Can you believe it's been 32 years since Nirvana dropped their game-changing album, "Nevermind"? On this day in 1991, it entered the charts at a humble No. 144. Little did we know, it was about to revolutionize the music world!
Let's talk about the iconic track that's been stuck in our heads for decades - "In Bloom." 🎶 With its infectious melody and sardonic lyrics, it's a true representation of Nirvana's genius. A song that captures the essence of the '90s grunge scene!
Did you know that the idea for that unforgettable album cover, featuring a baby swimming, was inspired by a TV documentary on water babies? Kurt Cobain and drummer Dave Grohl stumbled upon this concept, and the rest is history.
Spencer Elden, 31, who appeared naked on the album cover as a baby, sued the band over alleged “commercial child sexual exploitation.”
However, his lawsuit was dismissed since Elden had filed his complaint after the 10-year statute of limitations had expired
"Nevermind" not only climbed to No. 1 in January '92 but went on to sell over 30 million copies worldwide! It was more than just an album; it was a seismic shift from the glam and glitz of '80s rock hairbands to the gritty, authentic sound of '90s grunge. 🤘
What's your favorite track from "Nevermind"? Share your thoughts below! Let's celebrate this iconic album that changed the course of rock music.
Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine - Part Ten - Part Eleven - Part Twelve
I just love angst UwU
Warnings: angst (mostly toward the end but a little bit at the beginning), swearing, allusions to sensory overload, being touched against consent (not sexual), bad smells, loud sounds, panic attack, nightmares, no Bayard the horse this chapter 😔
Word Count: 2423
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You didn’t sleep that night. The lingering fear of what you may see, be reminded of, kept your eyes open. Between the stars and Jaskier’s snoring, you were left all alone to your mind. Flashes of memories arose against your will. And that boy… All night, you fought to remember his name, but all that came up was the sight of his corpse on the cold cellar floor as you were dragged away.
“So,” Jaskier began, once the sky was above the horizon, and you both sat with full bellies from breakfast, “where to?”
You just gave him a funny look. “What do you mean?”
He seemed just as caught off guard by your question. “Well, I’m sure you’re going to be traveling around, looking for contracts, and, uhm,” his fingers fiddled with the handle of his mug, “well, I need a guide to Oxenfurt. If you’re heading that way, that is. I don’t wish to… impose.” His eyes glazed over for a moment. You knew exactly what he was thinking about.
“You wish to Winter there?”
Snapping back to the present, he nodded, emboldened by the question. “Yes! I have a small little place there, and I teach at Oxenfurt University over the winters.”
You nodded, slowly, trying to picture a route from Hengfors in Caingorn all the way through Redania.
“You don’t have to!” He stumbled over his words, trying to figure out an alternative plan if you said he couldn’t go with you. It turned toward mumbling the more uncertain he became. “I can follow the trails well enough, and stop by towns. I don’t know how spaced out they are from each other, though… I don’t know how to start a fire, hm. Maybe I could rent a horse? Do they do that? Rent out horses?”
“You’re welcome to come along with me, Jaskier,” you said. His eyes lit up, but you were still apprehensive on the whole matter. “Are you sure you’ll be alright? After everything Geralt said…”
His eyes dimmed once more. You both stared, silent, as patrons ate and chatted and prepared themselves for the day ahead around you. He gauged his own feelings, searching within himself to figure out if he really was ready to go on another adventure with another Witcher. You searched his eyes for any hints as to what he was thinking.
He knew, rationally, you weren’t Geralt - you’d proven that fact to him over and over again on your short trip down the mountain alone. But with a new Witcher, who had different morals, different teachings, came different issues and obligations. You were not Geralt.
After a deep breath in, the bard nodded. “If you’ll allow me the honor of traveling with you, Viper, I promise…” He swallowed, brow furrowing. “Things will be different.”
-
Your head remained on a swivel as you and Jaskier wandered the market. He was rambling a mile-a-minute about a romantic interest he once had who cornered him in a market stall once and wouldn’t let up until he bought her flowers - from her own shop no less. You would have asked how the relationship went after that, but your mind, admittedly, was a little hazy.
It’s been three nights since you last slept properly. The most rest you had was a few hours during short naps, all of which ended with waking in a cold sweat and flinching at the sight of Jaskier’s eyes. Why did they have to be so blue?
