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ladamedusoif · 8 months

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Tempered in the Fire - Part One

See the Series Masterlist for complete content warnings, historical event information, and series notes.

Cross-posted to AO3.

Pairing: Blacksmith!Din Djarin x F! Reader

Summary: Ireland, almost a decade after the rebellion of 1798. You are an unusual woman: married, but alone; a widow, with no certainty her husband is dead. When your local blacksmith is badly injured in an accident and unable to work, you have no choice but to travel to the next forge, run by a man of few words whose uncertain origins and dark complexion make him stand out among the locals. You are immediately intrigued by this mysterious, taciturn figure - and the striking little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

Word Count: 3.3k

Rating: Mature (chapter); Explicit 18+ (series)

Content (chapter specific): Blacksmith!Din AU; historical setting; references to violence; references to spousal abandonment; strong language; almost certainly inaccurate depictions of blacksmithing; slightly wonky history; likely slightly wonky renderings of Irish language (technically my third language!).

A/N: Translations for any dialogue in Irish are provided at the end of the chapter. The Irish language was one of the casualties of the colonisation of the island, as it became associated with a lack of education (though the tide turned somewhat in the late nineteenth/early twentieth centuries) and has never recovered. (Go and listen to ‘Butchered Tongue’ on Hozier’s latest album for a musical reflection on this, it even includes references to 1798)

Tagging interested parties and my usual taglist people - sign up via my taglist if you want to be added (or let me know if you’d rather not be tagged!): @gracie7209, @yourcoolauntie, @tessa-quayle, @lunapascal, @julesonrecord, @trulybetty, @fuckyeahdindjarin, @katareyoudrilling, @perennialdoll247, @joeldjarin, @sunnywithachanceofjavi, @iamskyereads, @tieronecrush, @javierisms, @pedrostories, @readingiskeepingmegoing, @rhoorl, @red-red-rogue, @survivingandenduring, @khindahra, @love-the-abyss, @fictionismyreality, @imaswellkid

This is a quiet place, a landscape rendered in greens, greys, and whites, the simple rural dwellings peppering the good agricultural land that stretches across the county.

Appearances can be deceiving, though. What seems to the outsider as a long-established peace is the result of a more recent and more violent pacification. The fields where young men lost their lives in the pursuit of a dream of freedom give nothing away today, almost a decade after the rebellion was brutally crushed. They didn’t stand a chance against the arrayed ranks of muskets, being armed only with tall, sharp pikes, hammered for them on the anvils of sympathetic blacksmiths around the country.

The people who live and work here bear the scars - some literal, some psychological, but all livid, fresh, and painful.

In this idyll where trauma and anger simmers beneath the surface, his forge is a long, low, whitewashed stone building roofed in thatch. It’s a little outside the nearest village, sitting just off the main road on the way to the next big town. Like most of those who ply this trade, the blacksmith here lives alongside his place of work: one half of the building is the forge, the other is the neat, simple home he shares with the little boy he’s taken as his apprentice.

He’s an essential figure: he makes all manner of metal goods and repairs them, too, in a world where nothing is disposable. He shoes horses, too, and his gentle care for the elegant beasts is well-known around the county.

Still, he’s not the most obvious candidate for a ‘pillar of the community’. Unlike other smiths in the area he’s not known for holding court while he works, regaling his customers with yarns and stories. He keeps himself to himself, mostly, though he comes into the village with the boy to buy supplies, collect items for repair, and return what he’s mended to their owners.

He’s been at his anvil for twenty years, or thereabouts. As is the way of a small community, all manner of stories circulate about where he came from and why there was no obvious family of origin. Most assume he comes from travelling people, who are known for their skill with metalworking.

Such is his reputation for consistently good work, fairness, and decency, though, that no one would ever dream of pushing him to say more about himself. This man of few words, who wears his apron like his armour and sometimes wraps a band of grey cloth around his mouth and nose when he works, to protect his lungs from the soot and smoke, is both insider and outsider in a place where such binaries are normally strictly enforced.

“You’ll be living high on the hog soon enough, then, Din? What with all the work that’s coming your way now.”

He looks up from the horseshoe he’s hammering into shape, dark eyes staring at the silhouette of the local priest, framed by the light of the forge’s small front window. Father Carthy has come to have his horse shod - and, it seems, to discuss the blacksmith’s fortunes.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

The priest steps closer to the anvil, a look of surprise on his face when he realises the blacksmith hasn’t heard. “Bad accident over in the forge at Donapatrick. He’ll be alright, but their smith is out for the next few months, at least. He’s lucky to be alive.”

Din dips the shoe into a tub of cold water, sending a hiss and a plume of steam into the air.

“So they’re coming to me?”

“Most of them. Your reputation precedes you.”

He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. “Not sure I can take on all that extra work.”

Father Carthy scoffs. “Don’t turn it down, Din. Lean times are always waiting round the corner, just when you least expect them.” He peers around the stone forge at the centre of the room, trying to spot the little figure who’s been hiding in the shadows.

“Sure you have an apprentice to help you, don’t you?”

The little boy stares silently, intently with his huge, dark eyes at the man clad in clerical black.

“Well, he’s inherited your gift of the gab, Din, anyway. Look, you’ll be glad of the few extra shillings. I know it’s not always easy making ends meet, between looking after yourself and the lad.”

Din pulls himself up to his full height, cutting an imposing, broad figure in his soot-marked shirt, leather apron, simple brown woollen breeches, and boots.

“We manage. Gró?” The boy appears at the blacksmith’s side. “Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.”

He swiftly locates a box of horseshoe nails, each made by hand at Din’s anvil. The priest raises an eyebrow.

“He’ll need English, Din, or he’ll get nowhere. I’d be glad to teach him if-“

Din cuts him off with a pointed sigh. “He understands every word. But this is how we talk to each other.”

Behind him, the sandy-haired boy narrows his eyes and scowls at Father Carthy.

You know it’s not usual for a woman of your age and station to ride alone, but then you’re not usual for a woman of your age and station. And your washtub is leaking, and your horse needs to be shod. Needs must.

You saddle up the horse, strapping the tub on one side, and wrap yourself up in your shawl, securing it at the waist with a well-worn leather belt. You mount the little brown horse and turn her in the direction of Donapatrick and the local forge.

“How did you not hear?” Seán, the blacksmith’s apprentice, stares up at you in astonishment. “Everyone heard!”

You feel like kicking him in the ribs for talking to you like that. He’s no more than thirteen, and yet here he is talking to a woman who could comfortably be his mother (and then some) like she came down in the last shower.

“I didn’t hear because I wasn’t told, and because I have better things to be doing than gossiping around the village.”

He rolls his eyes. “Well, regardless. You’ll have to go over to the other forge - the fella over the bridge, about twenty minutes away. You know it?”

You do know it, though you’ve never had reason to go inside. Why would you, when Peter’s forge is so much closer? You don’t even know the other blacksmith’s name, and in this part of the world that’s a strange situation indeed.

“Right, so.” You gently dig your heels into the horse’s sides, she starts to walk, and you make your way to the road that leads down to the river, the stone bridge, and, eventually, the whitewashed forge beyond.

Just as Father Carthy had predicted, Din was snowed under with extra work since Peter’s accident a week or so before. He is exceptionally well-organised by nature, managing his own accounts and records with great attention to detail, and he has extended the system to help him cope with the new demand. With Gró’s help, he organises the items for repair into separate sections, labelled according to whether they belong to existing or temporary customers. He sets up a new ledger to take account of custom orders from people who normally go to the other smith, and takes note of new faces who come to have their horse shod.

Din is cross-checking his records at the table in the main room of his home when he hears the sound of hooves approaching. He asks Gró to peek out, to see if it’s a familiar face or another new customer.

The boy climbs up on the deep windowsill to look out through one of the small cottage windows.

“Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í.”

Din stands up and goes to the door, reaching for his apron as he does so.

He cuts an unusual figure, this blacksmith. There aren’t many people around here who look like him. You notice the penetrating dark eyes first, taking you in as you slow and pull up the horse. His dark hair is wavy, curling in places, and you are surprised to see that he’s bearded - if you can call the patchy scruff around his mouth and jaw a beard.

He’s younger than you’d expected, maybe forty, and well-built - broad shoulders, strong, muscular forearms marked with scars from his work, his shirt loose and open to expose a stretch of his tanned chest. He ties on a leather apron as you dismount, and walks out to greet you.

“Good day. I was hoping you could help with a repair? And my horse needs to be shod, too. I’m sorry, I usually go to Peter up in Donap -“

He cuts you off with a nod. “I know. Yes. That’s fine. The tub, is that the repair?”

You raise your eyebrows at how direct he is. Curt, almost. Rude, some would say.

“It is. It’s leaking at the side, here.” You undo the strap and he takes the washtub down. It looks strangely tiny against his substantial form.

He turns and gesticulates with his head in the direction of the open door. From the dark interior, a striking boy emerges, clutching a piece of paper, some string, and a stubby pencil.

The blacksmith gives him instructions and he diligently scrawls a number on the paper, before attaching it to the tub with the string and carrying it into the forge.

“Do you only speak in Irish to him?”

The smith has turned his attention to your horse, examining each of her hooves in turn. He looks at you quizzically.

“It’s what he prefers. What we prefer. He understands English perfectly.”

“Unusual that he’s fair and you’re dark. Is his mother fair? I suppose she must be.”

He sighs.

“I don’t know.”

You can’t stop yourself from letting out a little gasp. He looks up at you, dark eyes frustrated at your constant chatter. But he knows this needs explanation.

“He’s my apprentice. He’s a foundling. I’ve taken him as my own.”

You feel your face heat, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

He strokes the horse’s muzzle, not looking directly at you. “You didn’t know. I can shoe the horse now, though you’ll need to wait. The tub will take a day or two.”

You nod in agreement.

“What’s her name?”

His voice is softer. He’s still looking at your little horse, who’s loving the attention from this new person.

“Réaltín.” She has a perfect little splash of white between her eyes, in the shape of a little star. You couldn’t have named her anything else.

He repeats the animal’s name, and you see the tiniest hint of a smile cross his lips before his serious expression returns.

It turns cold, and you wait it out on a stool just inside the door of the forge, glad of the warmth.

You watch as the blacksmith heats up and works the metal shoes at his anvil, so they’ll fit Réaltín’s smaller hooves perfectly. The light from the fire illuminates his features as he works, highlighting the beads of sweat on his brow and picking out the various shades of brown in his eyes. He has pulled a band of grey cloth over his nose and mouth, which draws your attention all the more to his dark gaze.

The little boy stares at you while the man works, occasionally helping him by fetching an implement or helping work the bellows. You give him a little wave and a smile, hoping he’ll respond. He doesn’t come any closer, but you see him grin for a moment before he disappears behind the broad figure of his master - well, his adoptive father, if what the blacksmith said is correct.

Peter’s forge is always full of chat and song and gossip, a kind of social hub as much as a vital service. In contrast, the only music here is the singing of the anvil as the silent, stoic smith works, interspersed with the whoosh of the bellows and the hiss of the cooling tub. He doesn’t look at you, eyes always trained on the task at hand or at his little apprentice. He doesn’t speak, except to the little boy.

After a few exchanges, you realise something. “Is he called Gró?”

The smith keeps working. “That is what I call him, yes.”

“Funny to call a little thing like that after a poker.”

He turns his attention to the fire for a moment before he answers you. “He kept trying to stoke the fire on his own when I first took him in. I said the word so much it became his name. He likes it.”

Silence. Singing metal. Hissing steam.

He makes sure Gró watches him at every step as he removes the old horseshoes, cleans Réaltín’s hooves, files them carefully, and attaches the new shoes. Throughout, he quietly explains to the boy what he’s doing, and why.

Your stomach is rumbling, and you remember the supplies you brought with you (and had forgotten about).

When they’ve finished the last hoof, you speak up. “I - I brought a cake of fresh bread with me, in case it took longer. And I have butter, too, and a little crab apple jam. I’d be glad to share it with the little lad.”

Gró’s enormous eyes widen with excitement and he grins. (He really does understand English perfectly, you think.)

“We have enough food for ourselves, thank you.”

The boy’s face falls.

“I just meant as a little treat. A thank you, for taking the job when you’ve so much to be doing.”

He sighs, again. “Well… ach. Yes. Come in.”

Their home is neat and simply furnished, and he evidently knows how to look after a household as well as a business. You sit at the wooden table in the main room, which serves as kitchen, living area, and office for the blacksmith’s records. Out of the corner of your eye you spy a ladder going up to the attic, which you presume must be used as a sleeping space. A door leads off the main part of the house to what looks to be a smaller room.

Gró is already on his third piece of bread, butter, and apple jam, a shiny orange smear on the tip of his little nose.

“I hope this tastes okay. It’s always so hard to know when you churn butter, isn’t it?” You sip some of the cool water he’d poured into an earthenware mug for you.

“I don’t know. I’ve never churned butter.”

His reply is so deadpan that you wonder for a moment if he’s joking. You decide he isn’t.

“It’s not that hard,” you continue. “And I have the cow and the milk so why not?” You chew on a bit of bread, appraising your handiwork. “Actually, not bad at all, this time.”

He grunts in agreement. “You have a farm?”

“A very small smallholding. Tenant to the lord, like most of us.”

“Your husband works the land, then.”

You stare at the crust of bread in front of you, and clear your throat.

“He doesn’t. He’s…not here. He’s gone.”

The blacksmith’s eyes soften. “I’m very sorry for your troubles. Sickness, or was it in the fighting -”

You look at him directly. “That bastard wouldn’t fight for anything, not even his wife. He’s not dead. Or at least, I don’t think he’s dead. But I wish he was, because then I’d really be free.”

