I am very concerned about this plot thru line that Normal desperately wants to help and is also a complete failure at it. Just some of his greatest hits (though he definitely wasn't the only one involved in some of these fuck ups)
thought he could fix hermie, actually opened the door for him to get horribly physically scarred and having the identity crisis of the century
Going to try and save his dad and uncle and ending up on the complete opposite end of an intense ethical debate
Definitely made Pepperoni Tony's marriage way worse before. not that it mattered in the end ig
Bringing Brad back to life only for him to be a miserable shell who resents every moment spent on earth
and the latest, trusts link to help him resolve the love anchor with empathy only to get the rug out from under him Again
So. Yeah time and time again Normal tried to do the empathic thing, tries to help people, and just Can't. And I'm very worried (read: excited but sad for him) about the direction this is setting for the rest of the season specifically as it relates to Normal and the Doodler.
It's growing increasingly likely that Normal fails to help it. I don't know what's going to actually happen, I don't think the cast knows what's going to actually happen, as long as Anthony was telling the truth about it being a dice roll. But either he fails or he nearly does we'll have to wait and see. Whatever happens I think this particular part of Normal's story (These are actually all themes of the podcast at large but i am going to mostly focus on normal and the doodler here barbecue otherwise this would be extra obnoxiously long.) touches on a few things.
-Agency
For Normal, so many of these failures (especially the anchor related ones) result after his agency and control of the situation has superseded. Pepperoni Tony's death was entirely outside of his control. he trusted his friends to help him with the anchors and they violate that trust and act in direct opposition to his interests while he is powerless to stop them.
The Doodler too, in spite of being a eldritch god of massive power, is lacking agency. It was hauled into reality without it's consent, was an unwilling passenger of the Oak family for generations, hell it's own summoning at the end of season one was not a result of its own actions. Other people's desire to use it's power or to prove their worth against it etc etc paved the way for all of that. It didn't tell the twins the prophecy. It didn't tell Lark who the Unsung Hero was.
-Projecting, the limits of support, and putting your own mask on first., whatever you want to call it.
There is this idea that you have to get your shit together before you're ready to help other people, and its true to a degree but its also not how life works. You have to be willing and able to keep working on yourself with the support of other people while also supporting them to do the same. I think one of the chronic problems of 90% of the cast is they are fucking up this balance one way or another.
Normal's problem is layered. He really believes that its either one or the other and it you cant help yourself and someone else at the same time. So hes using it as an excuse to say Nope hes good actually he's done his growing his mask is totally all the way on and its time to Help People. because his family is selfless and self-sacrificial to the point it swings back around and is selfish again. He can't help anyone effectively because its a two way street and he's closed his side down.
-Cycles
small scale cycles, in the repeated breaking for Normal's trust. (Of intra-party trust in general which I could go off about some other time.) His trust in his father and his uncle has been under fire from pretty much every angle. Every time Normal trusts his friends they screw him over.
the obvious cycle of the burden of the Doodler in the Oak family, Normal and Lark both sitting on the throne. I mean what more can I say.
And my personal favorite. The cycle of reaching out and failing. It haunts the Oak family. Hildy reached out to her son as he got lost to the call of power and failed. Barry reached out to try and mold Henry into his shape and failed. Henry tried to reach out to everyone around him and continuously came up short and his sons turned out all the worse for it. Sparrow reaches out to express his overbearing concern with his son and blunders it entirely. Normal reaches out to his friends and the slap his hand away, he reaches out to The Doodler and is steadily falling short of actually helping it in any meaningful way.
.
.
But Uhhh anyway those were some disjointed thoughts that needed to get out of my head after the end of last episode. Not all of them make total sense but thats what happens when you brain dump across two sessions and type things in no particular order. These fucking kids man. These fucking kids.
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Could I request Medic having The Mom Grip on Scout’s shoulder after the speedy moron almost let a mercenary secret slip while they weee getting groceries?
Three Europeans and two Americans walk into a grocery store in New Mexico.
I hope this is the right meme.
More silliness below.
This comic is the antithesis of the "wtf is a kilometre" joke.
The faces they make when they can't quite identify the type of brown bread in the bread aisle.
You don't know how [insert nationality here] you are until you go overseas and things are different.
Spy obviously has no problems with pretending to know how much a gallon of milk is, he just peeks into his conversion chart notes, pretending it's his shopping list.
I want to think Heavy is completely fine with having to readjust to a new unit system, he just eyeballs most practical things anyways by holding them up and mumbling about how they approximately weigh like a chicken or his kettle bell etc. He's always been living in practical ignorant bliss.
