#stick to the cratur

[fzrticv]

@lust-sinner​ cont. from here

FIZZAROLLI couldn't help the grin hearing the sin so excited to see them. Relife washed over them just the conformation this hadn't Asmodeus own order. That thought had bothered them more than they cared to admit.

Not that they would share it.

Fizz quickly bounced next to the sin on the bad. Tail thump against the bedding with their tail. " haha ! hrm .. sureee... not as good as usual though, missing some of the glitter" yes they are teasing, grinning. It wasn’t like they had much to talk about, being make-up less themself with eyebags.

 " They also took shitty care of your fur too. ghehe - buuuttt, its presentable." the jester stick their tounge out. One of the few craturs of hell bold engouh to tease the sin like that.

" Bhah, efucking fucker probably is still somewhere around here. Must felt so high and mighty, been personal task the stand guard" there still angry at that. Sadly not exactly surprised. " Might find him and get an answer - had to camp at Lithes for the time" it was far from bad, and they could have effort a hotel. It's more some of their important stuff hadn't been with them. " Well, when i wasn't busy bouncing between the clubs..or organizing performances ... or the payments ... and orders...and other shit I will dream of for the next few months"

Carefully, the jester leaned against the sin. Not wanting to bring more pain. They could very much figure out how much it might hurt. Given their history.

[gadawg-404]

The Humours of Whiskey/Stick To The Cratur (Poteen) 1967

[aconflagrationofmyown]

Oh, oh, most definitely an Irish Folk Song Shade throwing at those fookers, i.e: Parker and Dr. Nick

“Let your quacks and newspapers be cuttin' their capers

And curing the vapors the scratch and the gout

With their medical potions, their pills and their lotions

Upholding their notions, they're mighty put out.

Who can tell the true physics of all things pathetic

And pitch to the devil, cramp, colic and spleen?

Ah you'll know it I think if you take a big drink

With your mouth to the brink of a jug of whiskey

So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature

For sinkin’ your sorrows and raising your joys

Oh what moderation gives hope to a nation

Or gives consolation like whiskey m’boys?

[the-unseelie-court-official]

May I hear your thoughts on the name Whiskey? My old name has never fit, and so I wish to be rid of it. I offer that name, Anthony, a handmade bead, and a small ceramic cow of my own creation.

Come guess me this riddle: what beats pipes and fiddle?

What's hotter than mustard and wilder than cream?

What best wets your whistle? What's clearer than crystal?

What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam?

What will make the dumb talk? What will make the lame walk?

The elixir of life and philospher's stone

And what helped Mr. Brunel to dig the Thames Tunnel?

Wasn't it whiskey from ould Inishowen?

So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature

For drowning your sorrows and raising your joys

Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder

Was made from the plunder of whiskey me boys

[griffintail]

She rolled her eyes at him as she strummed the lute with a big grin. "Who can tell the true physic to all that's pathetic, and pitch to the divil, cramp, colic, and spleen-you'll know it, I think, if you take a big drink, with your mouth to the brink of a jug of Poteen."

Tommy paused, glancing at Blue. "Roo-"

"So! Stick to the cratur', the best thing in nature, for sinking your sorrows and raising your joys!" Roo grinned, fingers flying over the strings. "Oh what botheration, no dose in the nation, can give consolation like poteen me boys."

Blue was a little confused by the lyrics but still smiled brightly regardless hearing the music.

"Maybe skip the next bit." Phil chuckled.

[omiramotakiart]

We talk about awful movie adaptations of books like Frankenstein, Dracula, The Strange case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde... but then there's this goddammed book... the adversitement was salvadoran myths, the info was stories told by salvadorans on the streets, the content...

Dracula: yet another Dracula and Mina bullshit but actually this is not that Dracula, this is a descendant from that Dracula who's named VLADimir Tepes, who came to El Salvador to become the 15th more powerful family and have a coffee plantation, then did some stupid shit, everyone died and he became a vampire, now a random couple comes in and their reaction isn't to get away, it is to yell "OH FUCK, A GHOST!" The boyfriend dies, the girlfriend is framed for murder and Dracula becomes black goo because the boyfriend somehow had a crusifix blessed by the fucking Pope... also there was a reference to an old hispanic meme at some point.

Frankenstein: Victor came to El Salvador to bring Elizabeth back to life because she dies after getting hit by a lighting when flying a kite, why here? The police in here couldn't give a damn (accurate), hiresna country boy, country boy murders his friend to get the parts for the creature, crature escapes, kills Victor, finds the boy's blind grandpa and grandpa adopts him, calls him a nickname that roughtly translates to rocket stick (Varaecuete, usually used on tall and lanky people), boy comes back talking shit, creature commits murder and now wonders the forest.