For a moment it looks like the stoic blacksmith is going to choke. He reaches for his own mug and drinks deeply.

“Well, now, I -“

“He upped and went. A few years back. God knows where he is now. He’s not around here, anyway. I’d say he’s skipped to Belfast or London.” You finish your bread. “Lucky the smallholding had come through my father, so I wasn’t out on the road.”

He’s flushed, and evidently a little uncomfortable. Well, he started it, you think.

“How do you survive - do you have children, too?”

You shake your head. “No, a blessing not to have them. And I do what I did before I married - I sew. Mostly alterations and refashioning and repairing, now, but at least I have a trade.”

The smith nods to himself. “A useful one.”

“Not as useful as yours.”

He gives you a tiny, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it smile.

You stand up and start to clear the dishes. “Keep the rest of the bread and the butter and jam. I’ll collect the jars when I come back for the tub.”

He starts as if to speak, standing up from his chair, and seems nervous.

“Could I - we - ask you to do something for us?”

“It depends, but…”

“Clothes. Gró’s clothes are in need of mending. Badly. Would you be able to help?”

You smile and nod. “I’d be delighted to. Lord, has the poor lad been going without mending for this long?”

The smith opens a wooden chest and takes out a small bundle of tiny items of clothing. “Not quite. Peigí normally does it, but she’s been so busy with the work in her yard lately that I didn’t want to ask.”

Peigí is something of a legend in the area, a fiery woman who stubbornly insisted on taking over her father’s trade in repairing carts and wagons - and succeeded. You smile wryly to yourself at the vision of her wielding a needle and thread.

He hands you the clothes, wrapped in a faded piece of red and white cloth. “Oh, hold on.” He reaches back into the chest and retrieves a dark grey knitted sweater that has seen better days. “I don’t know if you darn, too, but he’ll need this in the colder weather, and -“

You take the sweater, handling it with care, and clutch the little bundle to your chest. “It’s no bother at all.”

He smiles, genuinely smiles, at you for the first time. You marvel at how such a stern, hardy man can reveal himself to be quite so soft - eyes crinkling, expression warm and friendly, teeth white in that tanned face streaked with grime from the forge.

“Thank you…?” He pauses, waiting for you to introduce yourself. You tell him your name.

“And you’re…”

“Din.”

“Din. And Gró.” The little boy swivels in his seat at the sound of his name, and sends the sneaky spoonful of apple jam that he’s been enjoying flying to the flagstone floor.

Din accompanies you as you strap the bundle of clothes to the saddle, and mount Réaltín for the journey home.

“I’ll be back in two days for the tub. I’ll bring his things then.”

Din gives the horse an affectionate pat, and nods as you turn and head back up the narrow road.

Gró has come to the door of the house.

“’s bean deas í, a dhaid.”

Translations:

Tabhair dom na tairní, maith an bhuachaill.

Give me the nails, there’s a good boy.

Is bean ar chapall í - ’s stráinséir í

It’s a woman on a horse, she’s a stranger.

’s bean deas í, a dhaid

She’s a nice lady, daddy. (Can also mean ‘pretty lady’).

And yes, ‘gró’ in Irish can mean crow-bar - or, in older dialect, a poker.

#tempered in the fire fic #din djarin au #blacksmith!din djarin #blacksmith!din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #historical AU #the mandalorian AU #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedrostories

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xalygatorx · 3 months

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Unbound | Chapter 15, "Their Jagged Edges"

Áine Ts'sambra—a wayward half-drow bard with a painful past—has her world upended when she's snatched up by a Nautiloid ship and furnished with a tadpole to the brain. In her journey to remove the infestation before it can turn her and her newfound companions illithid, she not only finds that their solution has more layers to parse through than she can count, but that a particular vampire in her party does as well.

Unbound is an ongoing generally SFW medium-burn romance based in the world of Baldur's Gate 3 between Astarion and a female OC. Any NSFW content will be marked in the Warnings section. Contains angst, fluff, explorations of trauma, spice, graphic fantasy violence, and a guaranteed happy ending.

For anything additional on what to expect (and not expect), check the preface post.

Summary: Astarion tries to comfort Áine through the night and she shares a little of her past with him in good faith. The next morning, Gale sits before the party at large and offers Áine an apology. Astarion expresses his disapproval at Áine’s (in his opinion) swift forgiveness. The group returns to the goblin camp and enters the Underdark. Astarion comes to terms with his feelings.

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!OC

Warnings: Comfort/hurt; angst; fluff; trauma; post-traumatic flashbacks; description of feeling triggered and of a panic attack; discussion of the non-con portion of the previous chapter; more of Astarion's internal monologue flashbacks; suggestive content & dialogue; lightly proofread

Word Count: 8.9k

Listening to: Butchered Tongue - Hozier, Daylight (Acoustic) - David Kushner, Jenny of Oldstones - cover by Rachel Hardy

The instant he slid her from his arms onto his bedroll, Astarion’s movements became tightly strung and ever more agitated. He could still feel her rapid heartbeat in his chest even after he no longer carried her, like a song echoed in an endless cavern. The remembered staccato of it spurred him on like a self-inflicted whipping cane as he tore through his wares for something, anything, to help her.

He swore when he knocked over one of his picking kits. Bleeding Hells, Astarion was positively rattled and wasn’t entirely sure how to calm down without going back out to the woods and actually killing Gale, which he still had half a mind to do. No, that would upset her more and possibly blast them all to smithereens. He didn’t have the faintest idea how the damned orb in Gale’s chest worked but he was sorely tempted to test it.

Roughly, he snatched up the tattered blanket at the foot of his bedroll and leaned over Áine to drape it around her shoulders, muttering a curse at himself for having such a bare interior for a tent. For having so little to call his own, so little to offer her. He should’ve just taken her to her own, she would’ve been more comfortable there, but no he’d acted selfishly again at the worst possible time because he didn’t want her out of his sight.

Unsatisfied with just the old brown blanket, he leaned out and snatched the velvety red one that still hung across one of the mirrors outside his tent, bundling her in that too. Astarion had no idea if this would even help, but he was running out of things to try.

His eyes next caught on the old bottle of brandy he’d taken from a chest on a whim weeks ago at this point. Astarion uncapped it and snatched up the empty goblet he still had from Áine’s wine at the tieflings’ party, splashing some of the amber liquid into the vessel. “Bleeding fucking Hells, my left arm for some tea leaves,” he was muttering under his breath, rifling through a nearby bag even though he knew for certain he’d yet to come across any tea in their travels.

Áine watched him, his every movement half-coiled like a predator still aching to pounce, still dangerous despite its retreat. She hugged her knees to her chest, making herself take longer, deeper breaths to slow her tired lungs and racing heart. Her head swam from stress and a shortage of air, but she kept telling herself she was safe now. She’d have to do damage control in the morning, she expected, but for now, she was safe and just needed to calm down.

She heard him remark upon their lack of tea leaves and in his manic state he missed the way her expression softened. He still remembered that? That she’d said she found a warm tea with brandy to be comforting? She let the realization warm her chilled bones, his care as healing as any drink he could have brewed her, as he pressed the goblet of straight, lukewarm brandy into her hands.

Her darkened eyes flickered down to the light golden ripples of the drink. When had she said that again? Surely not the only time she could remember with any clarity—the very first day they’d met. When he’d remarked preferring a dry red as his go-to drink and she’d not yet had the context to understand he was making a joke about his vampirism. It made her smile ever so faintly now. That had been…so long ago. And he remembered. Even back then, when she’d been firmly under the impression that he hated her, he’d been listening.

Áine jolted when she heard him snarl toward the door at the faintest sound of footsteps outside. The footfalls had passed too closely to the tent for his liking and he’d immediately gone on the offensive as his instincts to protect himself and his mate had surged to the surface. “Astarion, it’s okay,” she murmured. “It just sounds like someone going to bed or going off to relieve themselves. Nothing dangerous.”

Astarion rounded on her for saying that, incredulous as he repeated her words. “‘Nothing dangerous?’ I truly don’t understand you sometimes, Áine,” he gritted. “How are you just okay after something like that?”

As soon as his words had left his lips in such upset, Astarion had chastised himself, dropping his head forward to rake a rough hand through his hair. Frustrated as he was, he wasn’t frustrated with her. He was worried for her. She needed to know that, not feel as though he was mad at her for what had happened.

She didn’t begrudge him his stressed response it seemed. He almost wished she would. “I’m not,” she whispered with patience, her fingertips pressing more firmly against the sides of the goblet as she took a tiny sip of the beverage. “But… I don’t think I’m worried anymore. Just…shaken up.”

Astarion looked down at Áine, bundled in his blankets with her barely nursed brandy in her hands. Whether it was how she sat, so curled in on herself, or that he simply wasn’t used to standing over her like this, she looked so heartbreakingly small to him now. So unbearably fragile when there were more times than he could count that “fragile” was the last word he would’ve ever chosen to describe her.

His expression bared without so much as an attempt to hide how helpless he felt, Astarion slowly slumped to his knees in front of her, his head hung in defeat. “I apologize for getting cross with you, I… I don’t know what to do,” he admitted, unable to meet her eyes. “I don’t know what you need. Or how to fix this.” He finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, finding the amber windows to his favorite soul glassy with unshed tears. “You can have anything you want. Anything of mine. Of me. Just name it.”

Áine’s expression crumpled. “Astarion—”

It’s all I’m good for, he wanted to reassure her. I know. It’s okay. It’s okay if it’s you. Aloud, he said, “You can have as much or as little of me as you want. If it will help, I’ll do it.”

Áine stared into his eyes, her brows canting upward as a fluttered blink of her lashes made her tears spill over at last. He was set off by all this too and not just because he was worried for her—she could see the pain, the barely staved off dissociation in those gorgeous crimson eyes. Not nearly for the first time since she’d met him, since she’d known him, since she’d loved him—yes, she was tired of lying to herself about her own feelings—she wondered, Gods, what happened to you? How much did she still not know?

The bard set aside the goblet, reaching for Astarion’s hands. He deposited them without question into hers and let her guide him down to lie on his bedroll. Instinctively, his fingers reached for the laces of his shirt, ready to do whatever she asked of him, even if it hurt. He was utterly lost to her and that was finally spiraling into such a maelstrom of fact that he no longer felt an ounce of his former kneejerk denial. Áine could do almost anything to him now and he was convinced he’d forgive her in an instant. Was this trust?

Her warm fingers covered his, firmly stilling them against his collar. Astarion looked up at her and Áine saw that look in his eyes again—half-present, half-slowly slipping out to sea past where she thought she could reach him. She ran her thumbs against his knuckles like the smallest ritual, a tactile prayer. She pressed a kiss against the spot where his hands met before she guided them apart and found her place within the circle of his arms.

Astarion kept his arms hovered just above her while she situated herself, suddenly out of his depth again. His face heated with the palest flush of pink as she fitted herself perfectly against his body, nudging his legs apart just to entangle them with hers. He could feel her face burning against the fabric of his shirt when she finally settled her head against the curve of his shoulder.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, finally allowing his arms to come down to rest around her. Timidly at first and then more securely as he grew comfortable holding her. One of her beautifully content sighs graced his ears and, even though it took Astarion a moment to relax, he managed it as his somber eyes traced the starlight crown of her head. “Of course,” he whispered back, trying to make sense of what she could possibly see in him, how she could possibly want him.

Hesitantly, he raised a hand to her brilliant pearlescent halo and followed an instinct he had to stroke her hair. The way her prone body melted further against him rewarded his cautious venture and he marveled at her vulnerability, her warmth, and her trust in him. They were fitted against each other in every curve and he only wanted her closer, impossibly so. Until he could no longer find their separate starts and ends.

Astarion adjusted to rest his chin against the top of her head. “Are you alright, my sweet?” he asked and his voice was so gentle Áine’s eyes burned anew with tears. He felt her tense and, afraid both that he’d upset her and, selfishly once more, that she’d leave, he quickly said, “We needn’t talk if—”

“I’m fine,” she squeaked and he realized that she’d tensed to stifle a sob.

Astarion’s jaw set and he pulled her tightly against him. She molded willingly against him, burying her face into his neck. Her tears dripped like summer rain past his collar. He sighed and mumbled, “I should’ve killed him.”

“No, you shouldn’t’ve,” she asserted with a hiccup. Hidden from Astarion’s view, Áine’s features strained against the tears that came and she forced herself to inhale deeply, even as her breath shuddered. She could feel a headache forming as a dull pain behind her eyes.

“Please?” Astarion asked in a quiet whine and it caught her so off-guard that a small watery giggle escaped Áine’s aching throat. He cast a fond smile down at her, a smile she felt hints of when he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Leaning further into his natural inclinations, Astarion traced gentle patterns against Áine’s back until she was able to calm herself. He let his eyes close, meditating on her heart and her heat.

He was almost sure she’d dozed off when he heard her murmur, “It all brought back some unpleasant memories. That’s why…” She trailed off and he waited for her to collect herself and continue. “That’s why I fell apart so thoroughly, I think.”

Astarion dropped his head forward slightly, pulling her scent into his more or less useless lungs to ground himself and remind himself that she was more important than his anger. “Because I need you more than he does right now.” He skimmed his lips against her temple as he murmured back, “I can relate to that, for whatever it’s worth… Anything you’d like to talk about?”

Áine pursed her lips, bringing one of her hands up to her face to wipe away her tears. Was there anything she wanted to tell him? Anything that had been dredged up that would feel better left to the night air? Would it change anything, or make a difference? She’d never talked to someone about her past in any detail. “I’m not sure,” she admitted plainly. “I…don’t know if any of it’s worth bringing up.”