Medic has a peer reviewed meltdown the first time he realises there's no uniformity in "a cup of ____" because every object has different densities. He's diligent about memorising the conversion rates for ounces, pounds, the most common things etc., and recovers ok. He goes through the same stages of grief rage when he finds out about distances and lengths.
Just remember four inches are 10.16 cm and pray no one asks you to specify anything bigger than inches.
Everyone does a mental victory lap when they manage to guess how much Celsius the weather is because they keep forgetting it's Celsius*5/9+32=Fahrenheit, Engineer reminds them patiently.
The true victories are the correct temperature guesses we've made along the way.
One time, a friend asked me if I actually knew how much a tablespoon of flour was in gramms to convince me that metric users also make use of volume based units without thinking about them. But little did she know a heaped spoonful of 405 flour is about 15g and a level tablespoon is 10g.
They claim Oolong just tastes better when it's boiled to 80°C exactly with a Bunsen burner.
You only asked for one scene but somehow I came up with a bunch of other things. This post was drawn across 2 months so the artstyle is all over the place. Thanks for your ask!
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Yandere! Werewolf Headcanons
I've been stalked by the guilty feeling that my Romanian Werewolf boy got a lot of backstory but not much romance or interaction. So there you have it: some headcanons featuring the ancient Beast, a post-kidnapping sequel.
Content: female reader, obsessive behavior, monster romance, mild NSFW at the end, ridiculously older yandere
You followed the gargantuan stranger back into the city, leaving the bloodbath behind as if it was just a distant dream. Admittedly, you’d expected to be dragged into some mountainous cave or an abandoned mansion, not the cozy - albeit a little dusty - apartment on a main, historical street. On second thought, he did function as a human outside of his monstrous escapades, so it made sense. “Is this your place?”, you sheepishly asked while he wiped the thick layers of blood off him. “One of them, yes”, he answered curtly. “It’s central”, you remarked, trying to make conversation. “Well, I didn’t know about it back then. It’s been a few decades.”
Your ears perked up at the words. Gazing at his features, he didn’t seem necessarily aged to you. The deep creases contouring his face felt more like a sign that he’s lived sorrows beyond most people’s comprehension. “How old are you?” You finally asked as curiosity replaced your initial fear. He abruptly stopped his movements and leaned back, brows furrowed in deep contemplation. “I’m not so sure anymore. I was born in the 80s”, he concluded. “That’s not too far back, is it?” You inquired, this time more relaxed. “80 BC, I meant. You do the math.”
He freshened himself up as you counted the millennia on your fingers, frowning in confusion. He chuckled at your intense focus, then quickly looked up into the mirror. When was the last time he smiled like this? The reflection was a foreign sight to him. “We’ll get you everything you need tomorrow”, he continued, still in a daze. What a strange idea, having someone to speak to after an eternity. And suddenly, it occurred to him just how rusted his communication had gotten: “I’m so sorry, I haven’t asked for your name once”, he said, embarrassed. “It’s (Y/N). And you are...?" Might as well introduce yourself to your benevolent captor.
The dreaded question. How did they call him back in the day? He hasn't had anyone spell it out for him, nor did he feel the need at any point to say it himself. Why would he? He hadn't anticipated meeting you. With pursed lips, he searched his mind. Eventually, from the depths or memories, from days of yore, it made its way back: "Daos."
Given your first gory encounter (where he quite literally murdered everyone else), you were surprised to find out he's otherwise a calm and polite individual. Well, he's had centuries to mature, you suppose. You've also noticed he has that rather old-fashioned chivalry to him. He's very attentive despite his stoic demeanor, and often follows with acts of service.
"You're insulting me. I can carry this myself with ease", you'll argue. "I never doubted you can. Nonetheless, it is my wish to do it for you."
As the days pass, your reluctance seems to vanish as well. In fact, you've become particularly cheeky, encouraged by his warm, unperturbed behavior. Maybe you haven't gotten the worst deal out there, after all.
"You know, you talk like an old man", you've teased him once. He was visibly taken aback by your statement, and you could discern a faint blush on his face. "Do I? My apologies, I haven't spoken to anyone in a long time. I'm not familiar with modern speech. Have I embarrassed you somehow?"
He spends his free time reading, though he will frequently take you on walks. It's an interesting affair to say the least. You can feel the curious eyes of the passersby and hear their not-so-discreet whispered gossip. You can't truly blame them: Daos is enormous even as a human. He towers above everyone else with his imposing appearance. To match, his voice is deep and coarse as a result of not using it much until recently.
