#handle with aplomb

[gideonthefirst]

💌 :~)

hi ave!! this is very specific but i really respect how despite people occasionally being huge assholes about it i’ve never noticed you to change or mask your natural writing/speaking register; it’s genuinely both comforting and refreshing to follow someone who talks the way you do when expressing opinions and analysis without feeling the need to water it down or suchlike. i think it rules academic-tone-autism forever and ever

[firebirdsdaughter]

Something that occurred to me this time…

… Is that Eliot deliberately brings Hardison w/ him to confront Moreau the first time. He tells Nate that he and Hardison will do it (don't worry, I also Love Hardison taking the moment to be like 'hey, are you okay?' bc those two usually express themselves through bickering so much that it clearly telegraphs just how off Eliot is being that Hardison is dropping the usual banter to be serious).

Which for one thing, says something about Eliot's confidence in Hardison in general, but also, like… Yes, Parker's probably not the choice for that introduction, it's not her style, but Nate or Sophie could also have played the part. He could have tried to go alone. But he pulls Hardison.

Obviously he's not trying to put Hardison in danger, he makes it quite clear in all other scenarios that he does not tolerate Hardison in danger (visual cues in The Gone Fishin' Job my beloveds), the others are well aware of the fact that he's Done Some Shit and are equally unaware of his connection to Moreau. And to be honest, I can't pinpoint an exact reason why I think he might have done it, chosen Hardison to be the one who finds out first. Maybe he suspected Moreau would underestimate Hardison, making him safer (relatively, if course), then someone like Nate or Sophie. Maybe he thought it would be best to have Hardison's tech skills as back up. Maybe he thought Hardison would roll w/ the punches the best. Maybe he just wanted Hardison there for morale.

I don't know, but it's a moment that didn't really occur to me the first time, but I think is actually quite meaningful in a more emotional way.

[everybodyknows-everybodydies]

giddily counting the open tabs. it is OFFICIALLY that time of year... 3-5 different canvases open at any given moment

[flarebean]

something about japan's culture makes me want to learn the language because hey, they're nice to customers. i want to be nice back. i want to learn the language so i can be nice back and inconvenience them less through the language barrier guessing game. i probably won't make friends there just as a tourist, because i don't think it's in their culture to talk to random people on the street or in the convenience store, but even so! it is enough that people are kind through ingrained politeness, no?

[themaidenofwords]

Cool Words:

Aplomb (n)-- self-confidence or assurance-- especially when in a demanding situation.

[rcmclachlan]

FIC REC: Looking for a Buck/Tommy fix-it fic? Here's something better.

*Car salesperson voice* Hey, I see you're looking for a BuckTommy fic that is written well, has great characterizations, explores Buck's queerness through a well-constructed lens, and handles Tommy's fears about being "the test-drive boyfriend" with more nuance, grace, and aplomb than the 911 writers could ever conceive.

You're in luck! We've got exactly what you're looking for in stock: What Are Your Intentions by @screamlet.

This is a complete story (141,782 words on the odometer) that starts at the very beginning of Buck and Tommy's relationship in season 7 and reimagines what comes next, following their journey of actual hurdles to a beautiful, satisfying conclusion.

Some of the bells and whistles on this model include the funniest dialogue you'll ever read, Tommy's incredible circle of friends, a lot of talk about couches (the couch is a metaphor), insanely hot sex, and a future that they both can see.

If you buy now with zero down, you'll lock in the promo price of Free.99!

Read What Are Your Intentions by screamlet on AO3

(Disclosure notice: I'm not making commission from this sale)

[dilatorywriting]

59 Leona, it'd take a lot for him to admit but he would say it eventually. (Also I know you'd recognize me but I'm shy, so anon it is)

Gender Neutral Reader x Leona Kingscholar Word Count: 1.5k

Prompt 59: "People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you, I think fate was being harsh on you."

[EVENT MASTERLIST]

You are nice, and you are stupid. And those things aren’t mutually exclusive.

Sometimes you’re nice because you’re stupid, and sometimes you do stupid things because you’re too nice for your own stupid, stupid good. And it drives Leona half insane.

Which it shouldn’t, because nice, stupid people like you are just as annoying as his brother. Goody-two-shoes with buttoned vests and sparkly, star-shaped stickers on their term papers.