Astarion’s eyes opened into barely discernable slits to peer down at her. He couldn’t see her face, but he admired the sight of her wrapped up in him all the same. Besides that, he knew her well enough by now to not need a constant read on her expression to know at least somewhat how she felt. “It is up to you. But should you be inclined,” he mumbled, “I’m all pointy ears, my love.”

A small smile tugged at Áine’s lips. She sniffled again, but it was residual, and said, “In the shortest terms I can place it, I was a soldier once. Years ago. And mixed barracks are often not a kind place, especially among other drow.”

Astarion’s arms tightened around her just the slightest bit. His mind flashed back to the “kennels” wedged deep into the bowels of Cazador’s palace. The moldy, scratchy, tattered bunks. The smell of decaying rats and their old excrement amidst an array of other horrible, sour smells. Another deep inhale of her scent helped to center him, but barely.

“Your soldiering doesn’t surprise me from how many times I’ve seen you tear through a battlefield at this point,” he murmured. “Is the…barracks instance why you left?”

He felt her shake her head against his chest before she craned her head back to meet his eyes. Áine smiled softly when he took the opportunity to kiss the tip of her nose. “No,” she replied. “Those sorts of things were normal.”

Astarion scowled at the idea, suddenly wondering if anything he’d done or any of his advances had set something off for her in their time together. Without knowing, he could only be so upset with himself, but he still found himself half-asking, “...when you say ‘those sorts of things’?”

“The, uh, handsiness, I suppose,” she said carefully. More of that red-hot anger lanced through him. “The drunk handsiness specifically. Worse than what Gale did, but never the worst it could’ve been if that makes sense.”

While she spoke, Áine watched Astarion’s features, seeing a mingling of anger on her behalf and discomfort whenever his eyes drifted out of focus, taken by an unpleasant memory. She recognized that cocktail of emotions with ease as she often felt it, herself. With hesitation, he said, “I believe I understand what you mean.”

She was glad she didn’t need to go into further detail. She’d normalized it all to cope over the years, but the longer she’d spent away from her family and former comrades-in-arms, the more she’d realized just how fucked up the first 45 years or so of her life had been. It took getting away from it to see it at all. “It was more violent than anything,” she found herself admitting. “Just constant scraps and drunk fights. And training was no different.”

“It sounds dreadful, darling,” he informed her.

Her gaze shuttered slightly, remembering. “It was.”

“Why do it then?” he wondered. “Surely that sort of life wasn’t what you signed up for when you started, er, soldiering. You could hardly be blamed for—what?”

Áine had looked up at him while he spoke and she had a peculiar twinge to her expression. It took him a moment to realize it was sorrow. The sort with roots so deep they mixed with one’s marrow. “Astarion, I—” Her voice cracked, but she steeled herself. “I like to think I had a choice, but the older I get, the less I think I did.”

“Whatever could you mean?” he asked.

She shrugged, ducking her gaze to fix upon his shirt ties as she murmured, “It’s all I was born for.”

Astarion scoffed a little. “As in you felt it was your destiny?”

“No,” she said. “I mean it’s the only reason I was born.” Her whispering voice hardened. “I was conceived to serve and I did. Until I didn’t.”

“It’s all you’re good for, after all.”

Astarion’s throat constricted, searching the top of her bowed head as if it could provide as much context as the expression she hid from him. He didn’t know what to say to that. It hit too close to home and yet he had to acknowledge that he didn’t know how she felt in some ways at all. He’d had a life before he was nearly killed, before he began his next “life.” He could scarcely remember most of it, but he’d had it. And while it had been criminally short for the expected lifespan of a high elf, he couldn’t imagine being born into, raised into war.

His eyes traced the faint points of her ears, the crease between his brows deepening. A familiar recurring dread sent a wave of nausea through him to think about her mortality. Half-elves could live past 200 years of age, but it was so variable by blood. “It feels particularly wretched to have done that to you,” he murmured, “considering the time allowed to half-elves.”

“That’s why I’m half, too,” she murmured, stifling a yawn against the back of her hand. When she glanced up at him to find his features pinched in confusion, she explained simply, “Faster soldiers.”

So she’d been bred a half-elf because she’d mature faster than a full drow. A quicker workup for another body to be thrust into battle. For what? No reason could suffice, but he had to wonder what could’ve possibly been happening during his cyclical time suffering all means of torture and procuring prey for his master to have warranted such a cruel recruitment.

Bereft of anything else he could think to say, Astarion murmured, “...I’m sorry.”

Áine gave him a gentle goading look that he didn’t understand until she said in her little impression of his voice, “What could you have to be sorry for?”

He snorted and inclined his head. “Touché, my love.” Astarion traced his fingertips against the curve of her cheek, a complicated feeling curled in his chest like a sleeping cat. He realized gradually that it was compassion, only “complicated” for him. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, given what you’ve just told me,” he said slowly, “but I’m glad you are here.”

A tender smile traced her lips. “And I, you,” she murmured. “I suppose we can be selfish together.” More seriously, she added a quiet, “...Thank you. For listening.”

“Anytime,” Astarion said. He hesitated and pointed out to her and himself, “You would do the same for me. You have done the same for me.”

“Happily,” she said, sighing with contentment as she adjusted to settle back in against him and was rewarded by him drawing the blankets more snugly over them both and kissing her forehead. With sleep-bleary eyes, she glanced up at him and cautiously asked, “Are you alright?”

Astarion watched her affectionately as her body started to forcibly wind her down. “Me?” he asked with a teasing lilt to his voice as he gathered the woman lying against him even closer, finding that even that still wasn’t close enough. Would it ever be? “I’m in heaven, darling.”

Áine smiled and laughed a little at his flirting, but her features remained taut with seriousness. “You know what I mean,” she murmured. “Tonight set something off for you, too.”

He gave a noncommittal grumble. “Of course it did,” Astarion snipped, “I was worried for you. I still am.”

“And I appreciate that more than you know,” she reassured him. “But that’s not what I mean either.”

One of Astarion’s reflexive responses began to bubble up, but he contained it and he sighed instead. He sighed an awful lot for someone who had no functional use for breathing apart from a comfortable habit. “Not tonight, darling,” he said instead. “Soon. But not tonight.”

“Okay,” Áine said. “You’re okay though?”

“I am,” he reassured her. “I’ll be all the better if you rest.”

Áine yawned, accidentally emphasizing his point. “Tired of talking to me?” she teased him.

“Exceptionally,” he teased her back, smirking when she pressed a kiss under his jaw and returned her head to rest against his shoulder.

“Is this comfortable or should I move?” she asked, barely able to keep her eyes open at this point.

“I will be personally offended if you try to move,” he warned her, bringing a sleepy smirk to her face. It was a sight he memorized, craving to preserve it for an eternity at minimum.

“If I weren’t so tired, I’d do it just to see what happened,” she mumbled and he believed her. “Goodnight, Astarion.”

Astarion felt her heart slow as she slipped into sleep and he found himself studying her relaxed features for some time after. “Goodnight, sweet girl,” he murmured after she was already gone, simply musing over the turns his night—his existence even—had taken as he let himself bring his guard down just enough to let himself slip into a light meditation.

His first in centuries that was completely free of nightmarish memories and visions.

Their late night became morning with a swiftness that bordered on criminal and the pair were awakened too early for either of their likings.

Áine stirred with a groan, her hand finding purchase against soft cottony fabric and her fingertips feeling the smooth, cold plane of muscle beneath that brought her waking brain the recognition it needed. She ran her hand up until her hand cupped against the side of her bedmate’s neck and she was able to hook her arm back around him. She lifted her head and willed her eyes to open, greeted by a sight she was starting to find more beautiful than most sunrises.

Astarion, already alert, met her eyes and watched her wake with just the faintest line of tension in his otherwise softened expression. “Good morning,” he murmured, ever amused and bewitched by how wild her hair became once tossed by sleep. When she uttered another quieter grumble and tried unsuccessfully to blink the sleep from her eyes, Astarion chuckled. “Or perhaps not?”

“I slept like the dead,” she mumbled after using the arm she’d moved around him to pull herself up to kiss his cheek. “I think it may have killed me.”

He smirked. “Well, if you’ve passed, apparently you took me with you,” he remarked. If he were being honest, he would prefer it that way at the end of things. He couldn’t think of a better way to go than with her. Astarion inwardly balked at the hopelessly romantic thought, wondering who’d injected that into his mind. Worse than a tadpole, truly.

He felt Áine hum her acknowledgment of his statement against his throat between kisses and Astarion used his arm still wrapped beneath her to roll her into lying atop him. Undeterred by being transplanted, Áine nuzzled back into his neck, kissing a trail down to his collarbone and only lifting when her roving hands smoothed his shirt up off his torso. She held the offending fabric out of her way as she continued her winding trail down his stomach, taking her time with every languorous press and suck from her lips.

“And what are you getting up to?” Astarion asked, wincing slightly at how his voice broke a bit at the end, betraying the effect she had on him.

“Getting up to? No,” she murmured, her voice a sleepy, sensual husk that sent an immediate jolt through his body. “Going down…maybe. If you’ll humor me?”

Humor her? Hells, he’d get on his knees and beg her for the privilege. Astarion swallowed hard and nodded when her sleep-softened, hooded amber gaze flicked forward to check in with him. Áine’s mouth formed a faint, smug smile as she dropped it back down to his abdomen, her hands releasing the bunch of his shirt as she skimmed her fingertips down to his thighs, leaving tickling trails of heat in streaks down his stomach. He shivered, his hips instinctively canting upward as she gripped his thighs and settled herself between them.

“Are you always so frisky in the morning, my dear?” Astarion tried to tease her, but the pointed question came out so breathy he just felt a little embarrassed.

As far as Áine was concerned, his attempt to tease her had worked as just the sound of his oft-overcomposed voice trembling at the bare beginnings of her ministrations sent a clench through her inner thighs. She breathed in deep, composing herself as her fingertips moved deftly to make short work of his pants.

At least until they were interrupted by a not-distant-enough voice outside.

Áine’s hands stilled and she cocked her head ever so slightly to see if she’d imagined it. Or perhaps she’d misheard the word that sounded like her name. However, she heard it again and expelled the breath she’d just taken in with a frustrated sigh. Gale was asking after her next door, at her tent.

“Ignore him,” Astarion murmured severely and Áine may have found his ferocity amusing if she weren’t just as upset. Her fingers flexed against his waistband, wanting to keep going and ignore him as Astarion suggested.

And then again from the tent adjacent, “Áine, I’m sorry and I would love to explain in detail just how ashamed I am if you’d permit me to do so.” Gale’s voice was faintly muffled as if running a hand down his face.

Fainter still, closer to the fire, she suspected, Karlach’s voice joined the mix. “Gale, where’d you get the shiner? Drop a book on your face in bed?”

“Nothing so intelligent,” Gale sighed. “Am I being foolish, has she gone out scouting or something?”

Lae’zel’s voice emerged. “Astarion took her to his bed last night.” Something bristled in her tone and Áine couldn’t decide what it was until she heard Lae’zel add, “What is it exactly that you have to apologize for, Gale?”

Oh dear, Lae’zel was putting two and two together, which meant Áine had to brace to save the little rat’s life again.

“I’m going to kill him,” Astarion growled as Áine gave up on her morning misdeed, picked herself up off the tent floor, and straightened her clothes. “I was going to kill him before and now I’m going to kill him more slowly. Perhaps use one of his nasty little scrolls to bring him back so I can kill him a second time as well.”

Of all the bloody times for her to have to play party leader, it’d had to be this morning. This morning after he’d surfaced from a deep, satisfying reverie almost entirely free of the usual torment of painful flashbacks. He still struggled at times in their intimate moments, especially in the moments he felt out of control, regardless of whether or not he slipped into a script to cope. He didn’t feel in control this morning, but it didn’t feel bad either and, gods, he wanted to try at least! Even his usual anxieties about something being too much for him and her seeing him shut down seemed quieter than usual.

“There will be no killing the idiot wizard,” she declared in a whisper as she leaned down and captured his lips in a loving kiss. “As tempting as it may be. This wasn’t a one-time offer, don’t worry.”

“That’s hardly the point, my darling,” he grumbled, attempting to pull her back down with him to little avail. She laughed at his pouting expression. “Why didn’t you tell me that you’re so unbearably sexy as you wake in the morning?”

“You could’ve found out for yourself, you know,” Áine pointed out with a smile as she ruffled his curls. She decided to needle him a little as she put her boots on. “Besides, you woke with me after our first night together. Was I not so interesting then?”

Plenty interesting, frighteningly so, he answered internally. “Of course you were,” Astarion assured her, glaring at her boots as if they were singlehandedly responsible for taking her from his tent. “You’re simply even more ‘interesting’ now.”

Áine smirked. “What can I say? I like to snuggle.”

“Duly noted,” Astarion purred. And before she could insinuate it, he added, “And not just for the carnal bonuses… Last night was nice.”

Her features softened. “Apart from what inspired it, yes. It really was,” she agreed. Áine dared to lean in for one more smooch and dodged with only seconds to spare when he meant to snatch her back and tumble her beneath him. “Nice try, my love.”

Astarion dramatically threw his arm across his eyes when she stood up, soon forcing himself up—and the rest of him down—as well to follow her out of his tent and into whatever fray they were soon to step into. No way in the Hells was he going to let her walk out and face Gale alone, even if she didn’t seem concerned about doing so.

The first thing he saw, with satisfaction, was the blackened state of Gale’s left eye.

The wizard looked over when Áine emerged with Astarion directly behind her, his hackles already up. Clearing his throat, Gale looked at Áine, his studious brow creating a deep fissure at its middle. “Far be it from me to ask for a thing from you, but may I have a word?” he asked.