The ancient werewolf is a living history book. If asked, he will narrate to you important events or details you might be curious about regarding his culture. Once, when he'd been in a good mood, he even shared fragments of his life before turning into a creature. He'd been a high-ranked Dacian warrior, spending his days training or fighting. He still remembers the flag he carried with bitter fondness, yet another irony to his fate: a wolf-headed serpent. It was meant to showcase their way of life; barbarians with no fear of death. They'd greeted the Roman Empire with nothing but a sword and a shield, no shred of doubt.
He might've been betrayed by his people, but the pride remains. The pride of a soldier who's never known defeat. You learned quickly that his beastly form doesn't count as a significant change by any means, save for appearances. The man has brute strength even as a human. You'd once strayed from his view, and a stranger approached with a daring whistle, gawking you up and down. Before you could react, Daos clawed him by the throat. You heard the twist of the skin and the creak of the bones giving in to the immense pressure of his large hand.
"It's the second time I have exposed you to such unpleasant sights", he said, discarding the body as if it was any other garbage. "Forgive me, but I will not have you disrespected like this."
He is very much aware he's taken you away from the world out of his own selfish desire. The fact that you accepted it is more than he could ever ask for. That's what he keeps telling himself, even as his eyes wander to your lips whenever you speak. Or as his hand lingers a moment too long against the curve of your back. Or as he hungrily takes in your scent whenever you're nearby.
He might be unhealthily possessive of you, but Daos will never do anything against your will. No matter how obvious his urges are. In fact, no amount of flirting or teasing will shake his resolve. You will have to be very direct with your approval.
Once the reality settles in, he'll become extremely affectionate, bordering on obsessive. To think he could have you in every way possible. Oh, he's waited thousands of years for you. All the suffering, the loneliness, the anger, they're stripped of any meaning now that he has you.
The city strolls at an awkward distance have since become a habitual excuse to hold your hand and show you off to the mortals. The quiet evenings of passing time with a book now include your merely noticeable weight cuddled into his lap. You didn't expect him to be this adoring. Being touch-starved for millennia counts as one reason, naturally, but there's more to it, so much more. And it all leads back to you.
He is a little taken aback when you ask him to do the deed in his werewolf form. "Don't be foolish. I can't overcome my instincts as well when I'm a creature. I could harm you", he'll lecture you. "Besides, you can barely take it as it currently is", he'll add, smirking at your baffled expression. It seems he's picked up on your cheekiness.
After a lot of pleading and waiting for the right moment - when he's ravaging you in a daze - he finally agrees. True to his word, his tune instantly changes. The tender hold turns into a desperate grasp sinking into your skin, and the thrusts become irregular, almost frantic. His drool cools your burning cheeks as you hold onto the coarse fur, feverish and overwhelmed.
His golden eyes rest on the small human squirming underneath him, and suddenly, he can't help but notice: you have the perfect birthing hips.
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rpf tier ranking
tier 0: actors. too easy. actors fall in love all the time due to proximity and amount of time spent together, especially if they are playing characters who are themselves in a relationship.
tier 1: bands (post-80s). writing songs together is incredibly intimate and requires emotional vulnerability. tours are great opportunities to spend a lot of time in an enclosed space together. sometimes they will sing into the same microphone at the same time so their mouths are close together which is basically making out if you think about it.
tier 2: bands (pre-80s). see above. however this requires slightly more mental fortitude because a lot of their fans will insist on their heterosexuality and get really mad when you say simon and garfunkel were kissing on each other or whatever.
tier 3: contact sports team. sports can be emotionally intense if you care about that sort of thing and obviously there are a lot of opportunities for intricate rituals wrt touching another's skin and locker rooms and all that. but this requires more imagination because there is less text (i.e. songs or correspondence) to use as evidence.
tier 4: solo artists. this is where things can fall apart. you have to choose both figures in the ship wisely and exercise a decent amount of creativity because they are not compelled to be together all the time (see above). you can cast a wider net but that lack of specificity may hurt those with weaker imaginations. also they don't always write their own songs.
tier 5: historical figures. this varies a lot both in terms of plausibility and social acceptability. depending on how old the figures are you could legitimately turn this into an academic dissertation if you wanted to commit that hard to it. however you may also come up against a lot of opposition among your colleagues. one must be intellectually prepared to present concrete evidence and argue one's point. (however, you are also more likely to convince people b/c the figures are old and dead and can't deny it. and probably didn't know what rpf is.)
tier 5.5: historical figures who have been fictionalized in media. this depends on the tone you take but unfortunately you will always be up against thomas jefferson hatsune miku binder as the starting point for the general public's thoughts on your hobby. so good luck.
tier 6: racecar drivers. if you are into racecar rpf i assume you are capable of seeing colors that are not visible to the ordinary human eye. they are literally in cars. the creativity required to wring a [romantic] narrative from people driving cars around a track is beyond my comprehension.
tier π: living politicians. you are a pariah among even your most deranged peers. no one respects you. you are categorically a weirdo and beyond help.
