#fiddler hat

[revshoggoth]

Nice thing about being an artist is you can wear basically any kind of hat and it’s fine. You’re weird. People aren’t going to question it if you start wearing a fedora or a cowboy hat or a fez. Sure we like to goof about Pharrell’s big hat but who’s going to give him shit? He’s a musician. Musicians wear funny hats. Especially musicians. What’s that thing that lives in Ton Waits’ head? Ah well he’s a musician it’s to be expected. Flat cat? Top hat? Elmer Fudd hunting cap? Yeah of course you wear that.

Porkpies are still tricky though.

[bumblingest-bee]

on this episode of fiddlerposting with bee: so in the dream sequence the ensemble pops their heads out from behind walls and under furniture to do the "mazel tov!" chorus and last night the entire backstage crew decided to put on hats and headscarves and join them. nobody in the audience could tell but i was losing my fucking mind laughing

[koshercosplay]

alrighty folks buckle up for the fifth year of menorabilia ratings! I've scoured the internet (and my eyeballs) so get ready for the best and worst chanukah merchandise of the year

okay first I just need to get these fuckin gnomes out of the way. ideally permanently. this guy's hat has so much going on I don't know where to begin. the menorah? not kosher. also wrong. the dreidels? certainly have,,, something written on them. everyone knows reindeer love chanukah, the lighting fires holiday. 5/10 at least it's got SOMEWHAT of a cuteness factor

turning old CDs into fake sufganiyot is certainly creative bc that's the only explanation for those monstrosities that I'll accept. please don't spin your spontaneous combustion menorahs on top of your dreidels. it won't bring the next season any faster. 4/10 I'll put up with a lot if you're offering to pay for my netflix account

they are Setting That Torah On Fire. is that why there's an oil jug next to a candle menorah. 6/10 the פ instead of a ש‎ on the dreidel is because the miracle is just the torah not bursting into flames

this really puts the messy in messianic. it's got the wrong amount of branches. why is the shamash just two stacked cups. the cross looks like an airplane. oh god it also has the jesus fish. -76162802492/10 never knew a single image could contain so much No.

some of these menorahs are kosher and some are not which really spices things up. what a fun little game of I spy for me. I enjoy the addition of various happy animals celebrating chanukah but were the santa hats really necessary? 7/10 that bottom dreidel has two נ‎s. none dreidel with left coins.

I can acknowledge that it's an attempt to jewish-ize a christmas thing but tinsel is, unfortunately, occasionally, pretty. weird choice to have all the menorahs have נ‎s but sure. what's that? those are dreidels? wrong. take a look at the helpful next image of this item.

do you see it yet? here let me help.

clearly those are menorahs. we light them on fire and spin them as fast as we can. first one to die loses. 5/10 google is your friend

move over fiddler on the roof chassidim with bottle balancing skills, here come some cats with impressive candle dexterity. this may not be a kosher menorah but their TAILS are the BRANCHES. 7/10 I am easily won over by the presence of cats okay

canon jewish representation, a spinning dreidel, a kosher menorah, some chocolate gelt, and they're eating fresh latkes. I needed these yesterday. 10/10 rugrats my beloved never lets me down

(previous years 1, 2, 3, 4)

[rassicas]

Thank God splatoon 3 didn't end up introducing a playable cuttlefish dlc like I feared last year (I honestly don't think we need more new playable species, would've been too sudden, my expectations were on the floor after rotm) but the cuttlefish visuals are still so suspicious to me. This hat has to be on purpose. That's absolutely not a fucking squid or octopus

And this is undeniably a cuttlefish (and the double fin shape resembles the hat)

Like how the lack of mammals in the splatoon world and ark Polaris was something suspicious in the previous games, and characters like marigold and Glen fiddler and lil judd are suspicious now.... It's way more subtle but I think this could be the splatoon team planting some seeds in case they decide to introduce cuttlefish as a separate species in the splatoon world. ill be keeping it in the back of my mind

[hotvintagepoll]

Una O'Connor (The Adventures of Robin Hood, The Invisible Man, The Bride of Frankenstein)—One of my favorite character actresses! While many people know her as the shrieking innkeeper's wife in The Invisible Man, I've always loved when she played a character who was a little more grounded (though that scream of hers is pretty iconic.) Her character of Bess is warm and loving towards Marian, but also tough and takes no prisoners. When they are captured in the forest, she comes forward to protect Marian with so much ferocity that Sir Guy (the villain) moves out of the way so quickly because even he doesn't want to feel Bess' wrath. She could switch from hilariously over-the-top to gently and sweet in the blink of an eye and she deserves a little more recognition! Also her hats in Robin Hood are ridiculous and I love them.

Zero Mostel (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum, The Producers)—Archetypal. Comedian of all time. The worst combover in cinematic history, probably. Could make more laughter with one muscle in a singular eyebrow than 98% of all men across the face of the earth. Hardcore Committer to the Bit. Man of all time, and also told HUAC directly where they could shove it, which is a primally appealing and scrungly quality.

This is round 2 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you’re confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Una O'Connor:

she eats this:

The things this woman does with her face when she sees Frankenstein's creature. Your fave could never.

Zero Mostel:

"The chase scene in FORUM is just. it's fucking iconic. It's one of the funniest pieces of cinema I've ever seen in any context, everything about it is genius, and the heart and soul of it is Zero Mostel as Pseudolus. Casting him alongside a young Michael Crawford (of later Phantom of the Opera fame) really highlights the differences between the young romantic lead and the older, sensible, and yet entirely scrungly middle aged man (Mostel was 55 at the time) somehow manages to come off as even more desirable. He has no shit together, not very good plans, is panicked for most of the story, and the charisma of a champ. His flailing, helpless attempts at fighting the gladiator is so... he's so scrungly. "

"He's not fancy, he's not pretty, he's not good at much of anything, but he is Genius despite that."

"There is a magic to Zero Mostel that he manages to bring to roles where he is simultaneously the worst person ever, and also, compelling in every possible way. He had his biggest period of fame in middle age after he got taken off the Hollywood blacklist, and being a fat middle aged man with thinning hair is what gives every single bit of his characters power. As the original Max Bialystock he would eat the entirety of The Producers except that Gene Wilder as Leo Bloom is a genius casting decision, as Mostel's intensity against Wilder's deep discomfort ends up being the right chemistry. In many ways he reminds me of Buster Keaton, the pinnacle of hot scrungly little guy—a unique and expressive face, an instinctive understanding of comedy, active at the same time, and also they were both in FORUM together. Mostel came from an Orthodox Jewish family, was a trained painter with a degree in art, spoke four languages, and when he was blacklisted during the Red Scare and brought before the HUAC, he didn't just refuse to name names, he made fun of the senators. He was disabled after an accident, and still did dancing in movies and things like stunts in FORUM. He did a ton of work on Broadway too, including originating Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof, making the musical more Jewish as he did so. Frankly, I don't think any of those roles (or the eventual later film versions of Fiddler/musical version of the Producers) would work with anyone else. It had to be a fat balding middle aged leftist Jew from Brooklyn. The scrungly is essential.

"the scrungle factor of max in every version of the producers is through the roof but nathan lane does it as suave scrungle. zero mostel does not do suave scrungle. he does old jewish man getting into an argument with the rabbi at the full synagogue passover seder about how much wine has to be in the glass for it to count as "one cup" scrungle; he does old jewish man whose entire fridge is full of pickled herring scrungle. it's offputting in all the ways that make it genius."

[jessicafangirl]

Fiddling Around

Finally the Fucking Fiddler gets some love. This became way more of a story than I started the idea with but yes, Tobias Forge's no-name Fiddler who gets the crap beat out of him now has a name. It's Gustav and you two meet after said beating. I hope you enjoy as I promised I'd do this insanity and here it is on Midsomer Weekend.

I can't believe I finally finished this. For a guy who doesn't talk a lot this is long. It's a one shot and yes I worked in a few Ghost references and one big one at the end. Don't judge me.

You can also read here at AO3

You hadn’t expected a drunken brawl on your vacation.  But the lunatics in the convertible had delivered just that. 

It had been something out of a postcard when you’d arrived in Sweden.  It was the most random decision ever actually.  You’d gotten your divorce finalized; your cock hound of a husband was now finally gone.  So to celebrate you’d thrown a dart at a map of Europe letting fate take you along.  It had landed on Sweden. 

While you had visions of Vikings in your head, you knew there was more to it than that.  You were a history buff and had read about most of the countries in Europe’s tales of the past.  Sweden was an interesting one, so you were actually excited about this.  No, you didn’t speak the language at all but…well…fate had spoken.  Plus you just wanted away from everything.

The two friends you had in the world thought you were insane for what you were doing.  You didn’t care.  In your 40s and heading to another country as a lone female, were you wanting to be killed?  You ignored them.  You wanted to do something on your own.  You wanted to prove to yourself you could.  And here you were.

The tour wasn’t cheap by any means, but you weren’t going to admit to the ones back home you did feel a little better being in a group.  You’d landed in Stockholm and gone from there.  It was beautiful and you could literally smell the history around you.

You’d packed very lightly with one duffle bag and a back pack.  You didn’t really want to buy a ton of souvenirs; you had a camera and your memory.  That’s what you’d take home….and maybe one of those cute dala horses.  And well…candy.  You were a sucker for candy from other countries candy.  And maybe one of those neat Viking necklaces, but that was it! You vowed to yourself.  Nope, nothing else. 

God, you probably should have brought another bag. 

When you had arrived in the little village right in the middle of Midsommer you were enchanted.  It looked like you’d stepped back in time with pretty young girls dancing in skirts and black-heeled shoes with flowers in their hair.  Men, young and old wearing Lederhosen as they played music.  It was surreal almost…you tried not to think of The Wicker Man or the possibility of a cult wanting to sacrifice someone for an abundant harvest.  You really needed to watch films that weren’t horror centric.  But Christopher Lee was a god damn stud…so it wasn’t going to happen.

The small tour group quicky split up and you had headed over to the shade of a tree, pulling your camera from your back pack and taking some quick shots of the locals.  You turned to the band and noticed the violin player, or more accurately the fiddle player with the blue outfit and hat, his dark hair sticking out from beneath the brim. 

He looked almost apologetic, maybe uncomfortable, like he wasn’t used to playing in public.  But he played beautifully, as did the rest of his companions.  You snapped a couple pictures of them.  As you popped the lens cap back on, you noticed the fiddler in blue glanced at you, his green eyes squinting in the sun just a bit.  You tried not to notice how nice his thighs looked in those tight blue lederhosen, or the shapely calves the tall hose showed off.  Okay, libido, I know it’s been a dry season, and you haven’t been interested since the bastard was thrown out…but you aren’t going to devour the fiddler. 

Your depraved, X-rated mind shouted something back about Swedish sausage, and you punted it away.  Besides the fact, he looked like a puppy for some reason.  It was very confusing.  You noticed one more glance in your direction, the sun glinting in the forest green of his eyes, probably thinking, look at this American loser who’s by herself.  You gave him a tiny smile and moved to wander the square. 

The air was filled with the scent of flowers and sweet berries from the stands that were scattered around the area.  Desserts, cooking food, and of course beer were all on display along with little knick-knacks.  You saw some of the other tour goers already sitting down, having slugged down two beers already and gorging on food. 

You headed over to the souvenir stands of course, because you were a sucker for that sort of thing.  Sure enough there were the little carved horses.  While you were debating a little girl, probably no more than five or six tugged on your shirt.  You glanced down and she said something in Swedish, beckoning you to lean down.  You grinned and did so.  When you were at her level she slipped a buttercup bloom behind your ear.  “Tack.” You said, one of the very few Swedish phrases you knew now.  The little girl smiled, giggled, and then ran off.

You finally chose your horse, deciding after that interaction to name it Buttercup.  You slipped the wrapped little guy into your backpack.  As you moved along you saw the little blonde haired flower girl was now dancing with the fiddler.  He was smiling actually, and you were surprised as he played a song just for the girl to twirl to as the rest of the band were taking a break.  He’d seemed so melancholy before but with his sweetly crooked teeth grin his entire demeanor had changed. 

The tune ended and you saw the little girl curtsy in thanks to her maestro who bowed in kind.  It was an adorable interaction, and you wished you’d been smart enough to take a picture, but you’d have the memory, and that’s what this vacation was all about right?  You walked over to one of the food stalls and swooned.  Everything looked delicious.  You finally settled on, of course, some meatballs in a savory gravy with some fresh baked bread and a small mug of beer.  You found an empty spot at one of the many tables and started eating.  It was fun to watch the locals and even your fellow tourists.  Blissful in a way.  You could forget about the horror show back home and just enjoy yourself.