Áine nodded, glancing down the path from their camp and suggesting, “We can step out to chat if you’d prefer,” allowing him to save face, at least for the time being.

To her surprise and slight concern as well, he politely refused her out. “No, I think it’s best that I hang myself out to dry in mixed company,” Gale said, punctuating his words with a small shake of his index finger. “Good for the ego, you see.”

But good for the vitality? Áine wondered despite not arguing. “Very well, if you think so.” She had to give him some measure of props for this, she supposed. It was a bold choice.

Astarion was less impressed, no surprise there. Not only was he quite sure that nothing Gale could say would calm his ire, but he was quietly rooting for the others now to be upset like he was. More than that, he wanted Áine to be properly angry at him for the position he’d put her in.

They gathered near the fire and Áine sat adjacent to where Gale parked himself, feeling Astarion plunk himself down directly beside her. It was comforting, but she was also wary of her lover being only too happy to make Gale’s right eye match his left.

Lae’zel remained nearby, her eyes already severe on Gale’s back, and Shadowheart lingered while she worked on her breakfast. Áine felt the cleric’s gaze scan her for any signs of injury, the other woman’s frame only relaxing faintly when she found none. Karlach and Wyll were already at the fire when the three of them sat down and Halsin sat nearby as well, still portioning out breakfast. Karlach and Wyll’s conversation went quiet as they glanced between Áine, Astarion, and Gale, and the only sounds left in camp save for the crackling of the fire were Scratch and the owlbear cub having a game of tag nearby. Well, Gale had his audience.

“Right, what’s happened?” Shadowheart finally asked, clearly uneasy.

Gale cringed at her tone, his jaw working as he tried to parse together what to say. Áine remained silent, watching him clam up and deciding that she’d leave them in awkward silence until he drummed up the courage he’d had just a moment ago upon suggesting this route.

Astarion wasn’t as patient. Furious ruby eyes shot to meet Shadowheart’s as he said, “Our little Gale decided not to keep his hands—and his mouth, I’d wager—to himself last night, Áine’s consent on the matter be damned.”

Áine paled. Oh dear.

The ladle Halsin was using clacked loudly against the pot where he dropped it, his expression horrified as he looked between Gale and Áine. “Oak Father preserve us,” he murmured, but his expression was tinged with tension as if trying to keep his wild shape in check.

The scrape of steel preceded Lae’zel’s response, a fierce glare twisting her features. “Chk, I knew it,” she muttered, her sword glittering dangerously as she freed it. “I demand clarification.”

Wyll went ashen next to Karlach, who crushed the bowl in her hand, remnants of porridge burning black when they hit her blazing flesh. Through clenched teeth, Karlach ground out, “Please tell me there’s a good explanation for this, Gale.”

Shadowheart’s expression twisted with rage, but her attention went first to Áine instead. “Are you alright?” she asked, her fingertips white with pressure as she clutched her dining implements. When Áine nodded, her gaze burned a hole into Gale. “Your destroyer Mystra help you if she weren’t.”

“Please… I—,” he paused to sigh, leaning down to bury his face in his hands and collect himself before he sat up straight and turned fully to face Áine. “There is no ‘good’ explanation for something like this. And it is no excuse that I was out of my mind with wine, fear, and self-pity.

“However, I cannot properly express how sorry I am, Áine. That it happened at all with anyone, but especially that it was you. You’ve done so much for me—you’ve aided me in my affliction, you’ve been a trusted friend, a trusted ally, and I’ve repaid you with this and a deadly lie.”

He drew in a deep breath and she heard it shudder in his next words. “I do not deserve to carry on with you on this journey. In fact, I deserve little more than to find a barren patch of Faerûn to end my sorry existence on,” he stated, his hands balled in his lap to keep them from shaking. “But if you would allow me, I will take every available opportunity from here on to be a better friend, a better travel companion, and a better ally. And I will endeavor to never again take your kindness and care for granted as I know I have so far.”

Gale gave a weakened sigh as he pushed an anxious hand through his chestnut locks. “And…for whatever it’s worth, nothing about what happened was premeditated,” he added. “Again, it fixes nothing, but I wanted you to know that.”

The silence sat for a long few minutes. All eyes shifted to Áine, awaiting her verdict, while hers stayed fastened on Gale. He felt her measure his worth and the weight of his words as if she, too, were imbued with magic. As if she could see through all that he was.

Slowly, Áine nodded. “So stay. And prove your intentions.”

Gale hastened to nod. “Thank you. I swear, I’ll never a—”

He fell silent when Áine raised a hand. “I require action, not more words,” she said, letting her hand fall back in her lap. “I’d rather not speak of it again.” Astarion could tell in the strain of her voice that she was still upset and just hiding it as flawlessly as ever.

A large hand lowered in front of her and offered her a bowl of porridge and fruit. Áine looked up and accepted the bowl from Halsin as he laid a brief, comforting hand against her hair. She thanked him and he nodded then turned away to reclaim his seat and continue his work by the fire.

Wyll had shifted closer to them from Astarion’s unoccupied side, reaching across him to touch Áine’s arm and ask quietly again if she was okay. When she said she was, he glanced toward Astarion to get confirmation. The vampire gave him a nod of confirmation and only then did Wyll relax, glancing at Karlach as she worked to temper her rage.

Lae’zel scoffed at the outcome, resheathing her blade. “I have killed gleefully and for far less,” she intoned, glaring down at Gale. “Do not test my might with a second misstep.”

Áine felt Astarion’s arm slip around her shoulders as he agreed with the githyanki. “I, too, have killed for much less,” he said. “Legally and otherwise.” She occasionally forgot he’d been a magistrate in another life.

“You know, normally I’d offer a quick fix to alleviate something like a black eye,” Shadowheart mused, inclining her head to get a good look at Gale’s face. “However, I think you could do with a little suffering for your transgressions. If you’re good, I might change my mind further down the road.”

Gale winced at his companions’ threats, nodding in acknowledgment to each as he wrung his hands. “It’s less damage than I deserved surely,” he agreed. “This will be left to fade in its own time.”

“Karlach, did you want a fresh bowl?” Halsin offered the blazing tiefling.

“Maybe here shortly,” Karlach replied, giving her chest a couple of pounds with the side of her fist. The iron chamber echoed in response. “I love you lot to bits, but you give me heartburn.”

Áine and the others broke the tension a few degrees by smiling at her semi-intentional joke. When the group had more or less dispersed to begin packing up camp, Astarion addressed Áine, his arm still draped around her and his fingertips tracing small circles on the back of her arm. “You,” he accused, “were way too soft on him.”

She shrugged, looking tired all over again as she popped the last raspberry from her breakfast bowl into her mouth. “I know,” she said. “I’m still upset, but I do understand where it came from. And nothing…okay, almost nothing, stop looking at me like that…actually happened.” Áine pursed her lips. “I’m just trying to let bygones be bygones, I suppose.”

Astarion glared down at her but still stroked her arm despite his agitation. “Dearest, just because ‘nothing happened’ does not mean you’re not due your rage.”

Áine laughed sharply. “If I ever really unleashed all my pent-up anger at everyone who ever wronged me, I’m not sure I’d be able to stop.”

Astarion gave her a considering look and responded with a shrug of his own. “I would personally pay admission to see it,” he said, his lingering impulse to have a few more swings at the wizard nearby only assuaged by the sweet sound of her laughter.

“Hardly a welcome party,” Wyll remarked as he cast a glance toward the iron portcullis that separated them currently from a raging minotaur.

It roared as it beat its horns against the grated gate while the stone atop the statue of Selûne towering above them in the outpost they were setting up camp within shot the beast with bolts of light. The bolts ceased the moment the creature fell dead to the ground, thin tendrils of smoke rising from its smoldered flesh.

Áine frowned and cast a vague gesture toward the dank yet somehow still beautiful caverns surrounding the manmade lookout they camped inside which looked like a pinprick in comparison to the vast cave system that was truly its own world beneath a world. “Welcome to the Underdark,” she said dispassionately. They’d made good time in getting there, only an extra two days added to their journey to backtrack.

“I don’t mean to make any assumptions, Áine,” Gale said, “but did you grow up down here?”

Astarion stiffened and watched Áine out of the corner of his eye to see how she reacted to the question about her younger years. Now that he knew what he knew, even these casual questions made him want to intervene in some way.

She took it in stride, not looking bothered at all, and he could only assume that she’d had to deal with friendly personal questions often enough that reaching back just far enough into her memories no longer came at much of a cost. “I didn’t,” she said. “This isn’t my first time down here, but I frequented Baldur’s Gate more than I ever frequented the Underdark.” It wasn’t a lie in the slightest, Áine self-congratulated. It just adjusted the conversation away from the natural next question, which would have been, “Oh, then where did you grow up?”

Shadowheart grimaced up at the Selûne statue and the light that shone from its gem. “Just how long are we intending to leave that infernal thing up there?” she asked.

“As long as it’s of use to us,” Áine asserted, nodding toward the felled minotaur. “When we get ready to leave, I’ll shoot it down or something. For now, while we rest, it’s a nice bit of insurance.”

“Already nostalgic for the sun, Astarion?” Lae’zel guessed when she spotted the vampire. Áine followed her gaze and found him frowning up at the pitch-black cavern ceilings.

Astarion sighed without looking at her. “Of course, I am,” he replied, sounding more inconvenienced than nostalgic. “Imagine being deprived of something for 200 years, getting it back, and then ending up in a place you can’t enjoy it for however long your reprieve lasts.”

To his surprise, he heard the gith grumble in agreement. “Understood,” she acquiesced. “It is only a matter of time before we surface again.” Was she trying to reassure him?

“Even then,” Halsin said with a forlorn expression, “it will be some time before the sun can touch us again. The shadow curse is…” He paused, considering his words. “Vicious.”

“What exactly is the shadow curse?” Wyll asked, his voice appropriately wary.

Suffocating, Áine answered silently. Dismal. Horrifying. She’d never grown accustomed to it in her lifetime there. After quick missives to the city or even to the Underdark, the lands surrounding Moonrise had always felt even more macabre. Darker. Hungrier. Because for all its darkness and strangeness, the Underdark wasn’t a cursed region. It was simply different as it was underground. In some ways, it was beautiful. The curse cloaking the lands they were heading toward was unnatural.

Halsin essentially answered with the same feelings she had, if not different words. Her eyes cast down toward the campfire Gale was working over to prepare them some dinner and, across from her a few paces away, Astarion watched the flames lick her amber irises.

He was a bit of a fool, but he wasn’t fool enough to not realize when two puzzle pieces fit together. Her reaction to Halsin’s first mention of this place and then everything she’d told him last night was piecing together. Astarion could be wrong, but he had a feeling that they were walking back into someplace she’d much sooner forget than return to. He knew next to nothing of her past ten years, only that she’d gotten away in that time to find her own path.

The entire idea was a conjecture. It could’ve been something entirely different that had driven her to panic at the idea of going to Moonrise. However, he couldn’t think of an alternative theory, so he let that one sit for now. Instead, despite knowing from the sun’s position just before their descent into this place that it would be nighttime aboveground, he glared toward the caves surrounding them as if he could drill skylights into them through the power of spite.

Astarion glanced over when he sensed someone coming to stand beside him, knowing instinctually that it wasn’t Áine based on the footfalls and presence alone. The last person he’d expected to see was Gale.

Their eyes met and Astarion’s narrowed with wary speculation. The black eye he’d given the wizard was starting to yellow at the edges as it healed. Shadowheart had finally offered to relieve him of it the previous evening, but he’d politely refused. Astarion also knew that Gale was capable of a simple healing spell that would absolve his bruising within seconds. Was he trying to prove something by keeping it?

Gale noticed Astarion scrutinizing his handiwork and gave a self-deprecating smirk. “It was a good punch,” the wizard commented, his pale companion stiffening when spoken to. “And well-deserved.”

“Indeed,” Astarion agreed, his suspicion at the interaction coating his words.

Gale sighed. “Thank you,” he said finally, “for putting me in my place. For helping her.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Astarion snapped.

“I know,” Gale murmured, his tone careful and placating. It did the opposite to Astarion’s mood. The wizard seemed to be thinking better of approaching in the first place, but he squared his shoulders a little instead of changing his mind. “I also want to offer my apologies—”

“You’re apologizing to the wrong person,” Astarion interrupted him, his tone dismissive.

“I’m not,” Gale said with the patience of a saint. “I’ve apologized to Áine almost every time I’ve dared to speak with her. She’s since told me I’m not allowed to say that I’m sorry more than once daily ‘if I absolutely must say it at all’.” A faint smirk crossed Astarion’s lips at the wizard’s recollection of Áine’s direct orders. That’s my girl. “All that to say… I broke your trust, too.”

Astarion scoffed. “Bold of you to assume you had it at all.”

“Indeed,” Gale said, nervously resting his hand against his neck. “Too bold. But if, on the off chance I did in the slightest and it is now broken, I am deeply sorry, Astarion. I wronged her most, but I wronged you as well. I don’t remember much from that night, but your relationship with her has never been a secret, and even blind-drunk it would be an obvious thing.”

The vampire shifted uncomfortably. “You speak as if you moved in on my territory.”

Bewildered, Gale said, “Well, of course. I did.”

“She is not mine,” Astarion murmured. “She is not beholden to me and can bed whomever she wants. That’s hardly the point of my upset.”

“I think I’ve misspoken, so let me try again,” Gale said, weighing his words over again. “I endangered her. Full stop. This is my greatest sin. Separate from that, I caused a shockwave of worry and hurt for everyone who cares about her.”

“Then why apologize specifically to me?” Astarion demanded defensively.

