an absolute imbecile. The stupidest man alive!"

"I am," he agreed, looping his arms around his waist.

"Why, oh why, do I have to love you of all people?"

"You love me?"

He laughed a teary laugh. "I do, I do. For years and years. How didn't you notice?"

"Because I'm a fool," Geralt said and kissed him again. He just couldn't resist.

"I'm still angry," Jaskier informed him.

"That's alright. But you don't hate me?"

"Far from it."

"And when I wake up on the morrow, you'll be there?"

"Yes," Jaskier promised with another kiss.

Geralt couldn't help but grin. "Good."

#my writing #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier #the witcher #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #prompt fill #post-mountaion fic #angst with a happy ending #i'm sorry if the ending's a bit wonky #heart-of-a-rose #look i've got an ask

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justlvckyviral-archive · 7 years ago

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Hey all, so it’s Alex again this time bring you my little angry chihuahua Lucky. It’s been a hot minute since I last wrote him and I’ve made a couple of changes to make him fit the RP’s premise better so I’m still trying to work out a few of the new details. He’s kind of the worst and I hate him already but he’s also one of my all time favourite muses to write so please come love him. Also if you’re looking for angst, look no further since he’s basically a vessel for all of those plots. As always like this post if you want to plot or anything and I’ll come bother you, or just pop up in my IMs or on Discord!

「 LEE MINHYUK, CISMALE, 26, BRING ME THE HORIZON 」┈ did you read that latest viral gossip issue on JIHUN ‘LUCKY’ PARK? he is the LEAD GUITARIST/BACKING VOCALIST in DAYBREAKER, one of my favorite ALTERNATIVE ROCK groups. they’ve been releasing music for EIGHT YEARS now, but viral gossip has only been talking about them for the last THREE YEARS. get this, i think i heard HE ANONYMOUSLY LEAKS STORIES (INCLUDING OCCASIONAL FAKES) ABOUT HIMSELF TO THE MEDIA IN ORDER TO KEEP HIS BAND RELEVANT. they’re known as the FIREBRAND of the music industry, since they have a rep for being LOYAL but QUICK TEMPERED, but who knows. maybe that will change once they become #1.

TW: Alcohol, Addiction, Traffic Accident, Loss of Limb

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I’ve accidentally written a small novel again, so I’m going to split it down into four key sections. Personality, Personal History, Career History and Other. I’ll also just throw a tl;dr at the top because good grief is this a lot. His plots page is here if anyone is interested, so if something catches your eye please come shout at me!

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tl;dr

Kind of antisocial guitarist in a metalcore turned alt-rock band. Raised in the UK. Punk af. Really short fuse that gets him into a lot of trouble. Sees the music industry as a game and knows how to play. Every move and response is calculated. Plays up to the media perception of him as some sort of villain. Doesn’t really trust people, especially if they’re famous. Super jaded, super bitter, super cynical. Rich parents who were never around. developed a drinking problem after being signed. Involved in a serious traffic accident shortly after third albums release that led to the loss of his left leg. parents paid to bury the story. relocated to america and checked himself into a rehab clinic. first album was a flop. second and third better. fourth blew them up. really doesn’t like where the sound is heading for five, but feels like he owes his band mates so is sticking it out. has a three piece side project that is highly political (27club VC: The Fever 333).

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PERSONALITY:

Firstly, and most importantly, Luck doesn’t like you. Lucky has never liked you, and he probably never will. He might respect you, or even be kind of neutral towards you, but never more than that.

There are very few exceptions to that rule, with the main ones being his bandmates and his siblings.

Has some serious self loathing that he’d never actually admit to.

Lucky considers himself a punk, an activist and a musician. In that order.

Has been describes as a journalist’s wet dream and a lawyers nightmare.

Values authenticity above all else. Both his and other peoples. Despises people who are fake (lol irony) and hates it eve more when other people call him fake.

Calling him a sell out or anything along those lines is probably not a good idea.

His first instinct is that people are only trying to get close to him to take advantage of his success and popularity. Probably because he does exactly the same thing to everyone else.

Loyal to a fault. If by some miracle you make it into his inner circle he’d actually take a bullet for you. He’ll always have your back.

The fact that he is so short tempered causes him so many problems? It doesn’t take much to light the fuse, and when he explodes things tend to get messy.

Which means that a lot of people are kind of scared off? And the ones that aren’t are just as volatile as him.

Absolutely no filter. Lucky will tell you exactly what he’s thinking or what he means with no regards for the consequences or your feelings.

Voted most likely to start a fistfight over something dumb five years in a row. Still holds the title.