You saw your fiddler (when had he become your fiddler?) walking over to the beer stall and getting a small mug for himself.  It was probably hot in that tight outfit…or he was hot in that outfit…wait…you thought you’d punted that voice out of your head?  You kicked it again.  Stop that.  We’re not here for that.  His licking his full lips clean of the foam from his first drink was not helping this.  Jesus Christ.  You took a healthy swallow of your own beer and focused on eating. 

Just as you had finished your food the band had started playing again.  You went back to the beer stall for one more mug, enjoying the potent brew and the fact it was ice cold.  Some of the teenagers now, all dressed in their best Midsommer get-ups, were starting to dance this time.  You leaned against one of the tables and sipped your beer, every so often glancing at the fiddle player with his dark locks, skilled fingers, and melancholy eyes. 

You watched way too many films, something your ex-husband had told you on many occasions as had your family.  Get your head into reality.  Well, reality wasn’t great most of the time as was evident when you turned on the news.  Cute little fiddler guy was suddenly your leading man in a day dream as you stood there, the scene shifting to a black and white tableau right out of Universal.

“Hans!”  (you don’t know where the name came from but hey, it was a day dream) you called him, shoulders bared from your peasant blouse, skirt pulled at by sticks and leaves as you ran to him.  Behind you the re-animated monster of Victor Frankenstein chased you, oddly the Hammer Films version which wasn’t in black and white…but it was your brain so of course it would be Christopher Lee.  “Hans he’s coming!”  You came panting up to him, breasts heaving and looking far more glamorous (and larger) than normal.

Hans, the name your slightly beer-addled brain had given him, ran to you.  “My love I will keep you safe!” his voice, which you hadn’t even heard him talk in reality yet, sounded very similar to Peter Cushing.  Well, you were a fan, and he needed to have a voice.  He pulled you into his arms and kissed you full on the mouth.  The soundtrack music your mind had chosen swelled, romantic and cinematic, “Run my darling.”  He said after pulling away.  The fact the very Swedish man had a British accent didn’t bother you…you’d seen too many ancient Rome set films where everyone talked like they had stepped off a London street.

As you watched (you in your day dream) with terrified eyes he tossed his hat aside, showing perfectly coiffed dark hair and pulling from nowhere a violin.  As soon as the monster appeared he started playing, a sad melody that could break the heart of any creature.  The monster turned its attention from you and was focused solely, almost longingly, to the music.  Hans led him away towards the ruins of a burned-out windmill.  You cried out for him to stop, knowing that the monster would realize it was a trap.  Or they both would wind up at the bottom of the pit that was the ruin. 

It was at that grandiose finale that your day dream and the music that was being played was interrupted by gravel being flung, loud rock music, and even louder voices.  You shook yourself free of your minds flight of fancy and saw the new arrivals.  You immediately knew these idiots were trouble. 

The locals quickly realized the group of newcomers were trouble too, the group immediately jumping out of their car and the men accosting…well….everyone.  One of them, a bearded guy in all white, blew a kiss at you which made you shudder.  The women were dancing with some of the older guys, who didn’t seem to mind that of course.  And the older ladies were enjoying the attention of the younger men, even when they were trying to “sexily” feed them sausages.

The one who seemed to be the leader, decked out in all denim, was talking to who you could only assume was the mayor of the town and it wasn’t going well.  You slowly started making your way back towards the tour group who were starting to huddle together but the tour guide was nowhere to be found.  Great.

You weren’t sure when it all went crazy or what set it off.  Your fiddler and the rest of the band were trying to keep playing, to keep some semblance of normalcy going you supposed.  And all of a sudden, the guy in white as well as the one you’d dubbed “denim vest” went nuts.  Their leader started a fight too, the girls still sitting and watching, laughing drunkenly as their idiot males started beating up the innocent townsfolk. 

You weren’t going to stand around and let this happen.  They’d done nothing to deserve this, and you had honestly had enough of idiot men acting like god damn menaces as these were.  Before you could do…well…whatever it was you were going to…the fiddler tried stepping in.  He was timid and you could tell he was scared simply by how big his eyes were and the shaking of his hand as he tried to grab the shoulder of the fucker in white.  But he was actually trying to stop them. 

You gasped as, for his trouble, the bigger man in white grabbed his own violin from his hand and began hitting him with it.  They fell to the ground, and he gave him a couple of punches just as a bonus.  “Fucking fiddler!!!”  The man growled, and then tucked the violin under his arm, walking away with it.

The group stalked off only moments later, heading down a path to where you knew there was supposed to be a bar.  Apparently any thought of the police coming didn’t bother them.  You didn’t even know if there were any police nearby.  The Midsommer celebration was ruined beyond repair.  You could hear a couple women crying off by the tables, but you zeroed in on your attempt at heroics fiddler who was groaning, face down on the ground. 

He was trying to push himself up when you knelt down beside him.  “Hey, here…” You said softly.  The moment your fingers brushed his arm he instinctively jerked away, a flash of wide green eyes in your direction.  “It’s okay, I’m just trying to help.”  You said, holding your hands out to show you were harmless. 

You watched and saw the recognition fill his gaze.  He relaxed a slight amount apparently realizing you weren’t going to beat the hell out of him too.  “Yeah, see, the dumb American tourist, not….disco dipshit.”  You said giving him a small smile.

The fiddler winced slightly, then gave a slight nod.  He let you slip your arm around his waist and help him stand.  You got him over to one of the wooden benches and sat him down gingerly.  You took a step back to where he’d been on the ground and snagged his hat for him, placing it next to him on the bench. 

“Okay…uh…do you speak English?”  You asked him, sitting next to him on the bench.  You weren’t a nurse, but you started looking him over as he did have injuries.  His big, glistening jade eyes looked at you and blinked.  He shook his head no.  “But you understand some?”  You asked.  At that he nodded yes.  “Alight, good.  Here, let me help, okay?”  You reached into your backpack and took out the little Sucrets box you’d converted into a traveling first aid kit and sat it next to you.  “One second.”  You said and moved over to one of the picnic tables. 

While the fiddler watched, you snagged some clean napkins, and a glass carafe of water then came back to sit next to him again.  You poured some of the water on the white napkins.  “Okay, lets get you cleaned up.”  You said. 

The fiddler sat there watching you warily as you began wiping away some of the dirt from his face.  He had some cuts on his forehead, one that was bleeding down his temple.  You swiped at it as gently as you could, but he still winced.  “Well, they did a number on you.”  You muttered.

After a few moments he must have realized you weren’t actually another threat because he visibly relaxed more.  He spoke then, words in Swedish that you didn’t understand.  It was nice to hear his real voice though, even if he didn’t sound like Peter Cushing.  Instead, his voice was on the softer and lighter side, pleasant.  The accent melodic, even if you could tell he was saying something along the lines of “Yes, the fucking dicks beat me with my own violin.”

“I have no idea exactly what you said.”  You replied, dabbing at another cut near his chin.  “But I will also say they were fucking dicks.” 

This made him actually let out a small laugh, which hurt because he’d been kicked in the side, but he apparently understood THAT perfectly well.  “Sorry…” You said with a smile.  “I won’t make you laugh anymore.” 

He replied back to you in Swedish, again you had no idea exactly what, but he returned your smile with a pained one of his own.  You dampened another fresh napkin and gestured for him to lean down.  He obediently did.  You hesitated for a second before letting your fingertips brush into his short, dark hair, moving it out of the way so you could take care of a cut that was bleeding just on the edge of his hairline. 

This close you caught the scent of his cologne mixed with the just there trace of mothballs from his jacket.  It was oddly pleasant mixed together, a hint of musk, woods, and vetiver.  You needed to stop thinking about how soft his hair was and how good he smelled.  He’d just had the crap beat out of him and you were helping him…not shoving your face into his chest so you could inhale.  God…what was wrong with you?

You cleared your throat and sat back, reaching for the tiny kit and pulling out a Q-Tip and a packet of Neosporin.  “Well I don’t know if you know what I’m saying but I think you were pretty brave.”  You took the now coated Q-Tip and started applying the ointment to the worst cut at his temple.  “I didn’t see anyone else trying to stop them…and that included me.  I’m sorry.”

The fiddler pursed his lips, glancing up at you through thick lashes, a little furrow forming between his brows.  He started talking again, his hands waving slightly as he spoke.  You sat back and watched as he went on a mini tirade apparently.  You recognized something denim vest had said, and he was mimicking him…pretty well you had to admit.  Finally he gestured at you shaking his head.  His voice lost its harshness; he glanced away from your gaze for a moment.  He spoke in Swedish again, but you caught the word angel in English. 

Whatever he said, you reached out and lightly touched his hand where it rested on the bench.  “Well, thank you for standing up to them.”  You told him. 

He glanced down at your fingers resting against his, then back up at you.  After a second, he gave a slight bow of his head, looking a little embarrassed, that shy expression you’d originally seen gracing his face.  He then tapped his chest with his other hand a couple of times.  “Gustav.”  He said. 

Your eyes widened.  “Gustav, that’s your name?”  You asked him smiling.  He nodded in reply.  You were shocked you hadn’t called him Hans while patching him up.  You moved your hand to touch your own chest and gave him your name.  He repeated it, his accent swirling around the letters and making a little spark of electricity roil along your back. 

“Well Gustav, just one more thing here…”  You said and then grabbed one of the band aids from the box.  You leaned up and applied it to the cut near his temple, brushing a bit of his dark hair over it once it was applied to keep it a little hidden.  “Okay, I think that’s all I can do that I can see here…” 

As you were finishing the gentleman you thought was the mayor came over.  He glanced at Gustav, patting him on the shoulder and saying something in Swedish that sounded apologetic.  He then turned to you.  “I am sorry Miss that you were witness to that.”

You gave him a smile, putting away your little med kit.  “I’m sorry it happened Sir, is…well…is everyone alright?”

“As well as can be expected.  Gustav here took the brunt of their punishment.”  He replied.

At this Gustav spoke quickly to the man, gesturing at you.  The man nodded.  “Ah, he says you were heaven sent and thank you.” 

You felt the blush on your cheeks, and you shook your head.  “He tried to stop them.  It was the least I could do.” 

The older man translated this though you could tell Gustav knew what you had said.  You stood up then, pulling your backpack onto your shoulders.  You had one more quest to do because you’d been stewing on it this whole time. 

The fiddler muttered something under his breath which made the older man raise a brow and shake his head.  He turned to you.  “Oh, my name is Karl Miss.”  You held out your hand in greeting and the older gent took it and placed a kiss on your knuckles as you gave him your name.  “We are getting the square in order now so our celebration will continue despite the attempt of the ruffians.  I do hope you won’t let it ruin your trip.”

“Oh, I’m not running off or anything sir.”  You told him.  “But if you have someone who can take a look at his ribs maybe…I think they may be bruised.” 

Gustav looked up and pushed himself to his feet.  He only winced a small bit as he stood.  Karl spoke to him in Swedish and he replied in kind.  Karl turned back to you.  “He says he’s fine and you don’t need to worry.” 

You raised a brow and gave Gustav a look that he would definitely understand meant “I don’t believe you but you are a guy so I can’t make you listen to anything.”  He cowed a little bit at it, ducking his head some and glancing away for a moment while trying not to look like it hurt to breathe. 

“We will have dinner for you and your fellow travelers tonight at 8pm in the hotel restaurant as planned.”  Karl said, “I do hope to see you there.” 

You nodded.  “I should be back by then.” 

Both men looked at you oddly.  Gustav getting that expression you were starting to learn was concern, confusion and annoyance combined.  He said something in Swedish directly to you that Karl translated.  “He asks…as do I…where are you going?”  The bus wasn’t going anywhere else until the next day and with the hooligans about it wasn’t safe for you to go anywhere alone. 

You gave them both a smile as you tightened the straps on your backpack.  “Oh, I’m going to get his violin back.”  You said and then turned on your heel, heading in the direction the gang of idiots had gone.

With your back turned you didn’t see the two men look at each other as though they had misheard you…or they’d finally realized you were an actual lunatic.  You heard a sudden tromping of someone running and then Gustav was standing in front of you, holding his side and blocking your way panting.  Karl appeared next to you seemingly just as winded by the surprise sprint.

The fiddler was rattling off something in Swedish again, the hand not pressed against his ribs gesturing manically, his eyes the widest you’d ever seen them and equally as manic.  You glanced over at Karl who was trying to keep up with whatever he was saying.