Your fighting style was different from most Witchers. Instead of going straight in for a kill, attacking from the front as Geralt would have done, you were taught to be nothing more than a shadow, sneaking up on your prey until the only knowledge they had of your presence was your blade slitting their throat open. Such was not the case in your current state. You’d been careless and messy. You were running out of ingredients for your potions.
That was not exactly why you were here, however. No, you were here for- Aha.
“This way, Jaskier.”
The bard followed with blind trust as you led him to a small hut. He only paused once you reached the door, to read the sign hanging above.
“An alchemist? What d’you need an alchemist for?” You knocked. He raised an eyebrow. “Is this for a contract?”
You sighed impatiently, foot tapping as you waited. “No, this is for me.”
He did not know of your nightmares. Or, if he did, he was very good at being quiet about it. Jaskier opened his mouth to ask another question when an elderly lady opened the door. She gasped at the sight of your eyes.
“Oh! A Witcher! Come in! Come in!”
The hut was quaint, but homey. Shelves of herbs, spices, liqueurs, and monster parts filled the space, crowding guests toward the alchemy table in the main room, where the lady led you both.
“Oh, where are my manners? Would you like some tea? Or something to eat, perhaps? My granddaughter, bless her heart, baked a fresh loaf of bread early this morn.”
“No, thank you.” You smiled, but even Jaskier could see it was anxious. “I’m here to request a potion.”
“Of course, of course!” The woman pulled up a couple of worn-down chairs for you and Jaskier to sit in. The bard lowered himself into one uncertainly, eyes constantly flickering between you and the woman. You stayed standing. The alchemist rushed around to her shelves. “What kind of potion is it you’re wanting, dearie? I’ve not had Witchers stop by in a while, but if you need blade oils, I can make ‘em in a pinch.”
“No.” Something about the woman’s motherly nature put you on edge. Jaskier wondered why. “I need something for keeping away nightmares.”
The woman hummed, shifting glass bottles and jars around with little clinks as she looked for what she needed. “Sure thing, dearie. I can have it ready in a couple hours for you to pick up.”
“You can’t have it done faster?”
She chuckled, wrinkled cheeks rosy and warm, as though she had been asked such a thing a thousand times before. She turned to face you with several bottles in her arms. “I’m afraid not, hun. I would if I could, believe you me.” The bottles she grabbed were dropped unceremoniously onto the table with a clatter, and she scurried over to another large shelf to grab more. “Best busy yourself while you wait. Time doesn’t move any faster when you stare at the sun!”
You sighed. Your shoulders sagged. But there was no fighting the old woman. You nodded your head at Jaskier, who stood and left with you. You made a beeline for the town’s notice board, hoping someone may have something interesting for you to do in the meantime.
“You’re having nightmares?”
You hummed. You lifted up a paper asking for sugar to read the note below it. Another Gwent challenge, identical to another paper at the bottom corner of the board.
“What about?” Jaskier scrunched his nose up at a paper beckoning ‘pretty girls’ for a good night. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
Something inside you screamed. It longed to shout what was plaguing your nights. It ached to rip open your soul and bare it to everyone who thought all Witchers were monstrous mutants. It scratched and clawed at your ribs, at your lungs, at your heart, pleading for a release. For you to tell someone, anyone about the hell you endured as a child to be the creature you were now.
You swallowed thickly and bit your tongue. You would not let that feeling win out today.
“Hm.” You ripped a paper off the board. Jaskier read it over your shoulder. “Sounds like Drowners.”
-
The potion sat heavily in your hand. You wanted to drink the entire bottle and pass out, fall into an exhausted state of unconsciousness for days. But that fear lingered.
What if it didn’t work? What if this potion, brewed to suit a human’s needs, wasn’t strong enough on a Witcher? What if you saw him again…?
Jaskier looked up from his scribbled notes. The fight against the Drowners had passed by so quickly - and he had never been privy to such an event before - that he had rushed to get down every single thought he had in the moment. Unfortunately, now he was left with the terrible endeavor of translating his own words. He’d been at it for almost 30 minutes now. And all you’d done is sit there, thinking about taking the concoction.
“What are your nightmares about?” he tried again. His voice was soft.
Perhaps he caught you in a moment of weakness, or you were just so distracted with your thoughts, you did not notice the sad look that came over your features. “Awful things,” you whispered. You grimaced. And then you came back to your senses. In mere moments, the contents of the bottle were gulped down, and the empty vial was tucked safely away into your bags.