“Did you remember your homework?”

Leona flicked his tail in your face and you scrunched your nose over your notebook.

“Well?”

“Of course I remembered,” he scoffed, lazing back against the roots of one of his favorite trees. This spot used to be so much quieter, so much more peaceful, before you decided to trail after him like a duck quacking for its mother.

“Did you do the homework?” you clarified, and Leona rolled his eyes.

You sighed and starting ruffling around in your bookbag. “I brought a spare copy of the worksheet. You’re going to drive Ruggie insane, y’know. If he winds up stuck with you for another year because you failed for not turning in assignments.”

“Yeah. Sure. Another three-hundred-and-sixty-five days to rifle through my wallet. Worst news of his life.”

You huffed good naturedly and handed him the sheet of crisp, white copy paper and a pen. “Get to work, Kingscholar.”

“Oh?” he drawled, closing his eyes and settling back, loose limbed and all long, lean leisure, against the tree trunk. Clearly ready for an afternoon snooze. “Make me.”

You sighed again and reached over to flick your own well-used pen against his ear. It twitched under your fingers—soft, and tufted. The finest of the pale, tan fur brushing up against your fingertips. “Fine. Be that way. See if I bring you lunch tomorrow.”

“You will,” he scoffed.

“Yeah,” you sighed, sounding resigned and foolishly fond. “I probably will.”

See? Stupid. So easy to manipulate. So willing to let yourself be squashed under his clawed thumb. It was a wonder you’d managed to survive in this school at all. Nevertheless by clinging onto the coattails of someone like him. He’d never made anyone’s existence easier a day in his life, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now, just because you were too soft-hearted and slow to see a looming predator for what it was.

“Just give me that stupid fucking paper,” he snapped, sitting upright and swatting away your poking pen with a sneer. You laughed into your palms like a secret—bright, and merry, and dumb as a fucking rock.

“Whatever you say, Leona.”

.

.

You’d handled his Overblot with a strange sort of aplomb that at first Leona had attributed to perhaps a lingering, hidden confidence that he’d just never bothered to unearth. You were just some herbivore, and even the littlest rabbits could bite back when you put them in a corner. But then he’d come to the decision that that easy conviction was just another symptom of your rampant stupidity.

“I know you guys don’t want to hurt me, or any of us. Not really,” you shrugged around a wad of cotton—the blood dripping from your nose slowly drying up to a tacky, sticky dribble. Leona gaped at you outright.

That was your grand explanation. For why you’d been so eager to charge forward when he’d collapsed in a pool of inky nightmares and self-loathing. And the very same reason apparently thatyou’d felt so comfortable rushing forward to treat Azul Ashengrotto’s blubbering, hysterical, breakdown with the same urgency.

“That octo-prick would have ripped you in half,” he sneered, fingers twitching a nervous rhythm against his palms as he watched the nurse wrap another layer or bandages around your head.

You shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

You were going to give him an aneurism.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” he snarled, ignoring the horrible, twisty thing curling like bile through his chest. “And I’m not going to bother paying for some self-sacrificing idiot’s funeral.”

Another shrug.

“That’s alright,” you hummed, a soft sort of crooked smile on your mouth. “Would’ve been a waste of money anyways.”

Leona didn’t talk to you for a week after that. Surely because your stupidity had reached such a fever pitch that it was no doubt contagious, and he needed to protect his far superior and more valuable brain. Not because the image of you smiling and nodding along to his declarations that he wouldn’t put the effort into mourning your death had soured something so deep in his gut that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to scrape it out.

.

.

When he received a letter from home asking him to return for some shitty coronation nonsense for his equally shitty brother, Leona had debated just skipping it outright. Who was going to stop him? You?

Well. Yes, apparently.

“It sounds important,” you hummed, peering over his shoulder at the neat, formal scrawl of the summons. “You should go.”

He snorted. “I don’t want to be there, they don’t want me to be there. What’s the point.”

You frowned, brow crinkling in the middle.

“Well, that’s not true,” you said, perplexed. “They wouldn’t write to you if that was the case.”

Leona snorted, eyes darting away to glare bitterly off into the corner. “Not like they have a choice.”