Gale’s pleading demeanor began to dissipate and he raised a brow at Astarion as if to ask if he was seriously asking that question of him. “Because, exclusive or not, you care about each other deeply,” he said.

“That’s too bold,” Astarion declared in a grumble.

To Astarion’s surprise and irritation, Gale just smiled. “It’s a good thing,” he stated in a gentler tone. “It’s not my place to press, so I won’t. Just know that I value you as part of the group and I hope to earn back—to earn your trust someday, despite probably not deserving it.” He glanced toward the portcullis as another minotaur slunk closely enough for the statue of Selûne to rear back to life. “I at least hope to not do anything that will warrant getting punched by you again.”

“Let’s start with that,” Astarion muttered, thrown off by the idea of someone wanting to prove themself to him.

“It’s a deal,” Gale agreed, palpable relief in his voice that simply served to confuse Astarion even more. “Right, well, I’ll cease bothering you. Thank you.”

Astarion gave a noncommittal grunt that sent Gale on his way. He still had an inkling to maim him, but his ire had slowly wound down over the last couple of days. He’d gone from a state of hypervigilance and practically hovering over Áine back to his normal level of watchfulness once it became clear that Gale meant what he’d promised her and seemed to be actively trying at every turn to redeem himself. Unlike the others though, Astarion was at best slow to forgive if he did at all and never to forget.

The sweetly low drone of a flute note drew his attention back to the center of camp, his scarlet stare fastening with a quiet reverence on the bard perched upon the statue’s massive base, a purloined wooden flute held enviably to her puckered lips. The flute was a bit clunkier but more ornate and unique than the one she’d been carrying when he’d met her, an indistinct instrument only special when she’d turned it into an accidental weapon.

A smirk traced his mouth at the memory, unexpectedly tender toward such a gory memory. If he were honest with himself, truly, that was what had started it for him. He absently wondered when it had begun for her as he watched her tease a melody from the unextraordinary hollow tube with little more than her breath and fingers. The purposeful chaining of notes swirled upward, drifting against the obsidian stone surrounding them and returning in gentle form.

Sometime in the “night”—what was night really when it was always so dark?—Astarion ended up near the fire, using its warmth in place of the sun which surely had to be coming up by now on the surface. He was also using a bit of the flickering light to once again mend a fray in his doublet embroidery despite hardly wearing it on their travels anymore, some of the lighter armor they’d found proving a better option as they went further and further into the thick of things. He was among the last awake, which wasn’t unusual, and it was just himself, Halsin, and Áine.

Halsin had been ever more restless the closer they got to another shot at entering the shadow-cursed lands he spoke of, but even he retired after another hour with a quiet “goodnight” bid to each of those remaining awake. Astarion nodded in response, focused on his stitching. He’d completed his fix on his past work and now worked on a new line on the left wrist of the doublet, trying his hand at embroidering a lilac design while he idly listened to Áine toying with her lute behind him.

She’d remained on her perch—he wasn’t completely sure she could get down from that height on her own without it being amusingly clumsy, which he was looking forward to—and forsaken the flute for the night when their party had begun to go off to bed in favor of a quieter instrument. Astarion only lifted his head from his work when he heard her speak.

No… Heard her sing.

He slowly turned his head to look at her, wondering if he even should. Had she forgotten he was still there with her? He had the answer to his question when their eyes met.

Hers were, not unexpectedly, already pooling with tears. A faint smirk played on her mouth as instead of whatever lyric to the song she meant to sing next, she sang in tune to the melody, “Will my performance infringe on your work?” to see if she was bothering him, he supposed. As if she were capable of that.

Astarion chuckled and shook his head in reply, just marveling at her for everything she was. Finding a way to check on him, even make him laugh a little, while she sat there also amused but in such sweet melancholy, he could feel a twinge of it himself by extension.

Her gaze dropped back down to her lute as she adjusted her fingertips and he meant to return to his embroidery, but he just couldn’t look away from her. She was an enchanting sight—long legs half-tucked under her and pressed against the stonework beneath her, starlight-colored tresses that put real constellations to shame, shuttered dark amber eyes that lightened like honey when the firelight caught them just right.

He rose to his feet as she slowly brought her song to a close, her voice ghosting against the walls surrounding them. As she sang through the repetitious last lines—”Never wanted to leave,”—Astarion took measured steps toward her. She watched his progress without faltering as he came close enough to place his hands neatly atop her knee, his chin resting against them as he held her gaze and his silence. He noticed that her skin, even in the faintest reaches of the Underdark’s bioluminescent glow, looked more radiant than ever.

Áine let her final note carry and fade and they simply gazed at each other for a long moment in mutual fascination. She didn’t even think to wipe her eyes until he shifted in their stillness, arranged his doublet over one arm, and then held his arms open for her. The bard smiled, her somber air feathering into obscurity for now, and carefully maneuvered her arms around his shoulders and her lute behind his back.

She let him pluck her off her stage, wrapping her legs around his waist as he supported her with one strong arm firmly slanted across her back, his hand spread to hold the underside of one of her thighs. Astarion kissed her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder and he walked them and their instruments of choice back to her tent tonight.

What they had couldn’t continue to spiral from its noxiously selfish origin point. He’d go mad if it did. He had no idea if he was capable of offering her something real—if he had anything of the sort left to give, if he’d ever had it in him in the first place—but he’d wanted to since that first night they’d spent together. Probably even longer than that if he allowed himself to be sincere.

And he supposed if he wanted an honest chance with her, he had to finally tell her the truth.

Next chapter: Chapter 16, "Full of Surprises"

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bi-bard · 8 months

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Unreal Unearth - Hozier Writing Challenge Masterlist

Hello! Here's the writing challenge masterlist for Hozier's "Unreal Unearth".

This is easily one of the most beautiful albums I've ever listened to it. It is full of gorgeous lyrics and music. I hope that the stories I have constructed for it can reflect that.

I hope you guys enjoy these stories!

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De Selby (Pt. 1)

And Sit Unseen, With Only the Inner Upheld Jack Kline X Reader [Supernatural] Summary: Two Nephilims find themselves taking shelter with the Winchesters. However, no safety and security could match up to true connection and understanding.

De Selby (Pt. 2)

I Wanna Fade Away with You Dick Grayson X Reader [HBO's Titan] Summary: (Y/n) and Dick's connection was one to be envied. By friends and family and anyone who had known them. This connection is good until it seems to be turning Dick into someone different. Now, the biggest question is whether or not that change is bad.

First Time

Some Part of Me Came Must Have Died the Final Time You Called Me, "Baby" Joel Miller X Reader [HBO's The Last of Us] Summary: Joel is offered a rare glimpse of hope after the apocalypse had started. However, the universe can pull away signs of hope just as fast it can offer them.

Francesca

If I Could Hold You for a Minute, I'd Go Through It Again Sam Winchester X Angel!Reader [Supernatural] Summary: Love can lead to the sacrifice of many things.

I, Carrion (Icarian)

If I Should Fall, On that Day, I Only Pray, Don't Fall Away From Me Alina Starkov X Reader [Shadow & Bone] Summary: Alina never wanted to drag (Y/n) into a battle that should have been hers to fight. However, (Y/n)'s own stubbornness led to them being on the front lines when the time came. All that could be done was hope that they could find a way out of the darkness surrounding them.

Eat Your Young

It's Quicker and Easier to Eat Your Young Peaky Blinders X Child!Reader [Peaky Blinders] Summary: A new gang attempts to put down roots in Birmingham, much to the displeasure of the Shelbys. However, as tensions rise, more is revealed about this new gang... including some concerning cracks in the foundation.

Damage Gets Done

You and I Had Nothing to Show but the Best of the World in the Palm of Our Hand Daisy Jones X Reader [Daisy Jones & the Six] Summary: In which two dear friends find themselves face-to-face years after they lost contact with each other and it's as if a day had never truly passed. Except that it did. The only question will be what they will do now that it had and they were both such different people.

Who We Are

And the Hardest Part is Who We Are Nikolai Lantsov X Reader [Shadow & Bone] Summary: A long line of unfortunate events leads two old friends to learn more about each other and themselves.

Son of Nyx

Son of Nyx Crowley X Reader [Good Omens] Summary: Crowley is forced to find a newly fallen angel and ensure that they are brought down to Hell. Through the fear-induced chase, an act of kindness finds its place between Crowly and the new demon.

All Things End

And Just Knowin' that Everything Will End Should Not Change Our Plans Merlin X Reader [BBC's Merlin] Summary: A story of love, loss, and accepting the inevitable.

To Someone From a Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe)

And Darlin', All My Dreamin' has Only Been Given a Name Anthony Bridgerton X Reader [Bridgerton] Summary: When Anthony goes from perfectly friendly to all too distant, (Y/n) is left scrambling for some kind of explanation. The only question will be how long it takes for Anthony to provide such an answer.

Butchered Tongue

A Butchered Tongue Still Singin' Here Above the Ground Morgana X Reader [BBC's Merlin] Summary: Morgana escapes from Camelot after her attempt to tear apart the kingdom and kill Uther. Now alone, she finds some kindness in (Y/n), who may end up being far more important than Morgana would have ever considered.

Anything But

I Would Do Everything Just to Run Away The Corinthian X Reader [The Sandman] Summary: A dream is convinced to follow a nightmare out of the safety of the Dreaming. They learn just how much of a mistake that was... and how careful they must be to get home.

Abstract (Psychopomp)

All My Love and Terror Balanced Between Those Eyes Will Graham X Reader [NBC's Hannibal] Summary: A collection of nightmares that have been haunting Will the most recently.

Unknown/Nth

And There are Some People, Love, Who are Better Unknown The Master X Reader [Doctor Who] Summary: [End of Season 12] The Master was known for doing whatever was necessary to get what he wanted. However, after so much time together, (Y/n) wanted to believe that they would be offered some kind of mercy. Oh, how wrong they were.

First Light

But After This I'm Never Gonna Be the Same and I Am Never Going Back Again Eleventh Doctor X Reader [Doctor Who] Summary: (Y/n) had never known true peace like they did with the Doctor. They had never known such support, such acceptance, such love. What will happen when (Y/n) learns that their perfect existence isn't all that they thought it was?

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Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

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purpie-goddess · 7 months

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Good Omens as Hozier Unreal Unearth Lyrics

De Selby 1- No closer could I be to God / Or why he could do what he's done

De Selby 2- too down bad for good omens let's be real

First Time- not applicable so much, unless it's 'first time that you called me angel' lol

Francesca (works so well for Crowley)- Heaven is not fit to house a love like you and I

I, Carrion (Icarian) - We'll float away, but if we fall I only pray, don't fall away from me / I do not have wings, love, I never will, soarin' over a world you are carryin'

Eat Your Young- N/A

Damage Gets Done - That first car was like wings on an angel (and you flew away) / Before the whole wide world got too thin

Who We Are (Is literally perfect for them) - You and I burned out our steam chasing someone else's dream / How can something be so much heavier but so much less than what it seems? / Darling, we sacrificed / We gave our time to something undefined

All Things End (Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever) - I have never known a silence like the one fallen here / Never watched my future darken in a single tear / And all things end / All that we intend is built on sand / Slips right through our hands

To Someone From a Warm Climate - There are some things that no one teaches you, love / That God in his awful wisdom first programs in

Butchered Tongue will never mean anything else to me but a lament for Gaelic language and the generational trauma of my Irish ancestors so I'll omit it

Anything But- I don't wanna be anything / But I would do anything just to run away

Abstract (Psychopomp) - The Earth from a distance / See how it shines

Unknown/Nth (Buckle in) - You called me angel for the first time / My heart leapt from me / You smile now, I can see its pieces still stuck in your teeth / And what's left of it, I listen to it tick / Every tedious beat going unknown as any angel to me / Do you know, I could break beneath the weight / Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you

First Light - Darkness always finds you either way / It creeps into the corners as the moment fades / A voice your body jumps to calling out your name / But after this I'm never gonna be the same / And I am never going back again

#good omens #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 spoilers #good omens season two #hozier #unreal unearth #hozier unreal unearth

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hearts4cara · 9 months

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okay in order to not be too obnoxious (or break post limit) i am putting all my thoughts about unreal unearth here. so album spoilers if u care about that go listen to it its incredible!!!! n e ways here are my thoughts on each song :)

de selby (part 1) - okay im so excited to have lyrics for this album because What is he saying...still such a beautiful song. i missed softer/acoustic hozier so i adored that but the like part where it gets louder at the end?? AMAZING!! i also think some lyrics weren't in English so i'm very intrigued to see the translations.

also THE TRANSITION BETWEEN THIS AND PART 2??? CHEF'S KISS PERFECTION

de selby (part 2) - of course i've already heard this as it was a single but hearing it paired with part 1 actually made me love it more, like the instrumentals are the ones in part 1 but its more upbeat and it's great!! i have no clue what he's talking about but that's what genius.com and smarter tumblrinas are for <3

first time - OH. MY. GOSH. easily a new favorite of hozier's that was fucking incredible. he sounds BEAUTIFUL and the lyrics??? oh my gosh??? so amazing. and like it's so danceable but i got teary at the end. oh my gosh. cannot say that enough. actually breathtaking.

francesca - already listened to it but it just cannot be overstated how amazing this song is. i truly think its one of hozier's best. his voice sounds insanely good and the instrumentals KILL but the lyrics are really what do it for me. they're so fucking beautiful.

i, carrion (icarian) - that was so beautiful. such a pretty song, i adore the guitar and violins (?? i'm not musically talented i'm guessing that's what they are dsjdsfk) and i'm actually in love with the lyrics. like. oh my gosh top tier love song (if i interpreted right lol). also the title is like a 3-way plan on words (i, carrion, icarian, and i carry on im guessing?) and i am very excited to figure out what they mean fjdsdk. so good.

eat your young - another one we've already heard! tbh i'm enjoying this pattern of non-single to single bc i need a break after how good the nonsingles are LMAO. this song is so fucking good! like as the first single it needed to prove how good this album is and MAN it did. the lyrics are so great, he sounds amazing and the instrumentals are so good. not much to say but i love this song so much.

damage gets done (feat. brandi carlile) - okay i had incredibly high hopes for this and i still like it, but not as much as the others so far sskjd brandi & andrew's voices blend beautifully though there's no denying that. i just wasn't vibing as much. but it's still a great song!! not bad at all just not as good as the others!

who we are - WOW. not as like life-changing as some of the others but that was beautiful. like. WOW. those lyrics are so incredible. like the opening lyric already had me in a puddle of my own tears. so good.

son of nyx - okay i wasn't expecting a (mostly) instrumental track but maybe i should've been! i liked it a lot!! the like ambience had me hooked from the beginning and i really like it. it belongs in a fantasy movie soundtrack i think.

all things end - back to a single! i totally expected this to be the last song on the album but i got no problems with it being here. this is such a beautiful song with such potent (big words!) lyrics, and all of the voices harmonizing is so gorgeous. i adore this song so much, it's so underrated and that better change!!

to someone from a warm climate (uiscefhuaraithe) - WOW. that was so insanely beautiful. while i love the more produced songs of his i am a firm believer that hozier sounds better acoustically because his voice is just flawless. i need lyrics & a meaning for this song STAT because i kind of gathered it but i need more!! so in love with this one.

butchered tongue - i expected this one to be my favorite and i don't think it is but MAN it's so good. you can hear his voice and his accent so well which makes me feel so many things. also another softer song which are my favs. i just adore this, the lyrics are beautiful and just <33 i'm in love with it!!