Karl made a gesture for Gustav to calm down and stop for a moment.  “Uh, he’s saying you are crazy if you think you are going after those uh…(it was obvious he was trying to find a word that was far more couth than what the fiddler had used) ruffians alone or at all.” 

Gustav looked at Karl and made a noise like a disgusted growl.  He obviously thought ruffians was too nice a term.  Then he looked you straight in the eye and shook his head no.  There was something sweet and also worried in his gaze.  It just made you more determined that you weren’t going to let the assholes keep his violin.  In fact they could have destroyed it by now, but you were still going to try. 

You sighed heavily.  “Sir, would you be so kind as to tell him that I appreciate the concern, but I’m not letting the…ruffians…keep his instrument.  And he’s in no condition to go retrieve it.”

Karl looked at you warily, as if knowing this was pointless and also you were truly insane.  He spoke to Gustav who rolled his eyes, let out another frustrated growl, and began gesturing again while talking quickly.  You wondered in the back of your head if he might have an Italian relation somewhere in his history.

The mayor once again told him to slow down and stop while he translated.  “He says you are not doing this.  The violin isn’t worth you getting hurt.  You’ve been more than kind.”

“Where did he get the violin from?”  You asked then, staring into Gustav’s eyes and not flinching. 

Karl was silent.  Gustav was silent.  You know he knew what you’d asked but he merely sighed deeply, glancing away first.  You turned to Karl then, having a feeling he’d know as he seemed to be close to the fiddler.  “Where did it come from?”  you asked him this time, directly.

Karl gave a nervous look to the other man.  He wasn’t a good liar, and he had a feeling you’d know if he did lie to you anyway.  “He…he got it from his grandfather.  He’d played it during the war, said it kept him sane.”  Karl’s voice was soft, apologetic. 

You looked at Gustav, your lips thinning.  “Tell him I’m getting his violin back and he needs to go get his ribs wrapped.”  You then walked around the fiddler and out the door as Karl started telling him what you’d said.  You were a couple steps away when you heard Gustav replying, your name even spoken in a hyper and stuttering cadence.  You had a feeling he’d try and follow you, so you hurried along. 

It was still light out when you came upon the bar, more like a tavern, but there was the convertible not even trying to be hidden right outside.  You slipped in, finding a jukebox in the corner of the place blasting some music, Denim Vest and one of the girls dancing in the middle of the wooden floor.  The others of the group, including Disco Nightmare, were drinking at a table.  You noticed the violin sitting next to a pile of their jackets and purses. 

You scoped out the room and headed to the bar itself, you could feel someone watching you as you did.  From the corner of your eye you noticed the one you thought of as the leader following you as you went to the barkeep and asked for a beer.  You paid the man and sipped at the drink, glancing back over at the table where the leader of the group looked at you over the glasses he wore while one of the girls chattered on.  After another minute or so you walked over.

“Hello, do you speak English?”  You asked the now surprised looking group. 

“I do.”  The leader said, he gestured at Disco Nightmare, “He knows enough to get his ass in trouble.”

The leader unnerved you a little more than the rest.  There was something both calculating and missing in his eyes as he studied you.  Where the fiddler couldn’t hide anything, he was thinking with the sort of clear, open eyes he had this guy on the other hand…they were a mystery.  Maybe what was missing was a soul.

“I’m Clark.”  He said suddenly, holding out his hand.  “What can I do for you Miss?” 

You really didn’t want to shake his hand, but you did anyway.  He held on a little too long.  You gave them your name.  “What you can do is give me a chance to win back that violin over there.”

The table went quiet; Clark was barely holding back a smile and Disco Nightmare raised a brow.  “The fucking fiddle?  You want the fucking fiddle?”  He asked you.

Clark was quiet, studying you.  “You want to…win it?”  He asked.  “Why?”

You took a breath, tamping down the fear you were feeling.  You were outnumbered by this group, and you doubted the barman would be any help.  “Because it means something to someone that you stole it from.” 

Clark pursed his lips.  “How do you want to win it modig dam?”

You reached into your backpack and pulled out your well-loved deck of cards.  “Five card draw…that is if you all know how to gamble.”

Disco Nightmare laughed, Clark looked amused but interested.  His female friend looked bored, and Denim Vest was now making out vigorously with the girl he’d been dancing with in a booth.

“Is that a yes?”  You asked, trying to keep the bravado going.

Disco Nightmare looked at his boss and his boss gestured to a chair nearby.  “Bring it over ganska spelare…let’s see what you’ve got.”

Disco Nightmare turned to you suddenly.  “What do I get if I win?”  He asked you then, leering. 

Clark leaned back in his chair as you sat down.  He looked every inch the brat prince he seemed to think he was.  You really didn’t like any of them.  “Yes, you do have to offer up something.”  Clark said with a quirk to his lips.  “And if the violin means that much…well it needs to be equally valuable.”

Disco Nightmare grinned and it spoke volumes.  “I know what I want.”  He said, his voice making you suddenly need a shower. 

You swallowed, your throat dry.  Your grandfather had been a trucker and a gambler.  A damn good gambler who had been able to retire early due to his ability.  A good thing too as he’d not lived but another 10 years after he’d retired due to cancer.   But before then, every weekend spent visiting he and your grandmother he’d taught you, his only grandchild, how to play cards.  Your parents hadn’t known just how much he’d tutored you or how good you got.  But you had cleaned out an entire frat house for every penny they had one night during a party you’d been dragged to.  You sent a little prayer up to your grandfather and Gustav’s for all the luck they could bring you.

You turned to Disco Nightmare.  “Fine…I’m pretty sure I know what you want too.”  You pulled the cards out and started shuffling.  “So shall we play?” 

Clark nodded and that seemed all that was needed.  You then started really shuffling and as you played the cards between your fingers you saw Disco Nightmare start looking worried. 

It was just you and the two men who were playing.  The bored girl had headed off to mess with the jukebox.  Your eyes though were on the cards and the men you were out to best.  It was decided that best out of five rounds would win.  You only lost one and it was to Clark.

Disco Nightmare was livid.  He stood up and started ranting in Swedish.  Clark barked out something back to him and he shut up, sitting down like a petulant little shit, which was accurate.  Clark reached over and grabbed the violin; he handed it to you with a smile.  “Well done.  If I thought you were sticking around, I might have a job for you.”

You’d quickly grabbed all your cards and placed them back in their box.  You took the violin from the man and shook your head.  “Sorry but I only use my powers for good.”  You told him and after snagging the instrument you quickly headed out the door.  You could hear Disco Nightmare say something behind you and then Clark very plainly telling him to shut the fuck up.

You waited until you were a good distance from the tavern before you leaned up against a tree and actually were breathing normally, trying to control your heart from the crazy staccato it had been trying to hammer to.  You looked down at the violin in your arms and smiled.  It really was a beautiful instrument and even if it had been used to bludgeon its owner, it hadn’t been damaged.  It was obvious too that Gustav took care of it as it was in immaculate condition. 

After taking another couple of minutes to let your heart calm down you headed back to the village.  It was just starting to get dark, and you glanced at your watch to see that it was nearing 8pm.  That meant dinner, which sounded amazing because you were starving. 

You hoped that Karl would be there so you could give him the violin to give back to Gustav but as you approached the hotel, the scent of dinner wafting through the air, you saw a figure pacing back and forth in front of the entrance.  There was a fire pit, lit and roaring as well as some string lights hanging in celebration of Midsommer.  So it was in the dim light you discovered the figure was Gustav, hatless and still in his outfit, sans his jacket.  His pale face was tense, and you caught him murmuring something to himself. 

“Hello!”  You called out and he jumped probably a foot in the air. 

He turned and when he saw you his eyes grew huge again, a trait you were finding endearing.  He quickly made his way to where you stood, rattling off something in Swedish.  Again, you caught your name in the mix.  You had held the violin behind your back, so he still hadn’t seen it when he came over.  His hands were flying as he spoke apparently not caring you had no idea what he was saying. 

“Gustav…Gustav…it’s okay.  I’m fine.”  You managed to say at last when he had to breathe. 

The fiddler let out a heavy sigh, fingers carding through his short hair.  He said something else, not quite as frantic, his head shaking slightly.  You were pretty sure he was commenting about you being suicidal. 

“Hey, you can’t stay mad at me forever.”  You said, smiling at him.  He glanced at you, lips thinning and making a short humph of noise as if to say yes, he could.

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “Well…maybe this will help.”  You pulled the violin from behind your back and held it out to him. 

Gustav’s expressive eyes nearly bulged out of his head.  He said your name, gasping it in surprise.  With shaking hands he took it from you.  He inspected it in the firelight, and you couldn’t help but smile as his fingers traced the wood reverently.  He looked back at you, and you noticed a glint of what could be a tear there just at the corner of his eye.  “How?”  He asked in English, his soft voice nearly breaking.

“Luck and the power of grandpas.”  You replied.  He looked confused for a moment.  You laughed.  “I’ve got a good poker face, that’s all you need to know.” 

The fiddler still looked a bit confused but accepted the answer.  He licked his lips, hesitated and then said, again in English.  “Thank…you…”  He looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how or what. 

“You’re welcome, Gustav.”  You replied with a curtsy. 

“Miss!  You are back!”  You heard Karl say from somewhere nearby.  He was walking out of the hotel entrance.  His eyes alighted on the instrument in Gustav’s hands, and he turned to look at you in surprise.  “You…you did it.” 

“You all are really great at instilling confidence.”  You replied with a grin.

“Oh…I…I mean…I…”  Karl was stuttering and you finally gave him an out.

“It’s okay, I’m joking.  I’m just glad I was able to pull it off.”  You glanced over at your fiddler, feeling him watching you.  “And you are quite welcome again.”   You took a deep breath, rolling your neck with a satisfying pop.  “If you’ll pardon me, I have to eat something before I faint.  Good evening.”   You lifted your hand in a small wave.

Before you could walk away Gustav grasped your hand in his.  Warm and calloused fingers lifted it to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.  “Tack min skyddsängel.”  He said, voice soft and a little hushed in the evening dark. 

If you thought his fingers were warm his lips were like an inferno.  You had to stop yourself from tittering like a teenager.  ”Du är välkommen.” You managed to reply with what tiny bit of Swedish you knew, hoping you didn’t sound as breathy as you did to your ears.  Okay you are not going to think about how the fire light played with the jade color of his eyes.  Or how he was holding your hand still. 

You needed to flee before you were an idiot in front of Karl and God and Everyone.  “Okie dokie…I’ll uhm…dinner.”  You managed to say as if that was a normal sentence and with a force of will pulled your hand from his. 

You could feel him watching you until you went through the carved wooden door of the hotel.  On the other side of the door you let out a breath you didn’t know you were even holding.  The scent of stew and bread and the yeasty fragrance of beer filled your lungs. 

The night had gotten a little bit chilly, so the fireplace was roaring in the dimness of the dining hall, flickering in the shiny reflection of the wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling.  You went over to the serving area and got a tray which was quickly filled with a bowl of the delicious smelling stew, a hunk of still steaming bread, and a tankard of beer. 

When you sat down at a lone table near the fire you suddenly felt how weary you were and the anxiety that you’d been fighting without realizing it leave your shoulders.  My god, you’d really just faced down a group of hoodlums for a violin.  You wouldn’t be sharing that story with your friends back home…they’d lock you up.

Outside, just as the door shut to the hotel behind you, Karl looked over at Gustav who was still standing there as if glued to his spot.  The older man shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips.  “I know that look.”  He said in Swedish to the younger man.

Gustav glanced at the head of the village, hoping he was keeping a neutral expression on his pale face…and failing.  “What look?”  He replied, voice only a little shaky. 

Karl laughed, placing a hand on the fiddlers shoulder.  “The one you’ve got right now.  The one that doesn’t know if you should be afraid or running after her to have your babies.” 

The fiddler shook his head.  “No…no…I’m not…no…”  He stammered, trying to form a response…and failing.

Karl patted his shoulder in understanding.  “That American just did something stupidly dangerous for you and she just met you.  I know how much you love that violin.  I know what it means to you.  She knew in just a few moments time…and her heart told her to get it back for you.”  The mayor gave him a sad smile.  “I know what you are thinking about Gustav, but not everyone will hurt you like she did.  You can’t hide away forever.”  He slapped him on the back then.  “If you don’t go in there and at least try to woo her, you’re a fool.”