“Well then you don’t have a choice either,” you argued, firm. “I’ll go with you. See? It says you can have a plus one. You can camp out in your fancy, princey, bedroom. And I can siphon you snacks from the fancy, princey hors d'oeuvres tables. That way we both win. You get to be a reclusive asshole and rub the fact that that you still went in everyone’s faces, and I can get access to some tasty, royal food that I’ll probably never be able to afford again for the rest of my life.”

“Should’ve known you’d be like Ruggie—only using me for the free food,” he sighed, melodramatic and obviously put on.

“Well, also because I thought you could use the emotional support,” you added, a touch too soft and far too genuine. “But I didn’t think you wanted to hear that bit.”

“You’re right,” he scoffed, turning onto his side to hide the strange, miserable heat pricking at his skin. “Don’t ever say corny shit like that again.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” you grinned, flicking at his ear, and Leona added another mental tab to his never-ending list of reasons that you were really far too brainless to keep functioning at all.

.

.

You were nice, and you were stupid. And Seven, he wanted to be anywhere but here.

“My brother hasn’t ever brought someone to one of these events before,” Falena had said, to your face. Idiot to idiot communication.  

“I didn’t give him much of an option,” you’d chirped, perfectly pleasant. “I don’t think he wants me anywhere near here, to be fair. Or around him in general. But I’m like a cockroach. Can’t get rid of me.”

And Falena had laughed. Because he was terrible. And said, “I’m sure he must care about you very much, little cockroach.”

And then because you were more terrible, you laughed back and said very assuredly, “Oh, not at all.”

Which was—was—

“Do you really think that?” he snapped, once the two of you were alone. And you blinked back at him with wide, owlish eyes.

“Think what?”

Think at all,he wanted to sneer, but just glared silently and bitterly into the middle distance—fighting the nonsensical, irritated swishing of his tail.

But you just kept staring at him. Like he was the moron here. Which was unacceptable.

“Look,” he frowned, sharp and miserable. “I get it. People like me aren’t supposed to have someone like you. Whatever gods exist out there were playing a shitty fucking joke on you when they dropped you in my lap. But you’re stuck with me. So stop—” he bit out, fighting that awful, twisty thing in his gut that never seemed to fully go away. “Stop talking like I can’t stand you.”

“…oh,” you mumbled, whisper quiet—that wide, startled gaze flicking away in embarrassment. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he echoed, sharp, and you snorted a laugh that seemed to surprise even you.

“You’re stuck with me too then, y’know,” you said after a long moment. “Even when I make you grumpy.”

“You don’t make me grumpy. I am grumpy. You make me—” he cut off quick, eyes darting away petulantly and an absolutely unfair heat rising along his cheekbones.  

“Itchy,” you piped in, and he gaped at you in shock.

“What?”

“You know,” you shrugged, awkward, and reached up to wiggle your fingers. “Cockroach. Many legs. Squirming. Itchy.”

“Never say any of those words again.”

You laughed into your palm—inelegant and a touch too loud. Leona felt his lips quirk.

“Thank you,” you said after a moment, once your giggles were a bit more under control. And leaned forward quick as a whip to press a nervous peck against his cheek. “For being kind to me.”

Kind.

Leona reached up to press a hand against the too-warm skin with a terrible, unfamiliar sensation in his head not unlike the fuzzy, white drone of TV static. And a horrible thought managed to filter its way through the floating, buzzing sensation curling through the whole of him.

Oh, fuck. It is contagious.

.

.

[frownyalfred]

Tbh, the trinity? Diana's the king (master general, trained from birth to lead, level head, handles external affairs with grace and aplomb, inspires loyalty), Clark's the queen (handles internal affairs, reads people and situations well, friendly face of the trio, inspires loyalty, works well on his own, better when supporting others), while Bruce is the spy master/royal advisor (quiet, bad with people but good at reading them, tactical mastermind (Diana is too, but letting Bruce focus on tactics means she can focus on leading and managing her people), loyal beyond words, and works best from the background, where he arrange things and people to best suit his goals, and protect and serve those he's loyal to- his family, Clark, Diana, and then those he protects as a matter of principle.).

Exactly. Diana takes the lead because that's who she is as a person. Clark shares that lead because of a sense of duty to humanity. And Bruce stands behind them both in the shadows, because he will only step out of them if they need him. All three of them are vital parts to the whole they've formed.