Jekyll and Hyde: Enrique Jekyll is too old and anxious to get a date, makes a potion to become Eduardo Hyde who looks like an orangutan and then dies, all is seen by the local bread selling boy, that's the whole story, that's it.

All being told in a very salvadoran tone. Which is the only thing proper from our culture in there...

[druidx]

On my "Dark, Slow Writing" playlist (so the generic one I write to when the WIP is sad and grey and everything's going wrong for the characters) has "Movement" and "Arsonist's Lullaby" on it (which I didn't realise was a Hozier track - it's attached to an AMV and I never bothered to find a 'real' version).

My 'Upbeat Folk & Classic' playlist (for when things are a little more jolly in a story) has a short version of "The Humours of Whiskey" (the full version, "Stick to Cratur", is such fun).

... I was sure I'd added "Take me to Church" and "Dinner & Diatribes" onto a specific playlist, but apparently not. They're in my 'likes' if that counts 😅️

Hold on I want to see something

If you have a Hozier track (or tracks) on your WIP playlist, reblog this and tell me which ones in the tags

[hteragram-x]

About Logan’s NOT-birthday

Okay, quick question... so what kind of bullshit logic (heh) are we going to use from now on in Sanders Sides Human AUs to justify Logan technically not having birthday?

--- --- ---

Has he lost his birthday certificate at one point (Remus ate it or something) and therefore he has no written proof of ever being born at a certain time? That seems like something he would treat as a valid reason to avoid the emotionally charged social gathering.

Maybe his friends celebrate his birthday on a wrong day, because they’ve made a mistake once and decided to stick with that? One day Roman and Patton just stormed into his room with cake and wishes and Logan’s like: “Wh-what? My birthday is six months from now” and Roman’s says: “...Oops! Too bad. We celebrate today”. So when Logan has his birthday parties they’re never on the correct date and he reminds people about it all the time?

Does Logan (along with Virgil and Janus probably) agree that birthdays are a made-up social construct that only makes people eat unhealthy to die younger and spend unreasonable amount of money to feed capitalism? So when he says “It’s not my birthday”, he means that he avoids celebrating it for ideaological reasons?

...

Was his born in the middle of the night and it’s just a terrible, terrible joke that his dad, Patton, repeats every year... Logan doesn’t have a birthday since he celebrates birthnight? His other dad, Virgil, is going along with the joke just because he likes the idea of his son being a creature of the night.

Is he some kind of timeless crature that lived longer that the rest of the characters in the story and he ever looked for or even had any documents with even the year of his birth? (not exactly Human AU, but still something outside of canon)

He was born on February 29th and therefore his birthday is on the right day only once in four years. He makes sure that everyone remembers.

...

Does he have some kind of angsty, sad story from his childhood that made him avoid treating that day as anything special and the story shows us how his partners or friends try to make him open up a little and celebrate?

Janus convinces him to relax a little, go on a date, and eat their favourite dinner with desert even if it’s a little too much sugar. Remus or Roman pull him away from his work so he can spend some time with them instead of overworking himself to forget. At the end he slowly changes his mind, because the new, happy memories have taken the place of the sad ones from years ago.

He still jokes about not having birthday. But now it’s actually humorous and not a way of deflecting to avoid the topic :’)

[jastun-frailthorn]

Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle

                 What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream

What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal

               What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam

What'll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk,

                                            The elixir of life and philospher's stone

And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel

                                                Wasn't it poteen from ould Inisowen

So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature

                                    For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys

Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder

                             Weren't made from the plunder of poteen me boys.

[quixotix]

Hozier drinking Jameson and singing part of Stick to the Cratur/The Humours of Whiskey at his last show. Dublin, 11th December.

[mccleans]

come guess me this riddle what beats pipe and fiddle what's hotter than mustard and milder than cream! what best wets your whistle what's clearer than... crystal sweeter than honey and stronger than steam what can make the dumb tAlk what can mAke the lame walk what's the elixir of life and philosopher's stooone and what hElped mr brunnell to dig the thames tunnel sure wasn't it whiskey from aul inishowen so stick to the crAtur the best thing in nature for sinking your sorrows and rAIsing...your...joys and boys i'd half wonder if lightning and thunder were made from the plunder of... whiskey me boys 😌

[xdandelionxbloomx]

thinking about the witcher is truly just that jenny slate meme of her screaming. antyways the idea of jaskier singing hozier’s cover of the humours of whiskey is uhhhh playing in my head constantly so i just wanted to share in hopes you would enjoy it too

You’re absolutely right

So stick to the cratur’ the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys And boys, I oft’n wonder, if lightning and thunder Was made from the plunder of whiskey, me boys. 