(okay in between here i took a big break bc i felt sick and came back much more sleepy so if that impacts the writing i apologize lmfao

anything but - the lyrics are probably gutwrenching but i didn't hear them so i'm taking this from what i heard which is WHIMSICAL!!! not my favorite but i liked it a lot, was smiling and bopping my head. great time. loved the backing vocals.

abstract (psychopomp) - OH MY GOSHHHH HELLO!!!!! this is an absolute banger. displays hozier's vocals so so well but it has a BEAT! so in love with it. and those lyrics...i need to lay down

unknown / nth - another single!! i could write essays about this song. everyone and their grandma needs to listen to this song. it's fucking perfection. best song on the album. i cried the first time i heard the bridge just because of the emotion in his voice and the build of the instrumentals. it's seriously so good. the lyrics are incredible and it just makes me feel so much. 10000/10 perfect song

first light - I THINK I JUST ASCENDED. God that was SUCH a beautiful song and such a great closer. all of the backing vocals were so (i can't think of another word sorry) beautiful, but tbh my favorite part oddly enough were the last like 10 seconds where it just ended with guitar. it's such a like ethereal song and then it does that to end the album. and i adored it.

okay overall that was a fucking EXPERIENCE. literally everything i could hope for and more. thanks for reading all my musings if u did i love u forever. hozier the man that you are. i will rank it eventually but for now i need to sleep and think about how these songs are so aziracrow coded (look at me only mentioning them once! it was very hard lmfaoo) i love this album 0 skips i love hozier okay GOODNIGHT

#WOW that was a lot #loved every second #cara says stuff #hozier #unreal unearth

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uwererightiwaswronguwereright · 4 months

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A list of song quotes i like + recommendations (will be updated as i live life):

Give me recs based off what u see!

“Love after you / A miracle that’s dying out / Every stupid poem you would write about / Is laughing in my hands” - Love After You (Madds Buckley)

“I scratch while you relax / Ruffling feathers watching storm clouds pass / Hoping I’ll make you hate the thunder too / Digging in my claws will make you hate me too” - DogBird (Madds Buckley)

“And we settle in the comfort of / The bones that rest beneath / And I’d lose every penny that I find / To keep your soul with mine” - Anything Anything Anything (Madds Buckley)

“I’m the gamble to your loaded dice” - I Lose to You (Madds Buckley)

“Be the light that I see when the light has left me / When you hold me I feel holy / When you kiss me I bleed” - Wine and Wheat (Madds Buckley) listen to it

“You’re slipping through my fingers with the sands of time / And I’m missing the piece of you that used to be mine” - Everything Changes in Time (Madds Buckley)

“Wonder if better now having survived” - Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene (Hozier)

“Anyway, you say you're too busy / Saving everybody else to save yourself / And you don't want no help, oh, well / That's the story to tell” - It’s Called Freefall (Rainbow Kitten Surprise - cover by Paris Paloma)

“If the sun don't rise / 'Til the summertime / Forgive my northern attitude / Oh, I was raised on little light” - Northern Attitude (Noah Kahan ft. Hozier) ironic because i’m in a hot desert climate

“And I'll dream each night of some version of you / That I might not have, but I did not lose / Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes / And I'm split in half, but that'll have to do” - Stick Season (Noah Kahan)

“Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns / It's quicker and easier to eat your young” - Eat Your Young (Hozier)

“And all things end / All that we intend is scrawled in sand / Or slips right through our hands / And just knowing / That everything will end / Should not change our plans / When we begin again” - All Things End (Hozier)

“I wanna run against the world that's turnin' / I'd movе so fast that I'd outpace the dawn / I wanna be gonе” - De Selby Part 2 (Hozier)

“Of the goodness, love, I still carry for you / That I'd walk so far just to take / The injury of finally knowing you” - Unknown / Nth (Hozier)

“My love, you're something special / I've never met someone like you / You'd make me fall from heaven” - The Fruits (Paris Paloma)

“The sky set to burst / The gold and the rust / The color erupts / You filling my cup / The sun coming up / Like I lived my whole life / Before the first light” - First Light (Hozier)

“And have your guarded heart be lifted like a child up by the hand / In some town that just means "Home" to them / With no translator left to sound / A butchered tongue still singin' here above the ground” - Butchered Tongue (Hozier)

“When you hate the body you are in / Oh, love, you're actin' just for him / As he counts his gold and green in his ivory tower / Our fear, it lines his pockets, love, so take that rage and bottle up” - as good a reason (Paris Paloma)

“We're born at night / So much of our lives / Is just carving through the dark / To get so far / And the hardest part / Is who we are” - Who We Are (Hozier)

“All of me changed / Like midnight / Rain, he wanted it comfortable / I wanted that pain” - Midnight Rain (Taylor Swift)

“But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze / My footsteps on the ground / You'll see my face in every place / But you can't catch me now” - Can’t Catch Me Now (Olivia Rodrigo)

“Because your child will be smarter than you and their children will be smarter than them / Each generation smarter than the last / And these trees will grow and grow until there's an entire orchard of you / And yes they will get old, yes they will get sick, yes they will die / But in the process they will discover” - Apple (The Narcissist Cookbook)

“When my time comes around / Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth / No grave can hold my body down / I'll crawl home to her” - Work Song (Hozier)

“On sunny days I go out walking / I end up on a tree-lined street / I look up at the gaps of sunlight / I miss you more than anything” - Francis Forever (Mitski)

“On some level, I think I always understood / That a ship could never really love an anchor / So, I did the only thing that I could / And severed the rope to set you sailing from my harbor” - Never Love an Anchor (The Crane Wives)

“And I'll be okay / Admiring from afar / Cause even when she's next to me / We could not be more far apart” - She (Dodie)

“Cause there were pages turned with the bridges burned / Everything you lose is a step you take / So make the friendship bracelets / Take the moment and taste it / You've got no reason to be afraid” - You’re On Your Own, Kid (Taylor Swift)

“Leave all your love and your longing behind / You can't carry it with you if you want to survive” - Dog Days Are Over (Florence + the Machine)

“We creep up on extinction / I pull your arms right in / I weep and say goodnight, love / While my organs pack it in / And here it is, our final night alive” - As the World Caves In (Matt Maltese)

“With each love I cut loose, I was never the same / Watching still living roots be consumed by the flame / I was fixed on your hand of gold / Laying waste to my lovin' long ago” - Would That I (Hozier)

“C'mere to me, I wish I was a mayfly on the River Tay / I'd fit all my joys and my pleasures in one perfect day / I wish I was the sunlight, just sitting on the Mississippi / I'd settle for a shopping trolley in the Liffey / In a shot, I'd swap my body for a body of water” - Anything But (Hozier)

“Honey, I laugh when it sinks in / A pillar I am of pride / Scarcely can speak for my thinking / What you'd do to me tonight” - Dinner and Diatribes (Hozier)

“I'm untetherin' from the parts of me you'd recognize / From charmin' to alarmin' in seconds / I'll be bedridden, I'll let the pain metastasize / But that's mornin', I'll forget it / And the dial tone is all I have” - Dial Drunk (Noah Kahan)

“I knew that look dear / Eyes always seeking / Was there in someone / That dug long ago / So I will not ask you / Why you were creeping / In some sad way I already know” - Like Real People Do (Hozier)

“I can be an old tattoo / To remind me when I get bad news / That I do not exist to die / But live to die while saving you” - She Calls Me Back (Noah Kahan ft. Kacey Musgraves)

“Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago / Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword / Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know / I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door” - From Eden (Hozier)

“I hate the beach / But I stand in California with my toes in the sand / Use the sleeves of my sweater” - Sweater Weather (The Neighbourhood)

“You asked me why I wasn't sayin' a word / I'm namin' the stars in the sky after you / It was a work of art / That's the hardest part” - Your Needs, My Needs (Noah Kahan)

“You said my heart has changed and my soul has changed / And my heart, and my heart / That my life has changed, that this town had changed / And you had not” - Orange Juice (Noah Kahan)

“Now I know your name, but not who you are / It's all okay / There ain't a drop of bad blood, it's all my love” - All my Love (Noah Kahan)

“Everywhere, everything, I wanna love you / 'Til we're food for the worms to eat / 'Til our fingers decompose, keep my hands in yours” - Everywhere, Everything (Noah Kahan)

“It's all washin' over me, I'm angry again / The things that I lost here, the people I knew / They got me surrounded for a mile or two / The car's in reverse, I'm grippin' the wheel / I'm back between villages and everything's still” - The View Between Villages (Noah Kahan)

“The memory hurts / But does me no harm / Your hand in my pocket / To keep us both warm” - Abstract Psychopomp (Hozier)

“All the tales the same / Told before and told again / A soul that's born in cold and rain” - Sunlight (Hozier)

“The birds will still sing, your folks will still fight / The boards will still creak, the leaves will still die / We ain't angry at you, love / We'll be waitin' for you, love” - You’re Gonna Go Far (Noah Kahan)

“Now that it's done / There's not one thing that I would change / My life was a storm, since I was born / How could I fear any hurricane?” - Francesca (Hozier)

“Heaven is not fit to house a love / Like you and I” - Francesca (Hozier)

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lesbianmelkor · 6 months

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THE WHORE SLEEPS BADLY: a playlist for Emilio Sandoz

notes on songs under the cut!! emilio art credit to @ferretteeth

Alone Together - Fall Out Boy

this is the road to ruin and we´re starting at the end!!! emilio deserves to have some angsty music and also. this song is about being alone without being alone and being trapped and being loved for the worst things about yourself. i don´t know where i´m going but i dont think i´m coming home!!

2. Be Afraid - Jason Isbell and the 400 Unit

this is a song about feeling like g-d is ignoring you and feeling like you´re not living up to your potential and also the lyric "we´ve been testing you and you failed to see how long that you could hold it in before you screamed, but you only exhaled" g-ddddddd.

3. Bite the Hand - Boygenius

another song about emilio´s relationship with g-d. "i can´t love you how you want me to"?? he comes home and he can´t do it anymore!! it´s gone!! he´ll bite the hand that feeds him!!! also. "i can´t hear you, you´re too far away" cause he left g-d behind him on rakhat.

4. Butchered Tongue - Hozier

This is actually a pre-priesthood linguistics song for emilio!! minority culture always having to speak in another language than your own, especially for taino emilio... and then speaking these languages that literally nobody else on the planet speaks!! crazy

5. Colorblind - Counting Crows

literally just listen to this song and tell me this isn´t how emilio feels. "i am covered in skin, no one gets to come in" and then the repetition of "i am ready i am fine"?? im pulling my hair out.

6. Cringe - Matt Maeson

so this is actually the stripped version which makes me crazy in its own right but. "oh i make you cringe now. don´t i make you cringe now?" matt said this song is about leading a lifestyle that the people around you don´t approve of and it just. this one. just trust me.

7. Cry for Judas - the Mountain Goats

you get it. you get it. "mistreat your altar boys long enough and this is what you get." "i´m still here but all is lost". it was ruined!! all was lost!! he thinks he is judas betraying g-d!!! you know what i mean.

8. Floating in the Forth - Frightened Rabbit

so the lead singer of frightened rabbit committed suicide by jumping off a bridge into the firth of forth and he wrote this song about doing that before he did that and it just. just. it´s so important also remember this it comes up three songs later.

9. Graceless - The National

"G-D LOVES EVERYBODY, DON´T REMIND ME". this is a song about being in the world without being fully present and it kills me.

10. Leave My Body - Florence + the Machine

from the first line: "i´m gonna be released from behind these lines, and i don´t care whether i live or die" to the last: "moving up to higher ground, your history keeps pulling me down", this is a song about emilio trying to move forward as everyone keeps forcing him to relive what happened over and over.

11. The Modern Leper - Julien Baker

hey remember when i said remember the frightened rabbit trivia! this is from the cover album they released after their lead singer killed himself and it is sooooooo. this is a song about being fundamentally broken and diseased and the rest of the world ignores it but you know you´re unlovable. "i am ill but im not dead and i don´t know which of those i´d prefer"!!!