[casquecest]

Snape is denied the Order of Merlin, and he is handling it with much grace and aplomb.

[siswritesyanderes]

i mightve asked this before, in which case go ahead and ignore this lmao. which characters would be the best vs worst when handling an autistic darling?

Oooh, this is a cool question! I would say it depends on the particular symptoms the person has, so I'll go over some symptoms and which yanderes would respond best vs. worst.

avoidance of eye-contact

Obviously, shy, autistic, or autistic-coded yanderes would work really well with this (and other) symptom(s). Your Donatello's, your Newt's, arguably your Peter Parker's. Also, yanderes who are able to sense when their darling's attention is on them supernaturally or just out of sheer social aplomb. Elves, for example, would be great with someone who doesn't like eye contact, because their body language conventions differ as a result of being able to communicate mentally.

Roxanne Wolf would be distinctly bad for this, based on her need for attention as demonstrated in Help Wanted 2. But she's also not beyond reason when it matters, as we've seen in Ruin DLC, so I'm sure communicating about it is on the table.

sensory reactivity

Okay, I think Dr. Strange would very specifically be bad for this, because his movies are all swirling kaleidoscopes of magic that would definitely be sensory overload in real life, and I have mentioned before that I don't see him as a considerate yandere. If anything, he might enjoy inducing sensory overload for the express purposes of making his darling require comfort, care, and isolation from others.

On the other hand, and maybe a weird pull for this, but Zafrina from Twilight would be great. Alec, too. Both have powers that would be super helpful when darling is overwhelmed.

Druig is able to just make everyone nearby shut up, which he would employ liberally.

food sensitivity/pickiness

Yanderes who enjoy cooking could go both ways on this. I could see some being offended by negative feedback and some taking it as being gifted with the challenge of meeting their darling's standards. Teruteru from Danganronpa and Esme from Twilight would both probably be good about receiving feedback and making changes. Super eager to please. Esme more so than Teruteru; he might get offended at first.

Rich and royal yanderes would delight in someone picky. They would love to be able to send food back with new, highly specific orders because darling doesn't like grapes with soft spots. Your Tony Stark's, your Byakuya Togami's, your Toph Beifong's, your Coriolanus Snow's.

Ralph from DBH would be a problem. He has a very weak grasp on what humans eat and a very high sensitivity to negative feedback. (Wait, he's just like me...)

resistance to changes in routine

This one would be a problem for yanderes who feel a need to go on adventures and trips with their darling. Which isn't necessarily the same as adventurous yanderes. Some adventurous yanderes might enjoy the idea of their darling staying behind at home keeping to a comfortable routine. But the ones who want their darling along on the adventure would be problematic. The Doctor, for example. Especially Eleven; he gets bored easily.

Whereas I think a lot of superheroes would like the idea of keeping their darling sequestered away, living predictably and comfortably. Clark Kent, Steve Rogers, Druig...The only catch is that some of them (Druig) would probably be a bit condescending about it.

I think Daycare Attendant would be great for routine. Coloring time, snack time, naptime, same time every day, sign them up! Also condescending, but they genuinely can't help it because it's how they're programmed.

Technically, Phineas and Ferb keep to a very specific routine, albeit a pretty tiring/potentially overwhelming one.

sorting things

This would be great for the disorganized genius character type. A Bruce Banner, if you will. An organized genius probably already has a system and might have trouble with someone sorting things differently than they have them. A distinctly slovenly character probably wouldn't mind either way.

hyperfixation

Yo, Queen from Deltarune would be the best for this. She would create an inescapable palace of the thing darling likes. Swatch and the Swatchlings would be involved.

stimming

There might be a problem if the yandere is easily distracted and needs to focus on something else. The main one I can think of who fits that description is Percy Jackson. That's not a distaste thing; just a pragmatic issue. Yanderes who experience sensory overload might also have an issue with it. My first thought was Queen Elsa.

On the other hand, Leo Valdez would love to make little stim toys for his darling. Donatello, too.