The fiddler sighed…glancing up at the slowly star filling dark sky.  “I’m…I’ve…I’ve got nothing to offer her.  Why would she…”  He said, defeat already coloring his words.

Karl shook his head.  “What made her do what she did, that’s what you should be thinking on.  Don’t dwell on doubt.  Offer her music, she brought that back to you.” 

Gustav glanced at the precious violin he was holding.  The only reason he had it was the woman who had waltzed in when he’d needed saving, he realized in more ways than just one.  He nodded.  “Thank you, Karl.”

“Don’t thank me, just go.”  The older man laughed and with one last pat to his shoulder, left to eat dinner at his own home.

You were done eating and about half way through the surprisingly large tankard of beer when the door of the hotel opened.  You glanced over and froze as you saw Gustav walk in, holding his violin case, still sans his hat and jacket.  He greeted a few of the locals but his eyes kept looking your way.  You took a nervous sip of beer as he finally made his way to you. 

“Hello.”  You said as he stopped to stand in front of the fireplace. 

He nodded in reply, realizing this would be a bit harder without Karl around to help do some translating.  But he hoped the music would speak enough for him.  He held up the violin case then pointed at you, then mimicked playing. 

It took you a second.  “You…you want to play something?”  You asked. 

He nodded, smiling.  He hesitated, looking thoughtful, then said “You…choose.”  In that soft voice that seemed so unused to speaking.

You grinned back at him.  “Someone knows more English than they let on.”  You replied.  He looked bashful for a moment, his apple cheeks blushing in the firelight.  He flipped his hand back and forth to say a little bit.

Okay, he was officially adorable, and you were in danger.  But you couldn’t help it, he was sweet, cute, and sort of hopeless in a way puppies were.  Oh god…you were thinking of him as a puppy now?  He was a grown man…with really nice thighs in those leggings.  Nooooo…oh fuck you were in trouble.

Well, it was too late now, and he was waiting.  You supposed you’d stay on brand as it were as the first composition that you thought of that would be perfect for a violin entered your head thanks to Bela Lugosi’s Dracula.  “Okay, how about Swan Lake?” 

Gustav nodded, his brows raised a bit in surprise at the choice.  Maybe he didn’t think you’d know any classical music.  Ha, I showed you…Americans have some class.  And we watch old vampire movies.  Don’t judge me.  You only thought all of this as he placed his case on the table and pulled his violin from it and the bow. 

The others in the dining room noticed he was getting ready to play and so a few heads turned as he placed his chin against the instrument and started.  He closed his eyes as the beautiful melody rose from the strings and became airborne.  As you watched you saw his entire demeanor change with the music. 

He wasn’t stiff, he wasn’t hunching in upon himself as if trying to hide.  He was standing straight, his fingers moving effortlessly over the strings and drawing the bow back and forth.  He swayed along with the notes, his brows narrowing as the intensity of the music increased.  It was beautiful, enchanting, and when you were able to look away you saw that a few of the couples, some on the tour and some of the locals, had started waltzing.

This was why you knew you had to get the violin back.  If you weren’t sure what had inspired you before, it was this.  It was almost magical, like a spell.  This was how a Pied Piper could steal all the children from a village or lead rats away.  And he played the violin as if it was a part of him because it was.  You felt something damp on your cheek and turned back to Gustav just as the final note was played.  The sound of applause from many in the hall sounded and seemed to surprise the fiddler as if he realized there was an audience.

He looked over at you just as you joined in with the clapping, taking a moment to swipe away at the tear on your cheek.  He actually blushed at the praise of everyone and turned to give a bow to them and then to you.  “That was…absolutely beautiful.”  You said, hoping he hadn’t noticed you crying like a 5-year-old to the pretty music. 

No, you could tell by the way he quirked his head he’d noticed.  He sat down in a nearby chair, placing the violin back in its case then turned to you, gesturing at you and saying something in Swedish, the tone concerned.

“Oh, no…I’m okay.  It was just…”  You paused and let out a sigh.  “It was just really lovely.” 

One of the servers came over, bouncing in her peasant blouse to the point you knew she wasn’t wearing a bra.  It was even more evident when she leaned down and placed a fresh mug of beer in front of Gustav, taking more than a little time to do so.  Her dark hair fell over her pale shoulders in a perfect wave, and you tried to look away as she spoke to him.  Well…yeah musicians and girls…that’s a whole thing.

Since you weren’t looking though you didn’t notice how the fiddler was literally doing his best to not look down her blouse and ignore the way her fingers were “accidentally” brushing his bicep.  He’d noticed you looking away though, as if you were intruding on something and you most assuredly weren’t.  Maybe he was cursed…but no…something had brought you here on a day he very much needed it.  He glanced up and said to the barmaid “How’s your husband?” 

Her attitude changed immediately, so much so that you turned to see her give the fiddler a look that would freeze hell over.  You had no idea what he’d said but she responded in a very clipped tone and then flounced off to another table.  Gustav noticed the confused look on your face.  He gave you a smile, then lifted his beer.  “Skål.” 

Okay that you knew what it meant, and you clinked your mug to his own.  “Skål.”  You said grinning in reply.  Over the next two hours you sat and drank trying as well as you could to chat.  It was mostly you though talking but Gustav tried, even learning a few new words.  You found out he was actually a bit of a movie buff himself, heading to the closest larger village that had a theater every weekend.  His latest favorite was The Empire Strikes Back, though he was annoyed at having to wait for the third entry.  You both also loved Jaws, and you cracked up at his impression of Quint’s bow-legged women line.  Of course he’d know that in English. 

In between chatting a few of the other guests would come over and ask if he’d play for them.  And while he would look to you for approval, you always gave it.  You loved hearing him play.  Over the course of the evening there were a few more waltzes and one Irish gig that surprised you.

At some point you realized it was late, nearly midnight late.  It had been a long day, and it hit you like a ton of bricks as you yawned, gazing into the fire while Gustav played one last waltz for an older couple who apparently had more energy than you did.  You’d also drank at least three of these beer tankards and you were more than a little drunk…which in your mind, fuck it you had earned it.  But it wasn’t making you any less sleepy. 

As the last note rang out from Gustav’s violin the couple thanked him profusely then, surprisingly they did you as well.  They were Swedish, living only a couple of villages away apparently.  You knew this because they were more bilingual than your fiddler.  There was a mish mash of Swedish and English and you realized they thought you were a couple.  In fact, both of you realized it at the same time as the silver-haired lady with big brown eyes asked, “How long have you been together älsklingar?” 

Your eyes widened and you looked over at Gustav who sat talking to the ladies husband, every so often glancing your way.  He saw the expression on your face and paused.  “Är du okej?”  His gentle voice asked you. 

You let out a little cough to clear your throat.  “Yes, yes I’m fine.”  You turned to the lady with a small smile.  “Oh, we aren’t…we’re not…”  You sounded like a stuttering moron.  “We just met today.”  You said, managing to make a complete sentence.  Out of the corner of your eye you saw the fiddler watching the interaction, seemingly realizing what you were talking about. 

He had an odd look on his face.  What you didn’t know was he was weighing his chances based on that response.  You didn’t sound horrified by the mistake at least…and that was a good sign. 

The lovely older woman smiled and nodded.  “Ah, well…” She turned to her husband with a fondness and twinkle in her eyes that spoke of a love that hadn’t ever lessened, it had probably only grown stronger.  “Rupert and I, we met 50 years ago tomorrow.  We were married within a month.”  She turned back to you and patted your hand.  “You still have time.”  She said with a wink. 

You probably looked like a deer facing an oncoming train at that point, but you hoped you hid it well.  “Oh…hehe…uhm…thank you?”  You managed to strangle out of your throat, glancing over her head at Gustav who looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh but also had cheeks the color of cherry blossoms.  He met your eye for all of two seconds before looking away.

“Greta, we need to go my pet.”  Rupert said, his full head of gray hair enviable in its thickness.  He had a look that reminded you a bit of Gregory Peck as well as the height.  He stood and offered his hand to his wife.  “It has been a wonderful evening, but we do need to sleep at some point, as I’m sure you both do.”  He gave a slight bow to both you and Gustav. 

As Greta took his hand you stood to wish them both a goodbye, joined by the fiddler who wished them a good evening in their native tongue. 

“Lycka till alsklingar.”  Greta said, giving you another wink and a quick kiss to the cheek.  She grabbed hold of Gustav’s arm and pulled him down to kiss his as well.  “Tack igen.”  She slipped her thin arm through that of her husbands and the two walked out of the hotel, Greta’s soft laughter following as Rupert’s deep baritone began singing “Strangers in the Night” to her.

That left you and your fiddler in the now fairly dark dining room, the fireplace and a few well-placed table lamps, the only illumination.  Even the bartender had left, along with the lusty barmaid who had to have begrudgingly return home to her husband. 

You’d not really been thinking about the fact that tomorrow you’d be leaving with the tour to another area of the country.  And that meant no more fiddler, which you realized was the reason you didn’t want to think about it.  You’d known him less than a day, but translation issues aside, you really liked chatting with him.  He was funny, talented, cute, looked really good in those tight lederhosen….and oh my god what are you doing?  Stop it.

Besides the fact you were leaving the village tomorrow, you were going back home to another continent in a few days.  And besides that…what was the appeal for this guy to you?  The divorced middle-aged American who was obviously alone?  Yeah you were a jackpot.  Did you really think he’d invite you back to his charming cottage where he lived in a picturesque woods with probably a half dozen Snow White clones who pined for him and his violin’s song while Bambi and every other Disney talking animal hung around?

Okay, maybe you were really tired, and you were hitting that spiral again…the one you promised yourself you were escaping with this trip.  With a heavy sigh you turned to find Gustav standing next to you, dark hair slightly mussed with a few strands falling over his forehead.  The firelight caught in his big, forest-colored eyes causing them to glow a bit as he turned to you as well. 

He had to be over 30, right?  But he had one of those faces that could be anywhere from 20 up.  This close you could see a line or two, laugh lines on either side of his full mouth, little eye lines from when he’d smile, something you’d only seen a couple of times but when he had during the evening you’d tried to ignore the little flutter in your chest.  God damn it, you weren’t supposed to crush on the guy…could you not? 

And then he was doing that half smile to you, as if waiting for you to say something.  You needed to escape; you couldn’t do this.  You’d make an idiot of yourself.  Just…just go to bed and be sad for a while.  What was one more thing to be sad about?  Right?  You could handle one more thing.

“Uhm…well…I guess this is it Gustav.”  You said softly, your own now melancholy smile touching your lips.  You held out your hand to shake his.  “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

He glanced down at your hand, lips pursing just a bit, a little furrow forming between his eyebrows.  The fiddlers eyes tensed around the corners, but he reached out and took your offered hand gently in his own.  Gustav hadn’t been thinking that far ahead.  He’d simply been enjoying the attentions of the lovely stranger who’d risked her safety and…while he didn’t want to imagine it…her life to get him his grandfather’s violin back.  And the fearless woman had done just that.  Over the course of the evening you’d managed to enchant him even further while talking about Jedi warriors, music, and he’d not wanted to think about how you’d be leaving in the morning. 

Karl knew of his pain, a relationship that had wounded him deeply.  He’d not been enough for her apparently, not enough but the apprentice to the plumber apparently was.  He’d had to deal with enough “laying pipe” jokes after it became part of the local gossip to last a lifetime thrice over.  He’d had no idea, been blind apparently, love makes you that way as the songs all said and they were right. 

And here you appeared…right when he thought his life was at the bottom of the barrel.  He’d already had a bruised heart but thanks to the bastards who’d beaten him he had bruised ribs and the embarrassment that came with the fiasco.  The final straw had been the loss of his violin.  It was like the universe wanted to take everything from him at that moment…a moment he’d tried to at least fight back against something and wound up on the ground face first in the dirt. 

But there you were.  As he shook your hand, felt your warm soft fingers against his he remembered the gentle touch of them against his shoulder.  He’d jerked away, instinctively thinking they were back to finish the job, and then he’d heard your voice.  It was warm too, and jarringly American.  But the accent was almost like honey to his ears.  He’d watched enough films from the States, he guessed you were from the middle part somewhere.  And while he could do a decent job figuring out what you were saying, he hadn’t taught himself enough on how to speak the words back to you.  At least very many of them.

But in the hours since the two of you had bumbled your way through.  He’d watched the expressions cross your face, the way you’d roll your eyes at something silly, chewed on your lip when you were thinking, pulling the fullness of your lower lip between your teeth and driving him a little mad with the sight.  The way you laughed without hesitation, a real laugh that made the light sparkle in your eyes. 