Comes across as kind of frosty and callous even when he’s trying not to.

Has a serious problem with people taking advantage of others.

He is painted as kind of a villain type character in the media? But like, the villain you love to hate. I don’t know what the international equivalent is, but I’m thinking sort of like Trent Reznor in the 90s? Kind of plays up to that trope, but he pretty much fits the label without trying.

Does not know what a healthy relationship looks like. Platonic, romantic, even familial: there’s always a catch.

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PERSONAL HISTORY:

Brace yourself for this because my boy has not had a smooth ride.

Jihun was born is Daegu, South Korea but moved to the UK (Specifically Sheffield) before he was old enough to start retaining memories.

The second eldest child of two property tycoons with more time and concern for their business than their family, he was never close to his parents.

Childhood wasn’t exactly unhappy. His grades were decent enough to get by and having seven siblings meant that he was never without company. Despite hiring staff to watch over them, Lucky kind of grew up fast and felt a sort of almost parental responsibilty

As time went on and their parents became more and more distant from him and his siblings, he slowly grew to resent them.

By the time he reached his teenage years, Jihun began to see exactly how his parents did business. Shady backroom deals. Questionable partners. Bullying or bribing their way out of any trouble.

They weren’t exactly good people.

He’d become increasingly jaded, bitter and cynical beyond his years and isolated himself from the few friends he had outside of the family.

He was convinced that they were only trying to get close to him because of his family’s money: After seeing how corrupt his parents were he’d lost a lot of faith in most people.

It was around this time that he also discovered his love of punk rock.

The scene in Sheffield was pretty small, but he instantly connected with the anti-establishment values and aesthetics. He threw himself in head first.

It didn’t take long for him to teach himself guitar (Four chords and the truth) and form the band that would go on to become Daybreaker. [See: Career History]

Though things started off well enough. They played shows, eventually got signed to a new small imprint of Universal and began releasing material.

Over the course of several years however, Lucky got himself involved in some pretty serious stuff. What started as casual drink quickly transformed into a cru to help deal with his new found fame. He developed a serious problem with alcohol.

Between the pressures of effectively raising his family, maintaining a career as a full time musician and trying to fit into a scene that was, he now realise, extremely toxic, he struggled to cope.

The sheer catharsis of punk rock had proved to be an effective coping mechanism, but for Lucky it had already reached its limits and so he sought solace elsewhere.

It reached a point where he was having his stomach pumped on a regular basis.

The turning point came one night in November 2014. Lucky was considerably over the blood-alcohol limit, and shouldn’t have been walking let alone driving.

And yet he found himself behind the wheel of their tour van with a member of their road crew in the passenger seat.

They were involved in a serious collision: a head-on crash with an oncoming truck. Frankly neither of them should have survived, but the passenger escaped with a few broken bones.

Jihun wasn’t quite so fortunate. As well as several broken ribs and a skull fracture, his left leg had to be amputated below the knee. With the aid of a prosthetic was eventually able to walk again, but it was the hardest period of his life.

He didn’t talk to anyone for the first three weeks of his recovery. Just sat there expressionless.

When he’d first come around after the surgery and he was informed of what had happened he was told that he was lucky to be alive, let alone that he would be able to walk again. It was a them that kept resurfacing throughout the recovery process and one that has stuck with him ever since Hence why he goes by Lucky.

Once he was back in the world, something began to bother him. There had been no coverage of the accident despite him being a relatively prominent public figure.

As it turns out, that was his parents doing. They’d paid to get the story buried as well as any and all charges that could have been levelled against him.

They would later claim that this was for the benefit of his career, but Lucky remained fairly certain it was to keep their names away from the bad press.

Since then his relationship with them has been complicated. He still doesn’t approve of their methods, but they also potentially saved his career. And could ruin it at any moment.

Needless to say it proved quite the sobering experience. Lucky knew that he needed to get clean, and so checked himself into a rehab clinic in LA. This was probably the second most difficult period of his life.

He completed the program and decided to relocate to America permanently. Hollywood was probably not the best place for him, but it was a damn sight better than Sheffield.

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CAREER HISTORY:

And now that all the trauma and angst is out of the way, lets talk about angry music.

Lucky’s first band, RedBtn, were awful. I mean truly terrible. Sure they were only 14 at the time, but the bassist could barely play and the vocalist couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Needless to say they were not together for very long. It was long enough to spark a passion for performance in Lucky, and two years later he went on to form the group later known as Daybreaker.

They were marginally better. Gathering a small following in their hometown, their scrappy, rough around the edges take on metalcore was heavier than most other bands on the market.