[tiktaalic]

Hi guys. I have opinions on the medium of fanfiction. Would you like to hear them? Okay ^_^ yay ^_^

I think the whole oh so you think people should be CENSORED? Kneejerk reaction is wuiteeeee silly when like. In my opinion it’s an exceedingly normal opinion to see a fan fiction tackle Sensitive Subjects with all the aplomb of a high school freshman. And go. Well I don’t think this is good. Things can be done well but often they’re not. Due to the nature of the beast + numbers game. And me personally if I want to read something nuanced on heavy topics I don’t go. I know. I should look at ao3 first. I go. Probably I will stick to published awarded authors. Ive read books that have handled abuse and assault etc etc badly and I also think they’re stupid. Just like I think overwrought fanfiction is stupid. But I would never say this ON someone’s fanfiction because I too was once 14 years old writing insensitively about painful topics. And I believe the best in everyone so I assume every bad fanfiction is written by a 14 year old and I would never dim their sparkle. There’s another prong to this which is that conversations about Everything are so heavily identity focused - I don’t like this book but it’s by a queer author who is clearly working through something, I don’t like this movie but the writer has talked extensively about how it was shaped by her experience of sexual assault, etc. n I do think the solution is to uncouple morality from taste. Possible to hold the simultaneous truths of “I think this thing is stupid and bad and weird” with “it clearly helped someone to write what is essentially a public diary entry, and it helped other people to read it” and “fanfiction as a whole does not move the meter on good/evil in the world even a little bit”.

[therealslimshakespeare]

i love this 🥹 i think there’s moments where she’ll find herself slipping into certain habits she had with him and benny just so gently helps her reframe all that. even something as simple as oh can/ should i wear this in like a nervous way. u know?

IM SO SOFT FOR BENNY HEALING THESE PARTS OF HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Tell me more 😞😞😞😞😞

Oh fuck I’ve got such thoughts but so few words that capture the vibe I want. But here’s the deal:

Benny is so utterly secure. In himself, in his place and in his attitude to others. Outside influences, war horrors, mood swings, these things he handles with aplomb that comes from how beautifully grounded this man is. Humble but confidant in the most lovely synchrony. And due to this his outlook on the world is measured, fair and while a bit stark sometimes due to, well, life being stark sometimes, it is favorable in ways that others are shifty and belittling.

And I swear, he has an aura he casts with this. Quiet but potent, with just enough wisecracking and sass to keep it sharp. So, Benny Demarco’s opinion of you can very quickly and effortlessly influence your opinion of yourself.

Ask Gale, ask Jack, ask Maureen.

Ask Lu, who not only feels most herself with him but finds herself articulated by him in ways she never expected -and often without a single word spoken

[too-antigonish]

Carol Thursday impresses the hell out of me.

Cousin Joan stands her up in a strange town at the last minute…

...but boy does this girl know how to land on her feet.

She handles monumentally awkward moments with aplomb...

Whether it's meeting Jim Strange the morning after with her perky "Hi!"

Or walking in to find a surprise Morse in front of her epically embarrassing dad.*

*Bonus points for doing it while wearing pink bows and a frilly nightgown.

Carol is also kind.

When her forced date with Morse just seems to be getting worse and worse, she doesn’t get angry. Instead she offers to let him off the hook without telling anyone.

It’s enough to lead him to rethink his own actions and take her to the Roxy for an evening she will probably remember all of her life.

Carol goes after what she wants.

She doesn’t hesitate to make eyes at movie star Jason Curwen. In only a matter of seconds, she’s distracted him from the beautiful Veronique.

By the time the evening has turned to murder, they’re obviously a couple.

And finally, when it comes time to say her farewells to Morse, Carol is really the only woman we've ever seen him with who chooses to leave him with kind words.

She thanks him sweetly for the "memorable" evening at the Roxy and as for their night together, she says, “It wasn't a mistake. Not everything has to be more than it is.”

@astridcontramundum in her fantastic piece a while ago on Jim Strange has a bit about shipping Carol with Strange. Yes! Yes! Yes!

Strange and Joan were doomed from the start—not because they were bad people—but because they would always bring out the worst in each other. Strange and Carol would have brought out the best.

[sky-kiss]

Let's imagine a situation in which Tav meets Mephistopheles (with Raphael alive). How will Raphael react if Tav likes his “ardently loved” father? One more thing. It would be funny if it was Mephistopheles who left a review of Tav’s frostbitten body in Haarlep’s letter. 3/5 isn't too bad.