(Imagine this happening early in their travels together when they don’t know each other very well just yet and Geralt hasn’t Realized yet.)

Geralt enters the tavern covered in drowner blood and swamp mud - 

It’s not an unusual scene. The witcher arriving after a hunt to the bard singing and entertaining. 

There’s something different this time - Jaskier is leaned up against the counter with a tankard in his hand, lute leaning beside him rather than in his hands as he sang. His voice is pure and unaccompanied and he’s obviously just started because heads are still turning towards him and the barmaid beside him looks at him with-- some sort of knowing-- no, it’s-- understanding.

For some reason it makes Geralt’s skin prickle in a way he’s not comfortable with. (Jaskier often somehow does that, though, make him uncomfortable in a way that he isn’t sure he hates.) 

Jaskier’s voice is truly musical here, shining without the strings or shouting drowning it out. Geralt lingers just past the threshold and watches. 

The bard sounds-- sad? Wistful. Geralt’s never heard him like this before. 

His voice carries over the crowd and Geralt stays utterly still, unwilling to break the silence and ruin the moment before him. 

The barmaid joins Jaskier in his singing, sounding just as wistful as him and Geralt tips his head slightly to the side - it’s surprisingly pleasant as a couple of other patrons join in. 

It’s a shared melancholy and a few of the men raise their tankards in solidarity. 

Geralt has seen Jaskier command crowds before, of course, he is rather talented no matter how much Geralt might deny it. (If he praised the bard, he was certain that Jaskier would never release the claws he’d dug into Geralt both knowing and unknowingly.) 

Jaskier lifts his gaze from his tankard and catches sight of the witcher-- 

Geralt shouldn’t feel pleased at the way the bard immediately perks up, but he does - and finds a strange sort of concern sparking when the smile Jaskier gives him doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Geralt!” Jaskier interrupts himself - the patrons turn to look at him, tensing and turning their attention to their ales when he rolls his shoulders. 

“Bard.” He acknowledges, and walks forward to order himself a tankard. 

[kimbermac]

Continued from here for length

Once entrees had been made, bona fides verified, and rules of engagement agreed upon, Kimber Mac became immediately bored and went to the bar.

“Oi mate” she leaned over a bit to get the barkeep’s attention. “Two fingers a Jameson’s if ya please.  Leave the bottle.”  After giving her slim figure a double take, he nodded, opened a fresh bottle walked over with a glass and poured.

“Long night?” he set the bottle down and glanced at Reddington’s table.

“Yep.”  Kimber popped the p and downed the drink.  “They’ll be goin’ on abou’ business ‘alf th night.”

Just as she’d gotten comfortable in the bar seat, the band announced their break.  She sighed.  Really, quite long night indeed.

Refilling her glass she brought the bottle and walked over to where the group was sitting.

“C’n I buy you lot a round?”  she held up the bottle with a questioning half smile.

“Cailín álainn, I’ve never had a better offer.”  The gent, Callum, the lead singer pulled back a chair and started introductions as the bottle made it’s way round and back, considerably lighter. She praised their style and ability, they admired her pronunciation and accent, and hair.  “There’s some of the homeland in yer line somewhere, Mac, I’d lay money on it.”

She nodded as she swallowed and put the glass down. 

“It’s b'n said b’fore.  So, if I were ta request a ditty from ya, wou'd another bottle be fair compensation?”

Callum squinted at her and angled his head.  

“I’ll make you a counteroffer.  You go on up there yerself an sing it, and if Molly here says you pass, we’ll take a request fer free.”

Kimber got ridiculously red in the face and looked down at her distressingly empty glass.

“I cou’dn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”  she grinned up through the strands of hair that had escaped her attempt to corral them.

Blatant disbelief met her all round the table.  Bertie the drummer leaned over the table and motioned for her to hand him something. A long minute dragged by until she finally rolled her eyes and pulled the penny whistle out of her inside jacket pocket.

“I knew this suit fit too tight.”  she mumbled handing it to him.  He dipped the mouthpiece in the whiskey and wiped it on a napkin and ran an aire through it.  The tune flowed clean and clear through the whistle like an angel’s laughter.

“Bollocks.”

“I agree, up you go.”