12. Never Quite Free - the Mountain Goats

this is a song about knowing that the trauma still hangs over you and you´ll never be able to escape it and it makes me cry. anyway. "it gets okay to praise the day, believe in sheltering skies and stable earth, but hear his breath come through his teeth". emilio is trying so hard to build a better life and sometime it just won´t happen!!

13. Prayer in Open D - Emmylou Harris

again from the first lyric to the last, this is a song about emilio sandoz. "there´s a valley of sorrow in my soul, where every night i hear the thunder roll like the sound of a distant gun over all the damage i have done" and it Gets Worse From There!!

14. Relative Fiction - Julien Baker

"cause i don´t need a savior i need you to take me home"!!! the religious trauma HITS when you´re trying so hard to be good for a g-d you no longer believe in!!!

15. Spent Gladiator 2 - the Mountain Goats

"stay alive. maybe spit some blood at the camera. just stay alive" what if your life and your pain was a spectacle and you dont know how to escape and you don´t even know what escape would look like. anyway.

16. Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

hey girls. hey girls. did you know g-d loves you but not enough to save you!! anyway religious trauma and having fallen in the eyes of g-d and not being able to fix it and just wanting to be safe and go home. "if it´s meant to be then it will be. i forgive it all as it comes back to me"!!! praying to go back to a home you know you can never return to. i am unwell.

17. Televangelist - Julien Baker

i hear you saying "jordan this is the third julien baker song on here" and all i can say is gay ppl with religious trauma understand emilio sandoz better than anyone else. anyway. "am i a masochist screaming televangelist clutching my crucifix of white noise and static. all my prayers are just apologies." you know what i mean.

18. 24 Frames - Jason Isbell

this is once again a song about g-d abandoning you!! "you thought g-d was an architect now you know he´s something like a pipe bomb ready to blow". it´s soooo good.

in conclusion: i am mentally unwell please appreciate the fruits of my insanity.

#the sparrow #emilio sandoz #mine #Spotify

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hoezier · 9 months

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Hello! I think tumblr ate my second ask. I'm annoyed!!!

I just wanted to share with you some more thoughts on my journey to discover Hozier's music.

I listened to your suggestions (Eat Your Young, All Things End, and Through Me (the Flood)) I liked them but I think my cat was distracting me and I couldn't go into the right mood.

I drifted off to “I, Carrion (Icarian)“ and oh... how pretty and sweet. And brave. And it made me think about someone. :P

I journeyed on and discovered “Butchered Tongue“ . It spoke to my heart, both the lyrics and the music... Too short, though.

After that, I went on to “De Selby part 1“ and his voice is so soft...elfin. Soothing.. I was thinking about his lyrics and then.... He started to sing in Gaelic and I was delighted! You didn't say he sang in Gaelic too??? It was the cherry on top of a melancholic cake. Part 2 was nice too, woke me up. But I preferred Part 1.

I will continue another time.. But thank you for introducing me to Hozier

Tumblr did indeed eat your second ask. I'm glad you sent it again though, it makes me so happy seeing you explore his music!

I'm glad you went on to listen to more of his stuff after the initial 3. I, Carrion is a very dangerous song. No one I know listened to it and still had dry eyes afterwards. I played it in the car with my dad over the weekend, and halfway through I look in his direction and he's just sobbing. It's really gorgeous. Butchered Tongue is definitely one of the best things Hozier has made. It's soooo haunting and poignant and packed with so many different interpretations. De Selby part 1 will always own a piece of my soul. And I will say this is the first album that he sings in Irish on. So very new development. We love that for him. Always so special witnessing someone reconnecting and burrowing deeply into their culture and roots. Also, also, I feel like his vocal range on this album is pretty incredible. He's always has such a powerful voice and he does have an incredible range, but his vocals are utilized to their fullest potential on this one and he's doing new things with it. I'm absolutely in awe.

Keep sharing your thoughts as you go on listening! I'm loving this :D

#sahar stfu about hozier #answered

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the-darklings · 4 years

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DUDE your tags on the hozier jackie and wilson song post GOSH. WHAT HAVE U DONE? the level of involvement i have developed towards those two is absurd at this point thanks for that

—reasons wretched and divine;

pairing: santino x reader (vipress) [you win this one team santino]

wc: 2.2k+

an: so anon is referring to this post and the tags on it. I originally wanted to hold off writing this cause while it is a canon event for COA, it takes place directly during Chicago, and obviously since no one has any clue wtf happened there I worried it might be premature to write this but you know what?? I’m miserable and wanted to write something cute so here we go. Enjoy dear anon! And to the other anon who said there are no fics for him…I hope this can sate your thirst lol.

Lake Michigan is a sprawling, large ravine of water that reflects the setting sun as you stare at it through the hotel window.

In the far west, dark clouds are already gathering and you know that there is substantial snowfall in the forecast. Ares had made a comment earlier about how navigating Santino’s security is going to be a nightmare for the next few days.

Curling tighter in your seat, you lean your cheek against your folded arms, debating a nap before dinner. You managed maybe two hours of sleep last night and your head feels exceptionally heavy. You hate the fact that awake or asleep you never seem to find peace anymore.

The earlier silence filling the room has been suffocating though, so you have opted to turn on the radio to dispel it. The random station continues playing an unfamiliar song and your eyes flutter closed for a second.

The door to your room suddenly opens behind you, and your fingers wrap around a blade; a cold, comforting weight in your hand.

Sucking in a sharp breath, you turn, readying your muscles for a fight.

But your fear is unfound when you spot Santino strolling into the room, his phone pressed to his ear and expression pinched with annoyance. His lips, too, are pulled into a faint sneer as he listens to whatever is being said impatiently.

“I do not need it tomorrow,” he remarks in biting, cold French before spotting you and giving you a brief smile as he turns his attention back to the conversation. “I do not need it later. I need it now. So I suggest you start doing your job before I find someone who can.”

He hangs up without waiting for an answer and grumbles under his breath. “People. Tell me, cara mia, is everyone that’s not us is this stupid and incompetent?”

“Probably,” you drawl, sheathing your blade and turn your attention back towards the large window. “You’re also kind of an asshole.”

Santino scoffs with a snarky grin as he comes to a stop beside you, his expression easing. His eyes take you in—pathetic and miserable, with your limbs folded around you like a shell—and his smile dies a little. There is something about that intense regard of his that makes you almost brittle. It’s as bad as Winston, except Santino doesn’t look grim with understanding. Santino dresses up his rage with a calm softness that brims with that familiar, cold promise of retribution.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, though it sounds more demanding due to subtle anger lacing the words and deepening his accent. “Still unwell?”

“I’m fine,” you shoot back dully, not looking at him, but that glimmer of curiosity still forces your tongue. “I didn’t know you could speak French so well.”

It’s a statement more than a question, but just as expected Santino sits down beside you in the other spare chair. Unlike you, however, his eyes focus on you oppose to the stunning scenery outside the window.

“I am a Camorra heir,” he reminds you but there is nothing patronising to be found in his smooth baritone. “My father made sure that Gianna and I had tutoring in all the main spoken languages from around the world. We started young.”

“What if you don’t have an aptitude for languages?”

Santino smiles slightly when you glance at him, but it’s a cool, cutting thing. The look in his eyes even more so as he laces his fingers together, his elbows resting on his thighs. “Ah, my father did not particularly care for that, cara.”

You scoff, shaking your head a little. That isn’t exactly surprising to hear, especially in relation to a man like Giovanni. A man of strong, unforgiving features, deep voice and eyes so dark they make it difficult to even look at him. It makes you suppress a shiver just thinking about him.

For a few minutes, you sit in almost comfortable silence and although you don’t consider Santino someone you can completely relax around, you find yourself grateful he is here. Better than being alone. Perhaps Winston had a point after all.

But you don’t need anyone, you remind yourself.

You don’t need another repeat of John.

John and his beautiful wife. John and his wonderful wedding. John and—

Something inside aches; a dull, violent throb of loneliness. Of pain.

Your fingers tremble violently before you hide them from sight, and feel Santino follow the motion with his eyes. Too slow.

After another few seconds of watching the almost gone sun, he rises to his feet with a deliberate sort of air around him. He turns to you, extending his hand in your direction, his eyes giving nothing away.

You stare at him blankly.

“The radio,” he speaks after a pause, one eyebrow quirking. “We should practice. We have to be—”

“Convincing, yes, you have said that maybe ten times already,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes before glancing around the room and back to him. “I’m not going to dance with you, Santino.”

The man before you slides one of his hands in his trouser pocket, observing you with a tilt of his head, and keep his hand extended between you.

“Come now, cara mia,” he speaks, his voice laced with boredom and this time you do see the arrogant heir who gets everything he wants. “My arm is growing tired.”

Snorting, you rise to your feet stiffly, glaring. You know him well enough to know that he will not drop it. So you will give him what he wants, if only to get rid of him. So much for not being alone.

You stand face to face for a second—with him simply gazing at you and you glaring back. He steps closer, one arm wrapping carefully around your waist while another gently takes a hold of your hand. Your body is a coiled mass of taut muscles while your jaw grinds painfully. His expression is both guarded and open all at once as he peers at you silently.

He’s warm.

It’s an odd thing to notice about a man who revels in violence. But till that moment you haven’t realised how cold your hands have gotten. He cradles your fingers in his larger ones, surprisingly gentle, and the warmth of his Camorra ring presses into your skin as you sway awkwardly from side to side.

“Clearly,” he starts teasingly, but more subdued than you’re used to seeing him. “We are both exceptionally gifted dancers.”

You don’t answer him. You’re not in the mood to joke around. You haven’t been in the mood for anything lately.

The radio continues playing another unfamiliar tune, and you let your mind focus on the lake outside your window again.

“Say something,” he whispers abruptly, strained, and you head snaps in his direction at the angry softness wrapping his words. His grip on you tightens briefly before loosening again. “Anything. Where is the fire that I adore so? Do not tell me that he robbed you of it so completely, cara mia.”

Your heartbeat spikes, and you stare at him coldly. “I am seconds away from walking away from this whole thing,” you inform him and your words are harsh even though you don’t so much as raise your voice. “You don’t talk about him. Ever.”

Santino’s jaw tenses at your words—at the acidic bite of them—but he doesn’t oppose you. Only looks at you. You wonder what it is exactly that he’s trying to unearth. You’re not sure there’s anything left to you anymore.

Though you continue swaying from side to side, the silence between you is chilly, heavy.

The song on the radio changes again and you blink, recognising the start of a familiar tune. Then comes the voice and despite your best intention to remain unaffected, you start swaying to the beat. Santino notices, his green eyes gleaming with understanding.

“This song…” he trails off, glancing towards the radio. “It is familiar to you, no?”

No other version of me I would rather be tonight and lord, she found me just in time.

You shake your head in immediate denial, but Santino’s eyebrows jump up playfully and he matches your rhythm, turning from side to side with more energy. His arm stays on the small of your back but now a small smile lingers across his lips.

I need to be youthfully felt ‘cause, God, I never felt young.

He starts humming and you shoot him a half-hearted glare. “What are you doing?”

His smile turns slyer, knowing, but his voice is ever-so innocent when he speaks. “Dancing, bella.”

The chorus kicks in, and Santino pushes you away from him before tugging you back with one smooth motion and you stifle a gasp, your grip on him tightening. He moves you in a more deliberate circle, singing under his breath. He butchers every single line, clearly having no idea what the lyrics even are while you continue glaring. But he just watches you, smug and shrewd, every time your eyes meet.

He steps back and raises your hands above your head. Rolling your eyes, you turn in a circle, your muscles loosening somewhat as he pulls you back into his embrace.

“Those are not the lyrics,” you grumble petulantly, shooting him a look but Santino only grins wider. “It’s not—”

He dips you with a chuckle and pulls you back up to him, ignoring your slap on his shoulder with another grin of amusement.

“Then you better sing it with me and correct me, cara,” he informs you, mock-serious, but his eyes glow with mirth, a playful teasing. He steps back, grabbing your other hand and tugs back and forth, creating little waves with your arms.

You both no doubt look ridiculous. Like two little kids dancing in a playground, clumsy and uncoordinated, as you try to create your own rhythm.

But—

There is a slow blooming lightness in your chest you can’t recall feeling for ages.

A reluctant smile tugs one corner of your mouth even if you try to smother it, and you know by his pleased expression that he’s spotted it nonetheless.

We tried the world; good God, it wasn’t for us.

“She’s gonna save me, call me baby,” you sing under your breath and he joins you—both of you most likely completely off-key and miles away from the tune—but you can’t help but chuckle when you note how seriously he’s taking this. “Run her hands through my hair. She’ll know me crazy, soothe me daily. Better yet, she wouldn’t care.”

Clearly picking up on the lyrics, Santino sings a bit louder—still off-key—as he leads you in an extravagant circle, your arms still swinging. He twirls you again, and you can’t help but chuckle as your terrible mix of voices soars while you turn from side to side. You’re a flurry of movement, both caught in the lively energy of the song as you tangle in each other.

“We’ll name our children Jackie and Wilson raise ‘em on rhythm and blues,” you finish off, breathless with laughter and lean into him for a second, a crooked grin splitting your face.

Santino drags his eyes over your features, seemingly caught off guard by what he’s seeing, and clears his throat slightly before smirking faintly.

“Who is this man?” he questions, both curious and somewhat out of breath, and you don’t miss the fact that his grip on your doesn’t loosen. “We should go see him.”

You can’t help but snort, and his expression creases with wonder when he notices your amusement. He’s smiling too though—as if your momentary joy is somehow important to share in.