A/N: Lemme try. Any ficlets completed this week are likely going to be short. It’s vacation week!

_____

It is not a familial competition or distaste that motivates the Lord of the Eighth. 

The wayward bastard is beneath his notice half the time, an irritant the other, but only rarely registers as his son. Mephistopheles rests his chin in his palm, gaze flicking over the cambion and to the mortal at his side. They require no introduction, though the chamberlain lists their venerable titles with aplomb. 

The Hero of Baldur’s Gate. What a delight. 

And Raphael preens, keeping this new trophy close, boasting of their achievements as if they were his own. He wears his stolen crown with neither shame nor self-awareness, head held high and deaf to the court’s snickering. 

Oh, they are too aware of this Great Hero. 

Haarlep had been all too eager to demonstrate every one of the form’s secrets, parading them nude through the streets of Mephistar. And while its heated air was a balm compared to Cania’s natural cold, while it was enough to soothe any devil, they shivered. By the time they’d reached the palace steps, their naked form was badly wind-burned. Frostbite kissed at their fingertips, their toes, blood trickling down their calves—a debased little beast. A hero brought low. It’d been a treat. 

The Archduke chuckled, eyes flicking over them again. There had been a certain pettiness to his decision to take the little creature. Raphael venerated them but had yet to taste them. Mephistopheles drank deeply. He’d sated himself in their little body, watching it shiver, convulse, break, trying to accept him. The incubus had staggered away after; lips curled back in a bloodied sneer, which had also satisfied him. 

But they are here now in truth, staring up at his son in naked adoration, and it strikes Mephistopheles as such delicious low-hanging fruit. Should he not have a taste? He, the Lord, second only to Asmodeus?

Mephistopheles stands from his throne, arms held wide as he goes to meet them. Raphael’s eyes narrow, but his toy remains unphased, holding their hand out to greet him. The archwizard takes it, bowing low and pressing his lips to their knuckles. 

“Such a charming creature. It seems a waste of your talents to dally with my spawn.” 

“Not in the least. Raphael has proven very worthwhile.”

“If you will excuse us, Cold Lord.”

“I will not. Where are your manners, boy? An introduction.” 

“You chamberlain handled as much.” 

Oh, foolish little pet. They take a step nearer. Mephistopheles offers his arm, and they take it. “Be civil, Raphael. Your father is trying.” 

A critical mistake, little dove. 

[ragnarokhound]

for the au ask game—dimension or time travel au? 👀

For the AU ask game!

Ohhh this kind of au is always so fun because there's literally infinite directions to take this OwO the question for me becomes what would be the most fun/interesting time or sideways universe to send them (and if only one goes back in time, or both of them 👀) or what alternate reality would it be the most galvanizing for them to see... 👀

Oh. I know. I'm still in my cups over saltwateroracle AKA @n1ightw1ng's Arkham Knight Jason dimension hopping au so...

Five fun facts from a dimension hopping au I'd write:

Your choice of comics verse Jason and Tim who don't get along, enemies to coworkers style. But ala The Long Way Home (excellent fic btw everyone who cares about Jason and Tim's relationship whether romantic or platonic please go read it) they get warped together to Arkhamverse and don't realize it. At first.

Separately, they meet their arkhamverse counterparts. Jason nearly get blown up by Arkham Knight Jason, Tim has no idea what to make of his double being married? To? Babs? They meet back up and go 'you thought YOUR double was weird'

'you thought your double was weird, wait til you get a load of fucking BRUCE.' 'Is the batmobile? A tank??' Jason gets very sus of the 'suppressive rounds' Arkham Bruce fires at the mercenaries. Tim gets very sus of the whole ass people he's got stashed away at the batcave lmao

Arkham Bruce is running on such severely fucked up fumes that it makes them actively miss their own Bruce back home. They help him with rounding up Riddler and Scarecrow and with handling the thorny Arkham Knight problem, but absolutely are going to get betrayed 'for their own good' (or because Bruce doesn't trust them) eventually. So they find themselves leaning more and more on each other as the only familiar and trustworthy face in this fucked up dark clown maze version of Gotham

Things end better because of their influence than in the game (something something cure for jokerism something something Arkham Knight Jason gets catharsis/reconciliation and a shock blanket and some soup) and they get themselves home ASAP and everything 100% goes back to normal and they definitely will not be talking about how Tim totally kissed Jason when they thought they were going to die at the end there, nuh uh, no way, Tim has very important debriefings to write byyyye--

(Bonus fun fact: Bruce is very confused but ultimately accepts the out-of-the-blue check ins/hugs he receives from Tim and Jason with aplomb. He reads Tim's report and goes 'Ah. Yes, dimension hopping will do that to a motherfucker'. He can't follow-up with either of them though, for some reason they've both gone dark for a week. Together. At the same safehouse. Hm. Better to leave that one alone, he thinks.)