Something else that set them aside was their aesthetics. It made them almost like black sheep of the scene. They looked too polished to be accepted by the hardcore kids, but sounded far too aggressive for a more mainstream audience.

This was a pattern that would continue until late into their career.

Someone saw something in them though, and it didn’t take long before they were signed to a small imprint of Universal.

Despite having some devoted fans, including Lucky), their first record (A proxy of Count Your Blessings) was almost universally panned. It was a Christmas miracle that they weren't immediately dropped.

By the time the second album (A proxy of Suicide Season) came around they were widely regarded as posers and dismissed by the rock community at large.

It was around this time that Lucky realized that the music industry was one big game, and in order to get anywhere they’d need to learn how to play.

From that moment on every action and potential response was calculated with a ruthless efficiency.

Every friendship, relationship, public appearance, quote, photograph. Everything was optimized to increase their presence and make them more visible.

And so Lucky decided that the best way to get more eyes on them was to cause controversy. As the defacto spokesperson he started showing a more confrontational side to the press, calling out critics and fans alike.

He would leak stories about himself anonymously.

Eventually he would take this characterization t the extreme. He has been pictured in physical altercations as well as the subject of a defamation suit all to keep their brand relevant.

The media began to paint them as villains: a band turning on their own scene with no regard for their peers or their fanbase.

He’d taken complete control of the narrative, and they were eating out of the palm of his hand.

It tended to divide people. You either loved Lucky, or you hated him.

It definitely worked though. The album received (Admittedly still muted) praise and secured their future for at least one ore album cycle.

It was during the production of their third album (A proxy for the one with the stupidly long title) that Lucky went through his dark phase. The rest of the band remained mostly sober whilst he struggled.

He doesn’t remember much of the recording process and doesn’t really know the songs. If they ever slip one into the setlist, he has to go back and re learn it.

This was also the point in time where his relationship with the press began to sour. Whereas he had previously tried to pull attention towards him, at this point he hated the invasiveness.

They began reporting that he may have had a problem, and he furiously denied it, going so far as to issue take down notices and cease and desist orders.

Of course it only served to boost their infamy, and the album was their first to be widely lauded. They were on their way to major league success.

And then, one night in the middle of a November UK tour, the accident happened.

The tour was cancelled due to a ‘family emergency’ and the band went into a media blackout. Despite his insistence that they simply replace him and carry on, they waited until he had recovered before emerging into the spotlight once more.

After Lucky decided to permanently relocate to the US he was sure that, as much as he’d valued his time with the band, their time together was over. Imagine his shock then, when some of them decided to follow him.

Shortly after completing rehab, Lucky locked himself away in the studio, working on what would later be dubbed the crown jewel of their discography (A proxy for Sempiternal). The album detailed a lot of his struggles in a very coded way.

With lost time to make up for, Lucky returned to the character of the music industry’s cartoon super villain. He once again began leaking stories about himself to the press anonymously, fabricating many of the details.

There were certain topics that remained off limits. The accident. His addiction. His stint in rehab. Anything and everything else was fair game.

The record relaunched them into public consciousness in a bigger way than ever before.

Currently the band are at work on their fifth album (A proxy of That’s The Spirit) which is shaping up to become an even more commercial sounding album.

Lucky isn’t entirely on board. In fact he hates it, and considers it to be selling out their core values. But at the same time, he feels an obligation to see it out.

His bandmates had risked their careers and stuck their necks on the line for him: who was he to throw that away because a guitar tone isn’t distorted enough

Because of this, Lucky decided to put together a side project. A supergroup of sorts (Although if he were to hear you call it that he’d seriously kick off.). A three piece punk rock band, 27club are a super high energy, extremely political group combining straight up hardcore with rap influences (VC: The Fever 333) [SIDEBAR: If y’all haven’t listened to letlive or The Fever 333 and you like rock music you're missing out. Jason Butler is the best singer of this generation Change my mind.]

Daybreaker will always take priority, but this gives him an outlet for angrier music, as well as a place to air his political leanings outside of interviews.

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OTHER:

Strong sense of social justice and regularly exercises that. Has a tendency of taking his activism a step too far.

Considers himself bisexual, but has never officially labelled it. Has been in public ‘relationships’ with both male and female partners

Has a boat load of tattoo, including the straight edge x’s on the backs of his hands

Vegan.

Rides a motorcycle which he loves more than he would his first born child.

Has three dogs. Two Pomeranians named Rollins and MacKaye, and a Boxer named Atticus

#viral:intro #aka alex has an editing problem and writes another small novel

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