You spoke fast sometimes, as though thinking you were going to be interrupted or hadn’t really been able to get a full sentence out often.  He wasn’t sure, but other times you would get so quiet, and he could tell you were caught somewhere else, somewhere far from him and the room you sat in.  He knew the look; he did it often enough these days.  Wondering and wandering in the past, the tightness of your jaw, the far away look.  You could get trapped there, the good and bad memories of the past, he knew that from experience too. 

But Gustav didn’t want to lose any of the precious time he would have with you.  So he’d bring you back to the present, with a word, usually in Swedish or a gesture…once during the evening he’d dared touch your shoulder. 

And now he supposed this was goodbye.  The distant chiming of a clock told him it was midnight.  Cinderella leaving the ball…He’d not find you again, would he?  He wasn’t a prince by any stretch of the imagination.  But you, you could definitely be a princess.  Or a Valkyrie sent by his ancestors who were tired of seeing him be a loser, to save his sorry ass from another embarrassment.  Couldn’t he have just a few more minutes to memorize your face before you left him as quickly as you’d appeared? 

Gustav gently squeezed your fingers, a light and friendly handshake as his brain tried valiantly to figure out a way to delay the inevitable.  There were no options sadly, but he could still be a gentleman, even if he was a heartsick one right then.  “Får jag följa dig till ditt rum?” He asked, wincing as he realized you probably had no idea what he was saying.

The adorable way you raised your eyebrow questioningly answered him.  You had no idea what he’d said.  He released your hand and made a walking gesture with his fingers and then pointed up the stairs. 

It took you a moment but then you smiled.  “Oh, you want to walk me to my room?” 

He nodded, recognizing the phrasing enough, and giving you a small grin. 

“That’s very sweet.”  You told him, happy to get another minute or two just to remember. 

Gustav went to pick up his bag, placing his violin case inside and pulling the strap over his shoulder.  When he appeared back at your side you started up the flight of narrow wooden stairs to the area for the rooms. 

The two of you were quiet, knowing that every normal person would be asleep by now.  Your room was at the very end of the left-hand hallway.  The lights had been dimmed to nearly nothing due to the hour.  The scent of furniture polish and woodsmoke from the fireplace made the air thicker.

When you came to your door you paused.  This really was it, you thought.  How had not even a full 24 hours become so important to you?  You turned then, finding the fiddler standing  close.  He was so close, even in the darkened hallway you could make out the varying shades of green in his long-lashed eyes.  Light and dark green mixed together like a forests worth of leaves.  He wasn’t much taller than you, so his face was level with yours.  And as you watched you saw a flicker of something cross his expression.  If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it was sadness. 

You took a deep breath, catching the scent of his cologne again, like a ghost on the breeze.  “Well, again, thank you Gustav.  Even with…well…everything…this was a lovely evening.”  You kept your voice level, quiet.  You actually whispered the words more than said them aloud. 

The fiddler gave a small smile, nodding slightly, eyes dropping for a moment to the wooden floor.  He seemed to hesitate, thinking.  Finally he looked up and softly said, the words careful as he concentrated.  “Thank you…angel…for…saving…me.”  His voice was also whispered, the slight accent sweet in the narrow space. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes widened at that.  It made a little pain in your heart to here it, a welcome little pain that you’d not forget.  No one had ever called you an angel before or accused you of saving them.  You couldn’t help it then, blame your Midwest background, but you didn’t hesitate.  You moved quickly and wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a hug, careful to not squeeze too hard due to his ribs. 

Your nose landed somewhere near his shoulder and neck and there the scent of his cologne was even stronger.  A greedy part of your brain had you inhale a deeper breath just so you could remember it.  You felt him stiffen for a moment, probably in surprise…or maybe horror that the American was this affectionate.  You had no idea if Sweden was a hugging place or not.

Well, that question was answered a moment later.  Gustav, shaking himself from the stupor of suddenly being in your arms and having even a little of your body pressing against his, slipped his arms around you and held tight.  He closed his eyes, memorizing just how truly soft and perfect you felt.  No hard edges, just softness, but not a weak embrace, no…this was real…this was perfect.  He rested his cheek against yours, the flush of your skin warming his own. 

“You’re welcome, Gustav.”  You said, breath tickling against his neck. 

His arms tightened a little at the sensation.  Oh, he was dangerously close to doing something foolish.  He knew it, he could sense it coming.  But he was a little drunk in a dark hallway with a beautiful woman in his arms.  He was, he realized, so very screwed.

Because you didn’t want to make it anymore weird you pulled away first after a few seconds.  He may have been uncomfortable, you knew some people weren’t like you, a hugger type.  It just was how you were and well…maybe you were a little touch starved after everything that had happened over the last year.  As you stepped away you saw his cheeks were once again that blushing pink that was so adorable, the flush going all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

“Sorry…I…well…I hug I guess.”  You sounded so stupid you mentally kicked yourself in the face.  Okay, you may have had three massive gallons of beer…or whatever those tankards were…but…god pull it together.  You turned then and unlocked your door, turning back around and finding him looking more than a little nervous.  “Well, um…good night?”  You said, sort of at a loss for what else to say.  You’d oddly been through a lot together in the last day. 

Gustav nodded slightly.  Yes, he should say good bye, a final…forever one.  Right?  That’s what he should be doing.  His angel was going to start to wonder if he was crazy, having some sort of brain damage from getting hit in the head by a wooden instrument.  Maybe he did have some sort of head injury because he was still just standing there, looking into your lovely, and slightly confused face.  Okay, he could do this.  He could leave your side…he could say goodbye.  “Ja, god natt.”  He finally pushed the words out of his throat.  And then because he knew he’d regret not at least doing this once, leaned closer and placed a chaste kiss to your cheek. 

He lingered there for just a second, momentarily possessed by how your skin felt beneath his lips.  Silky, soft as he knew it would be.  He pulled away and as he did your eyes caught his.  He paused, hovering close as if trapped in the way your gaze held him. 

Where he’d kissed your cheek felt like a current had been sent through your entire body.  Maybe you were touch starved, lonely, or maybe it was something else…something you weren’t ready to realize yet.  But as you both stood there you made a decision that was probably a bad one and well…you could always blame the beer later. 

“Oh…fuck it.”  You said aloud and you found a use for the red suspenders that he was wearing as you snagged them in your hands and pulled him back to you, your mouth slamming into his. 

The fiddler, to his credit, only made a small squeak of surprise as your warm lips plied against his.  Once his inebriated brain realized what was happening, he quickly had his arms around your waist and was kissing you back with equal or more fervor.  Oh…the foolishness was shared apparently.  He wasn’t the only one lost to this madness.  You were there with him and…it was joyous.

The kiss deepened and he could taste the sweetness of the berries you had eaten for dessert on your tongue with just a little bitterness from the beer.  It was a heady mix, and he wanted more of it.  The fingers of his right hand slipped into your hair, tilting your head back to allow him better access to your mouth, tilting your face up and back.  “Så söt.”  he sighed the words against your lips, “Som godis.”

You didn’t know what he was saying again, but if he sounded like that, he could be reciting the instructions for building a shelf for all you cared.  He just needed to keep talking.  Oh wait…you were in a hallway.  You pulled away reluctantly from his mouth and he tried to follow you, pouting as you refused him.  “We need to…not be in the middle of a hall.”  You managed to say, forehead leaning against his, trying to catch your breath.

Gustav realized you were right.  It would be a scandal, wouldn’t it?  Part of him didn’t care honestly.  He’d already been through a scandal…this he’d actually be proud of.  But he knew you were right and probably didn’t want to find yourself in the middle of one.  So he nodded, finding it hard to speak right then and finding the lederhosen was growing…uncomfortable. 

You grinned at him then.  Oh this was insane, but you didn’t care at the moment.  Instead you took hold of his suspenders again and pulled him back into your hotel room.  It was dark in there, with only the moonlight coming through the window providing the illumination.  Gustav actually shut the door with a well-placed kick.  And then it was a matter of fingers and hands and clothes being tossed away. 

He only took a moment to put his bag on the nearby desk as you dropped your backpack to the floor.  Then you were pushing his suspenders down while he kissed you senseless.  The costume was adorable but annoyingly had more buttons than you could count.  His mouth was moving down your jaw as you were trying to fight the little cloth covered bastards.  “Why…does…this have…so many buttons?”  You half laughed as his teeth scrapped your throat. 

For his part, Gustav had your t-shirt untucked from your jeans and was letting his finger tips glide over your back.  He couldn’t help but grin against your pulse at what you’d said.  “Stil framför substans.”  he muttered, then nipped at the skin. 

You gasped at the feeling of those adorably crooked teeth trying to devour your neck and how his voice had gone down an octave in the span of seconds.  With new determination you attacked the shirts buttons.  “Keep…talking.”  You ordered him.

Gustav heard the command as though from far away, all of his concentration on making sure he kissed every inch of you before this night was over with because it may be the only night he had to do so.  “Vad...vad...vill du att jag ska säga?” 

You somehow knew what he’d said.  “I don’t care…just…talk.”  You let out a small cheer as you had his vest and white shirt undone.  “There you are.”  She said and shoved them off his shoulders.  In the moonlight you could see he was pale, which wasn’t a surprise.  What was surprising was he was built like a swimmer or a dancer maybe.  He had muscle there, compact and lean with just a slight softness to his stomach.  You were overcome with the need to bite it.  You added that to your list of things you were going to do tonight. 

He was blushing.  It had been a while since he’d been in a situation like this and you were looking at him in a way that was really making the pants more uncomfortable.  “Det är bara rättvist.”  He said, giving a nervous smile and tugging at your shirt. 

You were nervous too because…well…it had been a while.  But you assumed he’d said fair was fair.  So you pulled the shirt over your head leaving you in only the lacy blue bra to cover you.  Judging by the way his pupils blew up even more than they had been your fiddler must have approved of the view.  “Angel…”  He said, and it almost could have been a prayer.

It seemed an unspoken agreement between you happened then and it was a frantic chase to see who could get the other naked first.  You both wound up tumbling onto the bed, giggling like teenagers and then hushing each other so as not to wake up the neighbors. 

Gustav thought he was going to die if he didn’t get freed from the confines of his pants.  He couldn’t remember when he’d been this hard and my god…you were everything he could have dreamed of.  Finally with a shout of glee you tossed them aside and he was working on your jeans with as much frantic energy. 

In between wet and messy kisses to your neck, down to your breasts Gustav worked the hooks of your bra with the skilled fingers of a musician.  He had it tossed off next and could almost hear the harps of heaven as he saw your tits for the first time.  He was only a simple man…and quickly went to work suckling one and palming another. 

You moaned from behind clenched teeth, not wanting to have everyone around you knowing what was going on behind your closed door.  But he was lapping at your nipple between suckling nips at the pink bud like an artist, his mouth so warm it was driving you crazy.  Finally you couldn’t take it, pulling him back to your lips and kissing him again, tongues swiping at each other while his skillful hands slipped down your hips. 

“Jag vill röra vid er alla.”  His voice was nearly breathless as he trailed kisses down your chin, along your neck.  “Snälla låt mig röra dig.”  He begged. 

“Please…” You gasped as his fingers moved between the waist band of your underwear, quickly finding your core.  You let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl as he slipped his fingers into your wet heat.  You heard him groan against your throat as he felt you for the first time.  You gasped his name as he slipped a second finger in, moving slow and deep, curving them every so often. 

“Så hårt min ängel.”  He leaned up on one arm watching your face as he stroked you.  Oh you were so wonderfully tight, so deliciously wet.  You were an angel…there was no other explanation for how lucky he was just then.  Your lashes fell against your cheeks so prettily as your lips parted, his name on them again and again.  He could die tomorrow, and he’d be content with this vision forever in his mind. 

The pleasure hit you in the next moment, unexpected and glorious.  You shuddered under him as the orgasm sent waves of tingling heat through you.  Your fingers gripped his bicep, your other hand fisting the blanket.  As the aftershocks rocked you, you pulled him back down into a bruising kiss, flipping him over onto his back with a surprised yelp.  It was time for payback.

You dragged your mouth down from his, biting his long throat as you made a trail down to his pale chest.  You heard his gasp as you find a pectoral and let your teeth graze the skin, down to his own nipple which you licked while looking up at him.  His face was scrunched in pleasure, eyes nearly closed, and lips parted as he tried to keep breathing.  Maybe you hadn’t lost your touch after all.