Kimber grabbed the penny whistle and walked slowly toward the raised platform.  Michael adjusted the mic for her as she sat on the stool and announced a fill-in while the band finished their break.  She waved, the color still bringing out the freckles on her cheeks.

Clearing her throat, she decided to speak a little first to let the butterflies settle.

“I w's born in Wales an while I live in London now, I spent my school years in Eire.  Soon as I walked in th’ door a th’ dorm an they saw my ‘air they said I w’s a Changeling finally come home to the Isle.”  A couple light chuckles from the crowd.  She smiled.  “I w’s a bit young when tha’ wou’da ‘appened so...”  she shrugged.

“Ev’ry Friday night, after a long week a schoolin’ the sisters wou’d le' us ou’ inta town.  A group a us more music’lly inclined were drawn ta th’ pub.  We’d enter quiet as church mice an’ sit.  Those tha’ cou’d played along an’ soon enough we were welcomed in.  Ev’ry Friday night we’d scurry down ta listen an’ play.

“When we were old enough we partook a some a th’ other entertainments th' pub had ta offer.”  A bit of a laugh from the crowd. She looked up and smirked. “Quiz! Ya boozy lot.  A course by my third pint it w's me agains’ th' res’ a th’ pub, bu’ tha’s a tale fer another time.

“There was a lovely ol’ tune we’d taken as our own. A Benediction a thanks fer survivin’ another week, as it were.  An’ it’s tha’ I’ll be butcherin’ fer ya now.”

She straightened on the stool, brought the whistle to her lips and played a jaunty yet mellow introduction, seeing the light of recognition in most eyes around her.  Then in a clear, true alto voice she sang.

Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal What's sweeter than honey and stronger than steam What'll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk, The elixir of life and philosopher's stone And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel Sure wasn't it whiskey from ould Inisowen So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys And boys I half wonder, if lightning and thunder Weren't made from the plunder of whiskey me boys.

The band at their table were hooting and pounding and stomping their feet as she finished, the audience applauded, and Kimber laughed her way back to the bar.

She put the whistle back in her pocket and waved for another bottle.

-----------------------------------------------

THE HUMOURS OF WHISKEY Andy M. Stewart & Manus Lunny

Listen here

[schifty-al]

"Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipe and fiddle

What’s hotter than mustard and milder than cream

What best wets your whistle, what’s clearer than crystal

What’s sweeter than honey and stronger than st-" the fae stopped when she saw the man that had some how snuck up without her notice.

He pushed off the tree he was leaning on and that shrouded him in darkness. He walked out into the light of the full moon, the cowboy presented a bottle of whiskey to her. "I reckon this here's the answer to yer riddle.", he said with a pained smile. She looked down to the bleeding at his mid section. He looked down as well before looking at her again. "When I heard yer pretty voice, darlin', I was hopin' ta have yer company durin' my final breaths while I polished off this here bottle." he fell to his knees as his strength gave out. She walked over to him as he seemed to look out to the distance within the ground.

"Had this gut shot comin' to me for a long while now. For same reason I'ma widower. Same reason I'ma cold hearted bastard. Same reason I've done nothin' but lookin for revenge, and travelin to every corner of the world to get it. Same reason I only drink when I'ma restin'. Same reason I've been wishin for death to take me all these years. Same reason why only now do I have any hope of seeing my husband's long black hair and big brown eyes soon." a tear rolled down his cheek before she laid him down, set his hat to the side and rested his head on her lap.

"Thank ya kindly darlin'. Iffin ya would be so obligin'; could ya sing that song of yours for me? I think John would wanna learn it too when I finally get to see him again."

She looked into the eyes that still sparkled , but were no longer looking at anything. She took a deep breath and sang soft and slowly for him.

"...Come guess me this riddle, what beats pipes and fiddle

What's hotter than mustard and milder than cream

What best wets your whistle, what's clearer than crystal

Sweeter than honey and stronger than steam

What'll make the lame walk, what will make the dumb talk,

The elixir of life and philospher's stone

And what helped Mr. Brunnell to build the Thames Tunnel

Wasn't it whiskey from ould Inisowen

So stick to the cratur' the best thing in nature

For sinking your sorrows and raising your joys

Oh lord, it's no wonder, if lightning and thunder

Weren't made from the plunder of whiskey me boys... "

The dying cowboy listened and smiled to the entirety of song, but the sparkle in his eyes were fading towards the end of the song, "Much appreciated darlin'. I'm feelin' mighty tired right now. Think I'll rest my eyes for awhile 'fore I go see... John..." his eyes closed slowly before his head lulled to the side. The cowboy died thinking of his beloved, and the nice lady he wanted to tell him about.