[sunsetconcert]

In 1994, the Muppets made one of their most bizarre films to date.

An adaptation of Goncharov, a cult classic that languished in obscurity until the 2020s. While the film was referred to internally and in public reviews of the film as "The Muppets of Naples", the actual marketing of the movie instead titled it after its main lead: "Gonzorov". This was one of many enigmatic choices made by the production crew, and has never been elaborated on by the cast or crew. The film was a gigantic flop for multiple reasons, but most agree that the source of the troubles stems from the nature of Goncharov as a tragedy and a generally depressing movie to watch.

Reportedly, conflicts among the writing staff began almost immediately due to being unable to decide on which cut of Goncharov to base the film on. Eventually, however, director Brian Henson put his foot down and forced the writers to adapt the Ambrosini Cut. Generally agreed to be a less depressing movie than the Morelli Cut, it was expected that "Gonzorov" should have been a much more entertaining and narratively adept movie than it was. As the Muppets proved just two years later in "Muppet Treasure Island", they are very capable of handling otherwise dramatic material with aplomb. This leaves the question of why this movie was such a flop.

To quote Kermit the Frog during the interviews after the cinema debut, the movie was allegedly emotionally draining for the crew to adapt. "You know, we have a script. Mostly. But we do a lot of improv too. I'd wager it's about 60% script, 40% improv on a good day of filming. But, uh… We just weren't feeling it with this one, you know? We watched the original, and… Boy, it's really sad. Goncharov's just kind of a lonely guy trying to make himself a life. And it's not a good life, but it's his to own, and it ultimately kinda falls apart. Gonzo tried to make the role his own, but I think we all realised that we couldn't really make a joke out of the movie in the way that we wanted to."

The Muppets were skillful enough to change the genre to an absurdist tragicomedy, a film where the tragic and meaningless cycle of violence is paradoxically played for laughter. However, despite this, the film is well-known for its bizarrely melancholy air and almost hopeless atmosphere. Everybody seems thoroughly certain that their improv will have little to no impact on the film as a whole, creating a strange and compelling meta-narrative where not even the actors themselves can escape the almost gravitational pull of the ticking clock. Their characters will die, and any attempts to joke their way out of it comes off as desperate, almost deluded in a sense.

The original Goncharov held a deep fascination with inevitability. Clocks are the primary theme, though it appears in other forms. It is this same inevitability that strangles the Muppets, their impressive comedic skills held captive by their own belief that the narrative is inescapable.

Of particular note is the bridge scene, wherein Gonzorov and Katya (played by the dazzling Miss Piggy) discuss the slow collapse of the Italian mafia. The original Goncharov scene had Goncharov desperately trying to hold things together, even as they slipped through his fingers, but here… Gonzorov realises that it's pointless. He can't fix it, but at the same time he can't let it go. He begs Katya to shoot him. Cut to the chase. She's going to shoot him anyway, that's how the movie ends, right? Might as well go out on his own terms. But this horrifies Katya, and she throws her gun away, accidentally saving Gonzorov in the process.

This adds a new layer to the themes of inevitability that Goncharov is wrapped up in, and it's this: Inevitability goes both ways. You're going to die, but only when you're meant to. You don't get lucky. You don't have accidents. Inevitability is a ticking clock, but that countdown is a safety net. As long as you can still hear that clock ticking down, it means you've stitll got time to burn. When a bomb is counting down, just five minutes until it detonates, you do everything you can to buy yourself more time on the clock. Even if all your effort only gains you an extra second, that's what you have to do, right? A single second is worth the blood of innocent men.

But again, inevitability. That second you earned cost you minutes, cost hours days weeks months years. The clock WILL run out.

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