You let the tip of your tongue trail down his chest until you came to the slight swell of his stomach.  Your teeth nipped at the skin there, leaving a ring of little red bites like mementos on his pale flesh, your fingers caressing his sides and then moving to the front of his boxers.  He was squirming beneath you now, fingers curling into your hair, not pulling you away but just holding on.  His breathing was heavy; little moans every so often tickling your ear. 

The bulge in his boxers was impressive.  You were a little intimidated…it had been a while.  You palmed at the tented fabric, letting your fingers caress the length of him hidden behind the white cotton.  “Do you like that Gustav?”  You asked him, placing a kiss against the top of his stomach while you stroked him through his boxers.

The fiddler didn’t know if he could even form words or coherent thoughts at that point.  He could only moan out a strangled noise that sounded like a yes.  He thought he might actually die now.  And again, he’d be okay with that.  He honestly couldn’t think of a better way to go than this.  But he wanted…he wanted you and if you kept doing what you were doing…he’d not make it.  “Jag kommer inte att klara min ängel. Snälla...”  he begged. 

Even if you didn’t know exactly what he was saying you could guess.  You moved back up to kiss him again, his lips just as perfect as you had suspected.  His arms quickly wrapped around you, holding you tightly, any pain from his ribs forgotten in the haze of this moment.  The two of you struggled with the final bits of fabric keeping you from each other. 

Gustav gazed into your eyes one more time, as if asking you again if this was okay, were you sure.  Your answer was to pull him back to your lips, kissing him, so much better than just mere words. 

He tried to be gentle, and he was, but it only took a moment and then two before you were pulling him closer, bringing him deeper.  He positioned your leg over his hip and thrust himself fully home, bottoming out with a strangled gasp.  “Min ängel. Min himmel.”  He whispered into the darkness, pulling back nearly all the way and slamming his hips into yours again. 

Your fingernails left trails on his back as he took you.  It was all you could do to hold on as he buried his face in your neck and his cock inside you.  His fingers gripped your hip in place as he fucked you into the mattress, leaving bruises as mementos as you’d done with your teeth to him.  And as you felt yourself reaching that peak again, he kissed you once more, savoring this insanity for the weird magic it was. 

The orgasm didn’t sneak up on you like the first one, you’d felt this one building like a slow buzzing fire.  When it finally rolled over you Gustav had to muffle your cry with his mouth, his release only a moment later.  The sound of your pleasure joined his, echoing in your throats.

Gustav took a few moments, letting the two of you calm and settle yourselves, the dark room filled with only the sounds of your heavy breaths now.  He rolled onto his side then, not wanting to let you go, one leg between yours to keep you as close as he could.  You’d kick him out soon, he knew this, and he wanted every second to count. 

You could still feel him, softening inside you but still joined.  And you weren’t finding a desire to let go soon either.  “Well…” you let out a gentle laugh, finger tips trailing along his collarbone.  “I guess you played me like a fiddle, huh?”

Gustav knew what you’d said.  He looked down, catching your glossy eyes staring up at him, smile a light in the darkness.  He thinned his lips and made an annoyed “mmmph.” before leaning down and kissing your nose. 

The way you were staring up at him made a fluttering spread throughout his chest.  Even more powerful than what you’d both just shared and that…that scared him a little.  “Jag skulle göra musik med dig för alltid.”  He admitted, the words fragile in the dark, knowing you may not understand, but wanting to say it aloud. 

He was supposed to let you go now; watch you leave…what was another shattering of his heart?  Gustav sighed heavily, slipping from your warmth but still unable to let you go as he kept his arms around you.  He settled on his back eyes gazing into the beams of the ceiling, some carved with little forest creatures in the wood.  He saw the vague outline of a fox looking at you both, probably judging you and finding him lacking.  “You foolish man, why taste paradise when you know it will disappear with the sun?”  he could hear it say.

He was surprised though when he felt your cheek come to rest in the crook of his arm, lips pressing a gentle kiss against his chest.  It felt like you were burrowing up against him and settling in for the night.  Gustav almost winced as your arm rested over his stomach, fingers lightly stroking his bruised side.  But it wasn’t out of pain, at least not from the beating.  No, this was the hurt of knowing how temporary this was.  As if in rebellion to the reality he tightened his hold on you, pressing a kiss against your hair. 

“You’re very comfy.”  You said sleepily.  Oh yeah you were tired even before all of that.  Now you were a combination of drunk drunk and sex drunk and oh he was comfy.  He wasn’t a big guy, maybe you could fit him in your bag too.  If it was a choice between the horse figure and Gustav, Gustav wins. 

You refused to listen to the voice telling you this was over in the morning.  He’d be going back home…he might even leave before then…and you had a tour to finish and then it would be back home for you too.  You knew when you made the decision it was one night…right?  But he was still holding you and you were not going to make it easy for him to go.  In fact you’d slid one leg over that shaped thigh of his so it would be even more tricky for him to get up.

But Gustav was not in a rush at all.  In fact, he suddenly had an idea.  It was a bad idea, like most of his turned out to be, but one that grabbed him, nonetheless.  Before he could stop himself, he whispered into your hair “Stanna här med mig.” 

You let out a little gasp of surprise.  “What?”

Well it was too late to take it back and he didn’t want to.  “Stanna här med mig.”  He said it again, voice a little stronger, biting back the fear of rejection.  He met your gaze with a nervous smile, fingers tracing your still flushed cheek. 

You knew enough to translate what he’d said.  The expression in his face as he met your eyes was a mix of fear and anticipation.  You’d never seen a man with literally no shield for his emotions.  Your fiddler couldn’t lie if he wanted to.  “Gustav, I…I have to go back home in a few days.  The tour…” You tried to explain as you felt his fingers curl around your own, bringing your hand to his lips for a kiss. 

He knew this of course…but he wasn’t ready for you to leave him forever.  He needed to know if this was more, was as much as he hoped it could be.  He had a plan.  It was probably a horrible plan which is what most of his wound up being, but he had to try.  It took him about five minutes of gestures and a mix of Swedish and very poor English, but he eventually explained himself. 

“So you want me to ditch the tour and stay here while you take me around in your cousins car to show me the sights?”  You repeated what he’d managed to convey.  You could hear your friends screaming at you from the States, he was a psychopath. 

Gustav nodded, praying to whichever god was listening you didn’t think he was a lunatic.

“Then you’ll take me to Stockholm so I can catch my flight back home?”  You asked him.

He nodded again.  He wouldn’t be thrilled with that part of the plan but…well…he’d figure out the rest later.  You weren’t telling him to fuck off so that was a good sign.

You were chewing your lip again and his eyes were drawn to the way the pink color reddened at the mercy of your teeth.  He sent another prayer up. 

“This is crazy…you know that too, right?”  You replied, your fingers resting against his chest, tracing little patterns over his heart. 

Oh he knew it was crazy.  He knew it and he was embracing it for all it was worth. 

You finally decided, as you had earlier that night…fuck it.  “Okay, let’s be crazy.”  You said at last, leaning up and kissing him quickly. 

“Ja?”  He asked, a dazed grin crossing his face. 

“Ja.”  You replied and kissed him again.  He was very kissable and that was becoming a problem too.  “But first, I need to sleep…so…”  You pushed him back onto the mattress and burrowed your face into his chest.  “Your job is now pillow.”  You muttered against him. 

Gustav grinned back up at the fox, wanting to flip his judgy face off but instead accepting his fate to be your pillow for the evening. 

The next morning you both slept in.  You were lucky as you had just enough time to find the tour guide and tell him you had a change of plans.  You even got a partial refund, which was a surprise.  When you got back to your room you found Gustav was awake and had changed into his normal clothes.  It was a little surprising after having only seen him in his suit.  Tight blue jeans, sneakers, and a Pink Floyd t-shirt completed his look.  He’d brushed his dark hair back from his forehead and you were again wondering just how old he was.  My god, were you stealing from a cradle?

His smile was beaming as he saw you walk into the room.  “Well it’s official, you are my new tour guide buddy.” 

He quickly moved to your side and pulled you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a brief kiss.  Gustav gestured for you to pack up and then, with another mix of Swedish and English told you he’d be back with the car from where he’d left it.  One more kiss and he headed out of the room.

You shook your head still smiling, then quickly packed up your small amount of belongings.  A few minutes later and you were heading down into the lobby.  As you walked by the dining area you caught a glimpse of the bar maid from the other evening.  When she saw you her face darkened, eyes narrowing.  She’d probably seen Gustav leaving and put 2x2 together.  You gave her a big smile and a wave as you stepped outside.

It was bright and sunny, with just enough of a breeze.  The scent of flowers and woodsmoke were in the air.  And they were quickly joined by the sounds of what could only be ABBA on a radio.  You turned at the sound of crunching gravel as a large, off-white car came to a stop in front of you.  Your eyes widened.

“Your cousin drives a Buick?”  You asked in shock. 

Gustav, now sporting sunglasses and looking more than a little punk opened his door and slipped out while the radio blasted Lay Your Love On Me.  He nodded, moving to the trunk and opening it before taking your bags.  “Ja…he…he likes American.”  He replied in a stuttered burst of English; he gave you a flirty grin.  “I do too.”

Okay this new version of your fiddler was winning you over fast.  He placed your bags in the back and shut it with a heavy thud before taking your hand and leading you over to the passenger door which he opened for you. 

“Uh…buckle in.”  He said through the window before hurrying to the drivers side and sliding into the massive front seat. 

You smiled at him, scooting over after he placed his arm over the seat back to press against his side.  “So, what’s your cousin doing that he doesn’t need his car?”  You asked as he put the vehicle in gear.

The fiddler’s fingers gave your shoulder a squeeze as he hit the gas he answered your question.  “On tour with his band.” 

[bookdragonfruit]

Sandman characters in a Howl's Moving Castle AU - Dream as Sophie, Death as Lottie, Hob as Howl, Roderick Burgess as the Witch of the Waste, and Gault, Fiddler's Green and Corinthian as hats

Tried a new pencil when drawing this. Not sure how much I like it, my opinion keeps swaying...

Also, couldn't help throwing in a little Poe reference...

[traumaticemphaticfantastic]

I have been concocting a new art style over the course of this year! But don’t worry, this style isn’t replacing my old one, it is actually just a secondary art style for when I feel like I want to try something different or need a different “Vibe” as it were. And today I want to present to you the first two true pieces that I completed with the finalized aesthetic!

The first piece (Left) is called “Mr. Velt-Wide” and it is meant to be a more positive or playful take on the diaspora, as I am a part of the diaspora and I quite enjoy it! The piece depicts a Jewish man wearing all black holding a suitcase with a Magen David on it, he is tipping his hat and winking at the observer, a big smile on his face, as he balances on a globe of the Earth, taking one big step from one continent to another. Behind the man is the Moon and the void of space with a few stars dotted about, and in big stylized text it says “Mr. VELT-WiDE.” The word “Velt” in Yiddish translates to “World” and is derived from the German word “Welt.”

The second piece is titled “Jewish Man 1” and is a simple portrait of a young Jewish man, he has a beard and a darkness surrounding his eyes, his styled to look old-fashioned, with one of those old-style blazer jackets with the leather elbows, I was inspired to give him this particular jacket because I rewatched Fiddler On The Roof and saw Perchik (Who’s my favourite character) wearing one. As for the rest of the outfit, the man wears a simple vintage cap, a white button-up shirt, and his pants and shoes are more stylized, coloured in black and with no separation of the pant leg and shoes. The man stands on an impressionistic, almost abstract snowy background and surrounding his head is a rather messily painted black square, he stares into the camera, a neutral, if not solemn look upon his face.

I’m quite happy with these two pieces, and with the style I have created. I would like to credit the artist Eugene Ivanov on the stock photo website dreamstime.com (Sorry for not adding the link to his page the feature is not working for me right now) and also thank him for his amazing selection of incredible Jewish art, it inspired a lot of this art style for me and his work is just leagues better than anything I could come up with myself.

I hope you like these pieces as much as I do, I’ve actually made a few more in this new style very very recently that I’m just so excited to show off so keep an eye out for that! But anyways, that will be all for today! Be well all of you, good morning, afternoon, evening, or night!

[klainegifs]

A Comprehensive Inventory of Kurt Hummel's Hats (+ other headwear) -> Season 1, episodes 1-9 Early season 1 sees Kurt establishing his hat versatility and sense of hat adventure early on. He wears a bit of everything - fedoras, a bandana, elastic headbands, fiddler hats, and that Gucci monogram military star cap that he wears twice in this set (currently on eBay for $1000, by the way). Many of us spend our whole lives agonizing over whether we are "hat people." Kurt Hummel has always gone confidently in the direction of his hat dreams.