“What?”

“Well, for one, I don’t think he’s on tour,” you point out and realise that you haven’t heard your voice this light and carefree in months, if not years. “And I’m sure an Italian mobster with a pack of guards is going to draw no attention whatsoever.”

Your sarcasm is clear and open, and his answering crooked grin makes him appear younger, less guarded. Less arrogant, too, and more…more human. Something you have never seen him show openly before—not like this.

“It could be just us and Ares,” he tells you calmly, but there is a flicker in his eyes that seems to make him hesitate for a split second before he continues on, “Or…just us.”

Something inside your withers at his words; retreating inwards, terrified and broken, and you pull away from him.

With every new inch of distance between you, Santino’s open expression draws closed again. Only the cool, haughty heir remains and for a loaded moment, neither of you speak. A step at most separates you but it might as well be miles. It has caught you off guard—this genuine moment of fun and freedom and laughter, but it’s time to come back to reality.

And the reality is that you are not here, in this city, for fun and games.

“We should focus on the job.” Forced and empty.

“Yes, of course, cara mia. It is for the best.” Stilted and formal.

His hands slip back inside his pockets and he regards you for another brief moment before moving past you.

You stand rooted in your spot, the distant sound of the radio filling the air.

Santino’s footsteps fade.

Outside, it begins to snow.

…

an: ofc I have to finish with a sprinkle of angst. hope you enjoyed this tho. I needed something sweet today. Dedicating it to my little bean who I had to say goodbye to today, and Team Santino who is cheering me up a lot these last few days with their wild messages. Love ya guys!

#santino d'antonio x reader #santino d'antonio #john wick fic #john wick imagine #john wick #fic: children of ares #s: i can wait

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themusicenthusiast · 5 years

Text

Friday, March 29th, 2019 – Hozier Leads Fans on a Compelling Trek Through the Wasteland as the Wasteland, Baby! Tour Hits Dallas

Photos by Jordan Buford Photography South Side Ballroom has hosted plenty of sold-out shows during it’s time, some stellar talent gracing the stage just in the past year and packing out the venue that can accommodate a couple thousand or so people. However, it had been a while since a show had taken place there with the sheer amount of excitement that enveloped the one occurring on this final Friday of March 2019. Andrew Hozier-Byrne, or as he is professionally known, Hozier, was returning to Dallas for the first time in roughly four years. Four years that have seen the artist growing more and more acclaimed, his successes most recently culminating with the release of his highly anticipated second studio album, Wasteland, Baby! (out via Rubyworks Ltd./Columbia Records). Nearly three weeks in to the North American leg of the Wasteland, Baby! Tour and Hozier and his band were finally getting to North Texas for a performance that likely could have taken place at place even more spacious than South Side Ballroom. No fans were complaining about it though, recognizing this was surely the last chance they would ever have to see Hozier in a venue whose layout boasts some sort of intimacy with the artist. They had been anticipating this for quite some time; the line to get in snaking from the door to the street a ways behind the venue, down it and into the parking lot where it continued to zig and zag. The staff worked to get people in as quickly as they could, making the wait time more than acceptable, yet the line consistently stayed the same as more people arrived and joined. And that was even before when the doors had been scheduled to open at seven, more than a couple hours yet to go before Hozier would ever take the stage. Those attendees were comprised almost exclusively of a young demographic, from teens to early twenty-somethings – a few parents seen bringing their kids to what was surely the concert of the year in their eyes – and of those it was largely a female fanbase whose adoration for Hozier was readily apparent. Jade Bird commented about that stark contrast as she warmed up the audience, asking the ladies in the crowd to make some noise followed by having the guys do the same. She made a quip about them being outnumbered, grinning as she spoke. It was just her, armed with nothing more than an acoustic guitar as the young, British singer-songwriter treated listeners to some bare-bones renditions of her songs, giving them a preview of sorts of her debut LP that is due out in April. Patrons highly enjoyed what Bird did, though by the time she was done they were ready to get to the main act. Fortunately, they didn’t have long to wait. Hozier and his accompanying ensemble cast of musicians (seven in all) took the stage at 9:01, deafening fanfare officially welcoming them to Dallas.

As Hozier’s music is built on a foundation of impassioned emotions, so, too, was the performance he gave, and it was aided by a quality of production that was phenomenal, rivaling the level of what is expected from an arena show. Nothing extravagant, it was just a rich, luscious display that captivated the senses, accenting the music so that the songs felt bolder and stronger than they already were. It was noticeable as they took the stage, flickers of light barely illuminating the outlines of each musician. Soon, Hozier’s gentle plucking of the strings of his acoustic guitar rang out through the room, “Would That I” beginning the 81-minute display they had planned. As they progressed the center stage gradually filled with light, revealing the man of the hour for all to see; the climatic and impassioned choruses bringing more of the band into focus as short bursts of light struck them. An enthralling atmosphere had been established by that opening number, and to say it felt spiritual – sonically and visually speaking – would not be an understatement. The stark contrast of that track as it ebbed and flowed between something tranquil and beautifully striking was wonderous, and Hozier would only build upon that, seizing that moment to further immerse the audience in the spectacle that he had planned.

Several members of his backing band served in multiple roles, such as Rachel Beauregard and Kristen Rogers, both of whom had provided backing vocals for that opening number, and afterwards approached the front of the stage where they contributed to the percussion and keys, respectively. It was with “Dinner & Diatribes” where one was able to better appreciate the intricacies of Hozier’s music, given that everyone was able to see just how much effort goes into bringing the expectations from the recording to life. Everyone’s role was vital; most of the musicians clapping along with the percussion when they could, encouraging the spectators to do the same, which they did with glee. With that track Hozier and company made it apparent just what a force to be reckoned with they were, the energy skyrocketing off the charges, Hozier himself finding a moment to just wail on his guitar with absolute ferocity. They were in top performing shape thanks to being well into the current tour, their chemistry binding everything together as they really hit their stride with plans to go beyond it.

Quickly escalating with those first couple numbers, it all culminated with “Nina Cried Power”, the powerhouse, anthemic track being an ideal song for the live environment. Only occasionally did Hozier play a guitar during that one, instead embracing and owning the role of frontman for the only real moment of the show. He did carry his guitar along with him, holding it to his side and even lifting it slightly in the air, but for the most part he roamed about the stage and belted out every line with immense passion. The connection he had to that song was obvious, the emotions that went into it bleeding through on his face; the subtle movements, such as the little gestures of the hand that he did, being quite keen, and as minute a detail as that was it went a long way in further thrilling the crowd. What was so surprising about that was how strongly the spectators reacted to that first handful of songs. Wasteland, Baby! has only been out for a couple of months, yet those songs already seemed to be as beloved as those from his debut LP. It’s a reaction seldom had, one where fans of any artist or act enjoy the new material as much as what they’ve become so familiar with, and it speaks to the respect and even loyalty that Hozier’s fans have for him. That said, they loved hearing the couple classics that immediately followed, after which Hozier declared the crowd to be one of the most enthusiastic and simply best audiences that they had ever played to. Fearing that could be construed as just a statement he stressed his sincerity about it, the slight state of awe over the amount of love he and his band were being shown affirming how genuine he intended that comment to be.

The stage was awash with brilliant pastel lighting for “Talk”, piercing through what was otherwise darkness, the faint outlines of the majority of the band members being all that was noticeable; while “From Eden” drew a joyous response from the crowd once they discerned what it was from Hozier’s picking at the acoustic guitar he had switched out to. Perhaps one of the neatest things about this show was how Hozier worked to make it feel like an intimate affair by injecting a bit of a storyteller vibe into it. For example, in setting up the title track he spoke of what a “weird time” it had been when he first began writing for this new record, around the time that 2016 had ended. In case anyone had forgot, he reminded them that was the year a seemingly abnormal amount of celebrities – and musicians in particular – passed away, which in turn had him thinking about the end. Thus, “Wasteland, Baby!” was born, a gorgeous song that alludes to the fragile and fleeting nature of existence; the band being pared down to a trio for that primarily acoustic piece.

It was followed by another new song as well as a story to accompany it, Hozier speaking of a type of bird known as a shrike. Rightfully assuming that most were unfamiliar with the species he described some of their habits, like how they impale insects or small animals on things, even hanging them on what could be called a hook, earning them the nickname of “butcher bird”. “…They’re a beautiful bird, but also horrifying… So, I thought it would be an appropriate name for a love song,” he finished, earning a hearty laugh from the onlookers. The subdued “Shrike” portrayed Hozier and company in a different light; Suzanne Santo, who was on guitar duty for most of the night switching out to a violin, the restrained nature of that strikingly lovely track putting more focus on Hozier’s voice and the vast range he commands so impeccably well.

Patrons were elated to hear “To Be Alone”; the hypnotic drum beats Rory Doyle steadily served up enrapturing all, some clapping along ensuing before a portion of the second chorus was ceded to the fans, who shouted it at the top of their lungs. “Moment's Silence (Common Tongue)” also stood out as a fan favorite of the night, the song being so much more than what is portrayed on the recording. Amazingly intense, it allowed for arguably the most raw, primal moment of the night, Hozier proving he has all of the hallmarks of a bonafide rock star. It was straight up rock ‘n’ roll, a seductive beat and gritty guitar riffs ensuring it was a beast; the dazzling display of lights that went with it adding to the impressive scale. Adding some insight to “Almost (Sweet Music)”, Hozier explained it was about attempting to “escape the inescapable”, speaking of how music establishes a lasting connection to whatever a person is experiencing in their life at that moment, and who they were with. That really seemed to resonate with everyone, as that is one of greatest powers that music has: providing a tether to every crucial moment of one’s past, be it wonderful or awful.

The closer came abruptly, “Take Me to Church” catching everyone off-guard in the most wonderful way. Mainly, it was just difficult to believe that the night was already over. Unexpected as it was, the couple thousand people hastily got on the same page, echoing along to every last word of the now classic breakout hit; a collective shriek filling the room in the latter part, Hozier having jumped into the pit in front of the stage, getting as up close and personal as he possibly could with the lucky fans who had scored a spot at the front. A phenomenal display on all fronts, Hozier wasn’t quite done with Dallas, a couple songs planned for the 10-minute long encore. They weren’t done dazzling, either, “Work Song” showcasing another gorgeous side of the collective talent gathered on stage, as they nearly all harmonized with one another, the layers of the vocals being astounding, resulting in a stunning finish to what had been a concert for the ages.

Hozier definitely has a throng of ardent supporters, but on the other hand, there are still just as many people out there who probably view him simply as the man who performs “Take Me to Church”. He is so much more than just the guy who crafted one massive chart-topping single, though. I’ll confess, even I was inclined to believe that notion prior to this night, but this performance totally revolutionized my perceptions of Hozier. The level of artistry he possessed was jaw-dropping, epitomizing what a legitimate artist is throughout every second of the performance. Whether he’s sweetly crooning on a more tender balled or investing everything into belting out something more spirited his voice is phenomenal and brimming with emotion. His guitar work may have been secondary for him, though when he was able to dedicate more of his focus to it his chops were readily apparent; and those rare moments where he acted solely as a frontman he stood as a vigorous one.

Furthermore, he is a true singer-songwriter, and in an age where it has become more prevalent for musicians to perform music that was written by a third-party, you have to respect that. Because of that, there’s a more personal connection formed, the life events that led to these songs and how much they really meant to Hozier being noticeable as he performed them, as if baring a portion of his soul for all to see. Hozier is the kind of talent that comes around about once a generation. Considering how relatively new he still is it’s remarkable how refined his talents are, already carrying himself and executing the songs in a manner that makes it appear as if he has spent a lifetime doing this. Yet he’s remained humble enough to still be slightly shocked over the reaction people have to his music, which is refreshing to see.

As high as fans’ expectations were going in to the concert this night, they were exceeded. The band he has surrounded himself with was responsible for part of that, all being top tier talent who fleshed out the music perfectly and made sure to invigorate the audience to boot. However, a lot of credit for that needs to go to the crew as well, especially those in charge of the lighting. A key element of any show, the production for this one was stunning. It worked in brilliant harmony with the music, allowing the songs to sound bolder and more emotive. It was artistic, further accenting the artistry that went into the performance. A once in a lifetime talent, it’s easy to envision Hozier moving up to arenas of various scales in the near future. And based on what he gave Dallas this night, he’d have no trouble commanding a crowd of thousands upon thousands of people. In fact, I’d be quite interested to see how the performance would be elevated for venues of that scale, because as much as he offered up on this Friday night, Hozier still has so much to give to the world. This North American leg of the Wasteland, Baby! Tour will run through April 14th, when it will conclude in Spokane, WA at First Interstate Center for the Arts. Other stops include The Pearl in Las Vegas, NV on April 7th and Hollywood Forever Cemetery in Los Angeles, CA on April 9th. Most of the shows are already sold-out. They’ll return to the U.S. in May and June for shows in the south and mid-west, including a performance at Hangout Festival in Gulf Shores, AL on May 17th. A complete listing of Hozier’s upcoming events can be found HERE; and check out Wasteland, Baby! in iTUNES or GOOGLE PLAY. Set List: 1) “Would That I” 2) “Dinner & Diatribes” 3) “Nina Cried Power” 4) “Jackie and Wilson” 5) “Someone New” 6) “Talk” 7) “From Eden” 8) “Wasteland, Baby!” 9) “Shrike” 10) “No Plan” 11) “To Be Alone” 12) “Nobody” 13) “Moment's Silence (Common Tongue)” 14) “Almost (Sweet Music)” 15) “Movement” 16) “Take Me to Church” Encore 17) “Cherry Wine” (acoustic, solo) 18) “Work Song”

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