You cleared your throat and looked at him for the first time in several hours. “How was your first Drowner experience?”
A tight smile crossed his face. “I didn’t realize they were quite that ugly,” he joked. Barely a flicker of amusement in your eyes.
“Wait ‘til you see a Rotfiend.”
He sat up straighter, eyes aglow with curiosity. “A Rotfiend?” he enunciated. “What’s that?”
“They’re horrid,” you scowled. “Imagine a walking corpse, bloated, with skin sloughing off. Where one is found, more are sure to follow, to feast on dead flesh. The worst part, though, is when they die.”
Jaskier leaned forward, eager to learn more even as his face curled in disgust. “What happens?”
“They explode.”
He fell back against his tree, scoffing. “Now you’re just messing with me.”
“No, I’m not!”
“They explode?! Like-” He motioned his body exploding, starting from his chest and leaving him in an outward burst. “Explode-explode?”
You nodded.
He shook his head. He refused to believe something as vile as you were describing did something like blow up. “You’re messing with me.”
“They do! They explode and release clouds of poisonous gas!” You were grinning now as you tried explaining the monster to the bard. He was relieved to see you smiling again. “The good news is that one explosion can cause a domino effect on the others - one after another, all bursting into red clouds. I once had five of them die that way.”
“Yeah, well, I’ll believe it when I see it.”
-
Fuck.
You were back there. Again. Back at Gorthur Gvaed.
This time, though, you were freshly pulled from your mutations - the Trial of the Grasses - into the waking world. You were fighting with your newly enhanced vision, and powerful senses.
You remember everything being so loud when you woke up, but not like this. This was agony. It was like people were banging pots and pans together right next to your head, ringing bells in your ears, shouting, screaming, clapping, stomping. You cried and cried for it to stop. You couldn’t even hear your own voice.
And then the touching. Hands. All over your body. Clawing, grabbing, groping. Their touch burned, like a thousand fires under a hot sun. Everywhere they touched, the blistering, stinging pain followed. You tried fighting against it. Tried to push them off, kick at anybody else who came near. But they would just hit you if you did.
They held things under your nose. They need not have done so, for you could smell it across the room. But they did. Rotting meat and scented candles. Curdled milk and roses. Awful mixed with good, all blending together into a stench like no other.
You were one of the only children to survive; the mages who performed the mutations were curious to know what had become of their new bastard offspring. They would find your limits and push you to them, all so they could use you for their fucking schemes. You hated to think how they succeeded.
You woke up with a jolt. You could still feel their hands, smell their concoctions, hear the clanging. Never before had your nightmares left you feeling so helpless when you awoke. Everything felt out of your power.
You roughly pushed off your blanket and stood, running your hands over your arms and through your hair, over your face. You had to know no one was touching you. All the while, you paced around the camp. The sound of your footsteps amidst the silence of the morning forest was grounding. You counted how many steps it took for you to make it around the camp one time, and again, and again. You breathed in deeply the cool air. It smelt like pine trees and nuts, distant berries, the burnt out fire from last night, sandalwood and vanilla. Nothing smelled of rot or disease, and each scent had its own place in the woods.
Okay. You were okay.
“Viper?”
You fell into a sit back onto your bedroll, continuing to take deep breaths and rub your arms. You didn’t wish to look at Jaskier. You escaped those eyes for one night, and you wished to keep it that way for a little longer.
“Viper, are you okay?”
He was becoming worried now. You could hear it in his voice, in that slight warble in the back of his throat.
You nodded. Your hands slowed to a stop. The friction was beginning to burn your hands. “Just a nightmare.” Your voice was coarse and soft, as if you’d been sick for months. “It didn’t work.”
Jaskier sighed. He’d only been privy to a few of your nightmares - the soft whimpers in your sleep, or waking covered in sweat - but he had never woken you then. Now it was even worse than that. The alchemist’s potion didn’t work, perhaps even made things worse, and you were miles away from the next town where someone might have another solution.
“What are they about?” he asked again.
You just shook your head, face morphing into a pained grimace.
“It might help if you talk about it.”
“Please.” Your voice was so small. A plea. You shook your head again. “I can’t.”
He sighed, but backed off of the matter. Instead, he began picking up the camp, giving you the time and space you needed to recover from whatever it was you saw. Once you were back on the road, it was as if nothing ever happened.