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

ROLES I WANT DAVID TENNANT TO PLAY IN MUSICALS: THE MASTERLIST

Okay so I've divided this into three categories, which you shall see below!

Roles I Think David Could/Should Play NOW:

Charlie Guiteau in Assassins

someone in Brigadoon bc it would be funny

The Emcee in Cabaret

Ryuk in Death Note

The Man In The Chair in The Drowsy Chaperone

The Dysquith Family in A Gentleman's Guide to Love And Murder

Herbie in Gypsy

Hades in Hadestown

Frollo in Hunchback of Notre Dame (okay give him like five years)

The Baker in Into The Woods

Lord Chancellor in Iolanthe

Albin or Georges in La Cage Aux Folles (either one as long as the other is played by Michael Sheen)

Trunchbull in Matilda OKAY HEAR ME OUT (he could also do Mr Wormwood)

Henry Higgins in My Fair Lady

Fagin in Oliver

Tateh in Ragtime

Riff Raff OR Frank N Furter in Rocky Horror

Shakespeare in Something Rotten

Squidward in SpongeBob (im so serious)

Sweeney Todd (utterly delusional but I need it to happen)

The Wizard in Wicked

Roles I Think David Would Have Nailed When He Was Younger

The Balladeer in Assassins

anyone in Cats please it would be so funny (especially Munkustrap)

Connor Murphy in Dear Evan Hansen (like Campbell era come ON)

Motel in Fiddler on the Roof

Marvin in Falsettos (he MIGHT get away with that now not sure)

Monty in Gentleman's Guide

J.P. Finch in How To Succeed In Business Without Really Trying

Molina in Kiss of the Spider Woman

Emmet in Legally Blonde

Seymour in Little Shop of Horrors

Edgar Allan Poe in Nevermore

Leo Frank in Parade

Narrator/Cat in the Hat in Seussical

Georg in She Loves Me

any character Christian Borle played in Spamalot

Tobias Ragg in Sweeney Todd

Roles David Quite Doesn't Have The Instrument For But I Would Watch Him Do Them Anyway Bc He Would Act The Hell Out Of Them:

Any Elder in The Book of Mormon (Younger)

Robert in Bridges of Madison County

Bobby in Company (Younger)

Jervis in Daddy Long Legs (Younger)

Lucheni in Elisabeth (Younger)

or death. Rudolph too tbh

Bruce Bechdel in Fun Home

Edward Rochester in Jane Eyre

Henry Jekyll/Edward Hyde (younger)

Judas in Jesus Christ Superstar (younger)

Javert in Les Miserables

Christian in Moulin Rouge (Younger)

Pierre in Great Comet (this one actually kills me bc he and Phileas are so similar)

OR ANATOLE HOLY CRAP

Gabe in Next to Normal (Younger)

Erik in Phantom of the Opera

Mark Cohen in Rent (younger)

Noel Gruber or Ricky Potts in Ride the Cyclone (younger)

Archibald Craven in The Secret Garden

Joe/Josephine in Some Like It Hot

BURRS IN THE WILD PARTY OH I WISH THIS WERE REALISTIC IT WOULD BE SO GOOD

GOD this is long please spill the opinions so this was worth it

[lasseutblogo]

What’s the name/ type of hat does palate wear?

I was working on a Roblox avatar for him and couldn’t find the right type

Fiddler Breton Cap Hat. The difference is that the Palette's one has a gold plate and the visor is made of leather, not fabric.

[fansta]

I will never forget the time my grandparents took me to a cowboy church,

We get there, and settle in for a church service. Which is promised to be more of a live band with a hint of church than the reverse.

On this particular Sunday the Pastor (or whoever was in charge) gets a band with a REALLY good fiddle player to play throughout the service

BUT right before communion begins, everyone is stopped…

The Pastor turns to the congregation, and asks for a couple of songs that this fiddler could play during the communion procession

This is a crowd of hillbillies and tourists, and he has made the grave mistake of giving us a choice.

The crowd demands The Devil Went Down To Georgia

The Pastor gets visibly nervous and starts to turn red and sweat, than he glances at the fiddle player..

(Clearly hoping he’d bail him out)

The fiddle player does not give a single shit

he’s just here to play fiddle really good and this is not circus nor his clowns.

The Pastor tries to reason with the people, he explains that it’s not right, that this is a church and to play a song about the devil while taking a sacrament is sinful.

There is a few moments of murmuring from the crowd deciding what to do next, when one fat old man in one fat old cowboy hat stands up and yells,

“But it’s bout beatin the devil, so it’s alright!” :D

The congregation agrees, there is simply no other option, it must be TDWDTG (and it’s not like our group knew any other songs to play on the fiddle anyways)

The Pastor sputters, than whispers to fiddle player, the fiddle player whispers something back.

He turns back to the congregation.

“Alright fine….we’re gonna play The Devil Went Down to Georgia”

And it was perfect! The fiddle player knew the whole song and the words and preformed it 👌

And when you walked up to get your Slice of Christ™️ the Pastor was still seething and red as a tomato

(cause he knew that he’d been beat)

[kristannafever]

Big Sky Ranch - 26

Kristanna Modern AU Rated: Explicit WC: 2555

Chapter Index

~Happy Easter! I hope you all have a good weekend! <3

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

Early October

Anna was already swallowed with emotion.  Kristoff and Buck were standing beside Sven as best man and groomsman, looking radiant in suits with brand new black cowboy hats; a gift from Sven for the occasion.  It was a spectacularly beautiful fall day.  The air was warm, the breeze just a kiss, and the backdrop of the wide open and still green pastures with the gorgeous Rocky Mountains behind them, was breathtaking. 

White chairs were set up in two groupings in the pasture outside the main house.  A white linen strung down the middle between them.   The fiddler had started to play and Dixie began walking down the aisle with her mother and father, her two bridesmaids following behind.    Anna’s new sister looked absolutely radiant in a knee-length lacy wedding dress with matching white cowboy boots.  She flashed Anna a special smile as she walked by, and then took her place at the gorgeous flower-adorned hand-crafted wooden arch; a gift from Kristoff that he’d made as soon as the couple announced that they were engaged. 

Dixie handed her wildflower bouquet to her maid of honor, her best friend and fellow competitor in barrel racing.  The other bridesmaid was on her team as well as a longtime friend.   Dixie had asked Anna if she wanted to be up there with her too, but then Sven would have to get another groomsman so she had politely declined, telling the couple that she was happy to be a spectator for this wedding.   Every other one of her old friends that had gotten married had asked her to be in the wedding party and they all turned into the worst bridezillas.  While Dixie was the furthest thing from that, Anna was simply overjoyed to watch her be wed as a guest. 

The Justice of the Peace started the ceremony, and Kristoff’s eyes went to hers from where he stood beside Sven.  He held the promise of their own future wedding in his gaze, and Anna felt the emotion further.  It was hard not to tear up.  She was such a sucker for the display of love at a wedding.  It got her every time.

Art was sitting beside her and gently patted her knee for a second.  Anna appreciated the fatherly gesture and gave him an emotional and thankful smile. 

The ceremony progressed as the sun set in the horizon, lighting up the expanse of sky above them in spectacular shades of gold, purple and pink.  When Sven and Dixie were announced as husband and wife and shared a kiss, Anna stood with everyone else and cheered, not even bothering to try rein in the tears.  She was beyond joyful for her dear friends.  Family, actually.   Just like the two people who were in the front row on the opposite side of the aisle as Anna.

Sven and Kristoff’s parents, having flown in a couple days prior from where they retired to a coastal town in their native Mexico, were fabulous people.  So were Dixie’s mom and dad, who were in the other two chairs beside them.  All four of them got along famously, and both of the Matriarchs basically fawned over Anna in hearing about losing her parents when she was a teenager.  It felt good to be surrounded by so much love and support. 

Sven and Dixie trotted back down the aisle, smiling at everyone in attendance, and guests began to flow in the direction of the massive white tent that was erected near the fence line that enclosed the houses from the rest of the ranch.  The gates were wide open, allowing guests to come and go up to the house and back to use the bathrooms.

It had been a last-minute surprise from Art.  Sven and Dixie were just going to set up a bunch of tables on the grass and string a bunch of lights between the ranch houses and the barn, but the night that they’d planned to set it all up, a couple of large trucks rolled down the lane and began building the temporary structure.   

Sven and Dixie were beside themselves with Art’s generosity.  With his direction, the decorating company had taken every single one of the centrepieces and linens they couple had picked to put on their tables, and expanded it with gorgeous accents, hanging flowers and plenty of lights strung up within the structure.  It was incredible, and every guest oohed and awed when they entered the wall-less tent.

Everyone was smiling as people grabbed drinks or sipped on the offered bottles of wine and ate delicious little appetizers from waitstaff walking around with little trays while the wedding party took pictures.   When called on, Anna joined them, and then retreated back to the tent when the last photos to do were of the parents and then the couple by themselves. 

When dinner started, Anna was happy to be sitting beside Art, Kristoff’s parents, Dixie’s parents and the husband of Dixie’s maid of honor.  His name was Felix and he was a French-Canadian who rode bareback in the same rodeos his wife and Dixie did. 

Kristoff and Sven’s parents were talking to the group about their life back in their native Mexico and it opened up a conversation for Anna to understand what her soon to be husbands’ life was like growing up, even though he’d told her all about it.   It was special to hear it coming from them, laughing at their childhood shenanigan’s and then speaking with pride at how wonderful their sons turned out and how elated they were that they had found themselves some amazing women to marry.

Anna looked to where Kristoff was seated beside Sven at the long table in the front and met his eyes right away.  He’d already been looking at her. 

She smiled, and mouthed “I love you.”

He grinned wider and did the same. 

The dinner was a fabulous buffet of all the happy couple’s favourite foods.  Anna cleaned her plate along with everyone else at their table as they laughed and talked.  Then it was time for the first dance and Kristoff slid up beside her as Sven and Dixie took centre stage and did a happy two step to Jade Eagleson’s song “Rodeo Queen.”  It put a smile on their faces, knowing that it had been Sven who suggested the song and that Dixie had found that hilarious and loved his idea.  The lyrics made everyone laugh and clap along to the happy couple sharing their dance to the upbeat song. 

After the dances with the parents the DJ played a couple of songs with heavy bass so Anna and Kristoff got themselves a drink from the bar.  They were half finished as they talked with the other ranch hands until the DJ played the first slow song of the evening.  Kristoff did not hesitate to grab Anna’s hand and take her to the dance floor.  Once again, she found herself swooning as Kristoff put her into hold and led them through the dance.   He was magnificent, and told her with a smirk that his mother made him learn.  She found it adorable and laid her head against his chest as they slowly twirled around. 

The rest of the night was spent in unbridled celebration.  Anna danced more with Kristoff, danced with her friends, and even shared a dance with Art when she spotted him standing alone and observing.  He had gained back a lot of healthy weight and his hair was growing back in.  He was still getting over the ordeal however, so he took to finding a seat as soon as they finished their dance and looked on with joy in his eyes and a permanent smile on his face.

As the evening wore on, people who didn’t live at the ranch filtered away.  Art had offered to put up Sven and Dixie’s parents in the house and he himself turned in shortly after the majority of the guests had left, leaving the ranch hands the only ones still celebrating.  It was the plan to toast the sunrise and then squirrel themselves away in bed to sleep off the Sunday.  The DJ was done at 2 in the morning and after they helped him pack up and sent him on his way with a very handsome tip, they took to the chairs around the pit and lit a roaring fire. 

When it was just them, Anna looked around the fire, taking them all in.  Her friends, her family.  Jett and Levi were happily chatting with Coop, Buck and Tuck talked as they smoked cigarettes, Sven and Kristoff were talking quietly among themselves, and Dixie was beside her, talking to Cassidy, who both women had come to be very close with. 

At points throughout the night, she’d noticed the difference in this celebration than any of the other’s she had attended in her life.  In her old life they would invite everyone to their penthouse apartment and hired caterers to walk around with canapes and champagne, while the guests all fawned over this piece of art or that sculpture and in the same breath talk about their own art collections, going into details about exactly how much they had forked over for each piece.  And when they weren’t talking about their material wealth, their work promotions, or their lavish vacations, they were talking in hushed tones about each other and whatever the current rumor or story about them going around was.  At the end of the night when the cleaning crew was done, Anna would look out at the pristine apartment and feel like the night was a success, even if there were parts of her that felt something was off.  That she’d forgotten to do something, or that something was missing.