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I was rewatching s1e3 and something finally clicked for me..
Please forgive me if this seems obvious to you. It helps me to type out my thoughts, but I'm sure I'm just an idiot and no one else needs this explained to them, lol. That said - I was always slightly confused by the emotional weight of the holy water arc during the flashback sequence. Particularly I was confused by how angry Crowley got when Aziraphale referred to their relationship as fraternizing in the 1862 fight. I mean, "to associate or form a friendship with someone, especially when one is not supposed to" is exactly what they are doing, right? So why the 80 year breakup?
Crowley says he wants the holy water for if "it" all goes pear shaped. The phrasing is necessarily vague, and could mean lots of things. Since I know what he eventually uses it for, I was thinking about it in the context of Armageddon, or maybe more generally and vaguely about Crowley not always choosing to go along with Hell, and associating with Aziraphale. But there was not much reason for Crowley to already be thinking about Armageddon back then.
As we know from the full diary entry Neil posted, the timeline of the Edinburgh entry, and the cut bookshop opening scene, it seems like Crowley and Aziraphale were spending A LOT of time together by the 1800's. When Crowley is pulled back down to Hell in 1827, he learns that Hell is paying more attention to him than he'd previously thought. Crowley realizes at this point that spending so much time with Aziraphale is actively putting him in real danger. He recognizes that, and instead of breaking things off, or seeing Aziraphale less, he doubles down. If this relationship is dangerous, then he wants the tools to fight for it.
That's what I think I didn't get about the holy water request. It's not just general insurance, it's specifically insurance for if Hell finds out about him and Aziraphale. It's also a super vulnerable request because in making it, Crowley is openly acknowledging how important their relationship is to him. Aziraphale casually brings up the arrangement at the beginning of the conversation, and that's part of it, right? Because the whole basis of their relationship is the arrangement. It continues to be the pretense under which they meet, despite the relationship clearly having developed beyond that. And the arrangement, as Crowley proposed it in 537, is born out of convenience, and the assumption that Heaven and Hell would never notice anyway.
Crowley's request for insurance breaks that facade. He's acknowledging that it's not convenient, or safe, but he wants to do it anyway, despite the risk.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, is not ready for the screen to be taken away so abruptly. To make it worse, he assumes Crowley wants the holy water as an escape, rather than a weapon. Suddenly he is confronted with both the danger their association poses, and the idea that Crowley might choose to take his own life. He can't imagine the guilt of being directly responsible for the latter.
I also think the strength of his own emotional response to the thought of losing Crowley catches Aziraphale off guard. He hasn't admitted to himself how much he actually cares, and it scares him. Worrying about Heaven is more comfortable and familiar, so he falls back on that and switches to "If they knew I'd been... fraternizing!"
But bringing up the threat of Heaven reads to Crowley as Aziraphale saying "You may be willing to put yourself at risk for the sake of our relationship, but I am not." The word choice of "fraternizing" comes off as a dismissive and demeaning way to describe a relationship that Crowley just admitted he would risk his life for.
It's an unintentionally deep cut when Crowley is already at his most vulnerable, and so he lashes out. As far as we've seen, this is possibly the first time Crowley has truly lashed out at Aziraphale. So yeah, 80 year breakup makes sense!
And what makes this so much worse is what happens next. Crowley reaches out again in 1941 with a dramatic gesture (rescuing Aziraphale from the Nazis, saving his books). It's clear they've missed each other. They don't discuss the fight, but it's there subtextually. Aziraphale, tentatively and thrillingly, refers to them as friends, for the first time ever. He tells Crowley that he trusts him.
And then, that very same night their worst fears are confirmed. Just when they've finally reconciled a fight over the dangers of their relationship, and just when Aziraphale has finally admitted that it is not a relationship of convenience, but genuine friendship, they are exposed. Crowley is going to face punishment from Hell, explicitly for being Aziraphale's "trusted confident", and he doesn't have insurance. If Aziraphale's trick hadn't succeeded, Crowley would have had no way to protect himself.
idk it just makes me feel things ok
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