She had certainly found what had been missing.  All night long there was nothing but joy and laugher coming from everyone.  No snide comments, no catty remarks and no one bragging about a single fucking thing.  It was pure authentic down to earth people joining together in a celebration of love.  Anna found it amusing, that any other wedding she’d attended had the exact same tone as their penthouse parties.  They lacked the joy, and more importantly, lacked the love that was supposed to be there.  Over two-thirds of the wedding’s she had attended ended up in divorce a short time later.  All that money, small fortunes, spent on those weddings that were nothing more than an excuse to throw a party and take a long honeymoon vacation.   And then brag endlessly about how amazing it all was.

No one around the fire was talking any such nonsense.  It was heartfelt conversations, amazing stories and tons of laughter.  Not only that, Sven and Dixie, and her and Kristoff, had no plans to blow a bunch of money on a honeymoon.  Instead, they would save up for their future, and instead take a little more time alone together after getting married to go on romantic dinner dates.  With the ranch to be theirs in the new year, none of them wanted to leave it in the lurch for a trip that would mean more to them – and be easier on the ranch – in the future.

Anna looked to the sky and the myriad of stars shining above them, and it struck her suddenly that this family she had was going to own the ranch.   She felt grateful all over again for ending up where she did.  To think, if she had actually married her ex.  He had been hinting to her shortly before she found him cheating that he was planning a proposal.  How would that have gone, she wondered?  Likely in a crowded, over-priced restaurant so that people could cheer for them.  Her ex, the ever-lover of attention, would have done it even if Anna was never comfortable being the focus in the room.

Then she looked down at the ring on her finger.  The one from the most incredible man on earth.  Her future husband, and she thought back to his proposal.  How genuine it was and how thoughtful his words were.  How special it was that he’d went and got that ring tattooed on his finger long before the wedding because he wanted to world to know that he was her man. 

She looked over at him just as he tipped his head back and laughed.  It was the greatest sound in the world, and Anna smiled wide, taking a deep breath of the cool and crisp air of the early October morning.  It wasn’t long until dawn now and Anna was looking forward to watching the sun rise with the best group of people that she ever had the pleasure of knowing.

*****

It was just Kristoff, Sven, Anna and Dixie left up.  The sun had been in the sky for about a half hour, and everyone was about to head out for some much-needed sleep.  The ladies were saying goodbye and Kristoff approached his brother, slipping his arm around his shoulders to steer him a little way away from their women. 

“Can I just say again how happy I am for you, bro,” he said.

Sven smiled.  “You did plenty of that in your speech, Kris.  I blubbered like a goddamn baby, remember?”

He chuckled.  “Yeah, I barely got those words out.”

“Wasn’t a dry eye,” Sven mused. 

“Listen, I was thinking, we should make a point to visit mom and dad more often.  I know we’ve always had to plan our trips carefully and all with how overworked we were at times, and now that we are going to be in charge, I figure it’s time to step up.”

They stopped and Kristoff dropped his arm as Sven turned to him.  “You know, I was just thinking that the other night.”

Kristoff nodded.  “I think I want to try and plan a trip down there for their twenty-fifth anniversary.  Kind of surprise them, you know?”

“That’s a great idea!  Dixie can’t wait to see their place down there.”

“Anna said the same.  It’ll be a blast.  We’ll take a whole week this time.”

Sven grinned.  “My wife, my bro and his wife, fun in the sun, relaxin’ and drinkin’ with mom and dad.  That sounds like a fuckin’ amazing good time.”

Kristoff chuckled, and it dissolved into a long sigh.  “I can’t wait to marry Anna.  Seeing you today was like… I dunno, it just felt so fuckin’ good, you know?  I am so damn happy for you.  I can’t wait for my turn.”

Sven pursed his lips.  “You’re making me emotional again, brother,” his voice waivered.

He felt his throat tightening and let out a strangled laugh.  “Christ, I’m making myself emotional.”

His brother nodded and pulled him in for a hug.  Kristoff embraced him tightly.  They shared a moment, getting a grip on their feelings, and Sven eventually pulled away and looked at him with a giant grin.  “I sure am glad Levi and Cassidy got her parents to come pick them up to stay with them for the rest of the weekend.  Me and my woman need to consummate this marriage and we don’t plan on being quiet about it.”

Kristoff’s cheeks lit up with heat.  “Shut the fuck up,” he said through a laugh. 

---

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[rassicas]

my general Side Order thoughts:

I don't have much of anything groundbreaking to say. I haven't publicly said much in relation to side order in the first place, i don't want to build up crazy expectations, and I've seen much of the fanbase making solid theories anyways. also there has been a lot less information compared to ROTM which is great, I don't want to be able to predict the whole story before the game comes out. I'd rather be surprised like i was with octo expansion! here I just want to put out my thoughts real quick so people know where I stand and that yes i am aware of the Hints and Foreshadowing

Marina's quote at the end of her interview in Splatune 3 is relevant of course, gives us a sense of what this whole world of order is. But did she build it this whole digital simulation, or was it something she found? (mix of both perhaps? found it, contributed to parts of it and it went out of her control?)

Mem cakes, agent 8, cerebral theming...very interested where this all goes. love all the references to OE keep em coming

People have been talking about this already, and the foreshadowing was acknowledged back in haikara walker in 2018. the hat logos on dedf1sh and paul gotta be connected to this thing.

It'd be a huge waste for a more grown-up paul to not show up in s3, either as someone mentioned by Acht or for him to make some sort of musical return post side order.

Glen fiddler has always been interesting to me (in that i anticipated he would become plot relevant somehow) with how he was fully 3d modeled in his sunken scroll. im not 100% on if hes gonna be in side order but the copy machine connections in side order (the fish skeletons in splatoween, also the recent poster?) are sus

^has to be agent 4. of course. seeing enemy inklings instead of enemy octolings sounds awesome btw

I'm expecting the inkopolis square hub to come back as a thing you can access post-game. pearl and marina splatfest concerts

iso padre please come back to me (maybe in said inkopolis square hub world)

who the fuck are you. not a mantis shrimp, looks too soft to be a crustacean to me. closest thing i can compare this to is a black dragonfish nymph but i kind of doubt it. maybe it is some guy who was created to manage things, like CQ to the deepsea metro?

[beardedmrbean]

[Huey Zoomer anon]

The Left: I want to show more black people in history

Me: Okay!

The Left: *Proceed to bastardized history with a Marxist oppressed vs oppressors mindset and refuse to actually use actual African Civilizations properly*

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Also like the black Roman thing….hmmm do people mean like North African and MENA provinces where naturally west Africans would show up

Or are they trying to pretend that people of black descent would live in Roma and the Italia peninsula?

Also the black supremacy thing, where black characters can act like Victorian sociopaths because they were oppressed in the past

Don’t get me started on the renewal blood and soil arguments thanks to the Decolonial theory

Also why just more black people in historical eras? Why not show off the ancient Indian merchant (we found Hindu artifacts in ancient Egypt and even the infamous Pompeii dig sites)

Or make the “invisible Jews” more present as they were there

Actually AC origins was the first games I notice the proper cultural exchange between the Levantines and Egyptians

And this weapon from the game https://assassinscreed.fandom.com/wiki/Canaanite_Blade

Wait the Jews were known for their ferocity? *Glance at Hollywood portrayal of Jews and stereotypes of jews* that new, perhaps I can fun NON BIBLICAL and non holocaust focus books about Jewish people more

Hmm, I told this to Nunya in the dms, but what about a video game or two set about the unification of Israel under Saul and David? Not saying from this franchise. But I was thinking like similar to the recent AC rpg games like Valhalla and Odyssey. Mossad can kill me for this but hey

Prologue David as a youth: Baby boy (sorry he was the youngest of 8, the baby fat on his face must been strong af)

David after killing Goliath and his exile: Traumatized baby boy

Fully grow adult David after got his beard: Conquerer daddy

Hmm, have Israelites found any ancient breastplates? Might play with the Judah Tribe Lion Motif with David designs a lot.

Sorry for my rambling…despite being progressive, I think we regress back to 60’s representation with a woke hat

Or are they trying to pretend that people of black descent would live in Roma and the Italia peninsula?

Septimius Severus Roman emperor from 193 to 211. From current year Lybia, there's debate™ about him.

Black people in ancient Roman history - Wikipedia The Romans didn't really have a concept of black or white only roman or not roman, kinda like how the French have been trying to do it for a long time.

Also the black supremacy thing, where black characters can act like Victorian sociopaths because they were oppressed in the past

You can say Killmonger it's ok

Also why just more black people in historical eras? Why not show off the ancient Indian merchant (we found Hindu artifacts in ancient Egypt and even the infamous Pompeii dig sites) Or make the “invisible Jews” more present as they were there

Both would be nice, be interesting to get something going into where the afro iranians came from (same place African Americans came from, same reason too) but there were also traders and others that likely set up shop all over the land mass that makes up the "old world"

Small Jewish community in China been there for a long time, there's some debate about how long but even the most conservative estimates put it at over 800 years.

Actually AC origins was the first games I notice the proper cultural exchange between the Levantines and Egyptians

The Egyptians may have looked down on shepherds, but they still needed that wool at times.

Wait the Jews were known for their ferocity? *Glance at Hollywood portrayal of Jews and stereotypes of jews* that new, perhaps I can fun NON BIBLICAL and non holocaust focus books about Jewish people more

Fiddler on the Roof is good if you're looking for a Musical.

Hmm, I told this to Nunya in the dms, but what about a video game or two set about the unification of Israel under Saul and David? Not saying from this franchise. But I was thinking like similar to the recent AC rpg games like Valhalla and Odyssey. Mossad can kill me for this but hey

could be fun, could also be a minefield

Fully grow adult David after got his beard: Conquerer daddy

We could probably skip calling him that

Hmm, have Israelites found any ancient breastplates? Might play with the Judah Tribe Lion Motif with David designs a lot.

Resources on ancient Jewish armor? Reddit Brain Trust on r/ArmsandArmor has this and skimming it I'm going with probably not, looking around I'm seeing one place calling the garments the High Priest wore including the Breastplate with "the name" written on it listed as armor.

In fairness it was supposed to keep him from getting killed, just not by soldiers.

Found this too, easy enough to pick out the eras even if you can't totally read what it says, first 2 are Saul next is Davidic then Maccabean, and the last two are Herodian.

You'd have to look up what passes for a coat of arms for the different families to go past that. This looks like a fairly well accepted collection of what they crests are though

Sorry for my rambling…despite being progressive, I think we regress back to 60’s representation with a woke hat

going to the lowest common denominator has really done that a lot it would seem ya.

sorry some of this is a little short, gotta run out for the night soon so I wanted to get it out to ya

[helyiios]

Saw the post abt what songs are Benthan soo- what artists/singer/musicians would Benji and Ethan listen to?

this is actually a rlly difficult question bcs idk what the fuck middle aged american and british men might listen to, since im like. a french man in my 20s so please go easy on me lol.

first off i think benji would obviously really be into british bands, something about The Clash, the Cure, Joy Division, Muse, U2, Elton John really seem like music he would enjoy? Bauhaus and Black Sabbath too. I think he'd like Queen a normal amount, because who doesn't. Would he be into Aerosmith ? I think he would? ZZ Top I think too, along with Dokken and Triumph I think. Nowadays I also joke with mutuals that he unironically would enjoy some Vocaloid songs bcs of the process behind making a Vocaloid lol, but that's just a personal silly headcanon. And then, obviously, he'd really be into classical music. Something about him makes me want to say he likes Bizet, Rachmaninoff, Vivaldi, Saint-Saëns and Wagner. I think he'd like Mozart and Bach and Verdi too, but maybe a little less.

Ethan, though...God, I don't fucking know what this weirdo likes. My first instinct is to say dad rock and jazz. So I'd say...Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys, Jerry Lee Lewis (can you guess why ?), Elton John too, Johnny Cash, Daryl Hall and John Oates, Guns N' Roses. And then, if we're taking the jazz route, I'd say Ella Fitzgerald, George Benson, Thelonious Monk, Miles Davis, and maybe Dave Holland Quintet! I also think he's really into musicals, (he was a theatre kid,) and I think he enjoys All That Jazz, West Side Story, Grease, Top Hat, Shall We Dance, An American In Paris, Footloose, Fiddler on the Roof and for the shits and giggles I do wonder whether or not he'd enjoy Hamilton, lol.

I hope I didn't massacre our boys' musical tastes with this lol!