OK so somehow I fucked up the reply (I have no idea how, but the readmore somehow went into the ask itself? I don’t know? Tumblr sucks?) but @melayneseahawk asked for:
Hope you don’t mind — I wrote this as an excerpt from the Trash Fire Jesus ‘verse, set a few weeks before [spoilers]Poe’s daring rescue of Luke from the hands of the evil Wookie.
*
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Luke mutters.
“That’s because you’re a crotchety old man with no sense of adventure,” Poe chirps at him over the intercom; when Luke looks over at the next A-Wing, he can faintly see the flash of a grin and a hand, waving.
YOU TWO ARE A MENACE, Artoo chimes in over the text-interface. Luke is inclined to agree, but it’s just past dawn and he’s not inclined to blame anyone but Leia for his conduct right now. The third-years are in the middle of their final flight tests; Luke has once again been dragged into “volunteering” to be target practice. He’s stumbled into the hanger this morning only to be confronted by the most evil trio known to the galaxy: his droid, his sister, and Poe, all far too cheerful for this hour.
“Let’s get this over with,” Luke says, even as he can sense Leia’s amusement as a soft scrub against his mind, irritating the way it always is when she’s laughing at him. “Is the course ready?”
“Yes, Commander,” Leia says over the intercom, bland and deferential. “You’ll be the enemy ship, Dameron’s job is to get an incapacitating hit within two laps.”
“Isn’t Nien usually overseeing these tests?” Luke asks. “Why are you in charge of this one?”
“Rank favoritism,” Leia says. Poe laughs, bright and carefree.
There’s part of Luke that wants to shake him; make him understand that this isn’t a time for laughter, for being carefree. But Poe understands, better than most; understands in the death of his mother and the drumbeat of his training that one day all of this will be real, that the stakes won’t be a passing grade but another day alive, another enemy dead. Luke grew up with the certainty of the Empire even while the Rebellion grew in whispers on the perimeter, but Poe has lived his whole live with the understanding of the war that gave birth to him and the wars that were coming, implacable and merciless. Luke has nothing to teach, here.
But he has something to teach up there.
“Last one around the Polar Moon is a womprat,” he says, and takes off, Artoo grumbling at the g-force slamming them back; Poe swears and on the screen, Luke can see the green dot of a friendly just behind him. “Did you say something, Poe?”
“Is your hearing getting worse?” Poe asks, his voice a little tense. They’ve already cleared atmo and dodge past the satellites (and various debris that encircles any planet inhabited by people for more than a few decades), heading into the first obstacle. Luke slams to a stop and pivots to the right, Poe’s A-wing screaming past him with another curse in his ear and the artificial doppler whine of the ship’s sensors.
“Well, you know how us crotchety old men can be,” Luke says, making a beeline for the obstacle — a slowly-spinning asteroid, a hole in its center that can be easily threaded, provided you’re not under pressure from being chased (or chasing) an enemy ship. They’ve lost more than one training A-wing to this thing, but fortunately no one’s crashed badly enough to get more than a broken leg. Luke tosses Artoo the calculations and he chimes back with a timing sequence, and they make it through unscathed.
His victory is short-lived; the green dot on his radar indicates that Poe got through it too, and is coming at him. “I swear to God, Luke, if you pull that hitch-and-ditch again—”
“What, you mean this?” Luke asks, this time flipping up so that Poe careens past over Luke’s head. It’s much too fast, but Luke suspects Poe’s making a rude gesture even while he swears again. “Do you get points off for vulgar language?” he asks mildly.
“No, otherwise you’d have failed every course you ever took,” Leia chimes in. “Are you two done?”
“Just give me a minute to blow up your brother,” Poe grumbles.
“I’m not even responding to that,” Leia says, sighing.
Luke’s been dragooned into these races more times than he can count since landing on Yavin, but this is the first time he’s lost himself in the give and take of the ship, actually enjoyed it, riling Poe up and dodging his attacks. They fly around the Destroyer (actually a derelict frigate that’s been in a deteriorating orbit around Yavin for the better part of a decade), and in through a holographic asteroid field that would ping any collisions — vastly preferable to blowing up a ship — before heading down to the Polar Moon’s surface, where Luke’s expected to lead Poe on a merry chase through the ice canyons. It’s his least favorite part; to this day he has a dread of ice planets, or anywhere with bitter cold and snow; he still remembers that awful summer on Hoth, half-dead in the blizzard before Han had rescued him.
But before he can get too worried, there’s a slam against the bottom of the ship, jolting him up and over the lip of the canyons. He looks at the radar, but the only green dot is his; Poe is nowhere near him. “Poe? Poe, are you all right?”
“Oh, just fine,” says Poe, cheerful over the intercom. “This weather sucks, though, how about we get out of here?”
And Luke’s A-wing starts to rise up out of the atmosphere, engines sputtering ineffectually against — “Are you absolutely out of your mind?” Luke demands, because Poe is absolutely out of his mind.
“Congratulations, Dameron,” says Leia, dry as a desert. “You’ve managed to be the first pilot to make themselves the means of blowing up the enemy. Usually people try to get themselves not destroyed in the process, but genius clearly can’t be contained.”
“Hey, the test is just that I have to blow you up,” says Poe, and there’s a beeping noise coming from somewhere — from Poe’s intercom, Luke realizes, because Poe’s released the fake “missile” that’s supposed to destroy Luke’s ship. “Didn’t say anything about how.” The beeping crescendos rapidly and ends in a blast, which — thank you, Artoo — his radar belated registers as a hit.
“I cannot believe you,” Luke mutters.
“That hurts, Commander,” says Poe cheerfully. “Would you like me to release the docking clamps?”
In response, Luke concentrates; he could have felt it if he’d been paying attention, but now he can sense Poe’s good-natured calm nearby, the static energy from Artoo, the buzz of both ships flying together. He pinpoints the clench of tension and lets it release; the two ships part, Luke pushing Poe off with a little more Force than strictly necessary.
“That’s cheating!” Poe protests, and continues complaining the entire way home.
themarblestreetcar replied to your photo “I went to my favorite art book as a child, "I Saw A Purple Cow", to...”
Is this an Elder Millennial's dad thing? because this is almost exactly the recipe my dad used when he made us play dough in the 80s, but I don't recognize the book....
I’m sure it was passed around in parenting circles back in the day -- the recipe is also IN the book so I’m not sure why he wrote it in the cover, but we also made it in school and camp, so...
lphia replied to your photo “I went to my favorite art book as a child, "I Saw A Purple Cow", to...”
Thanks to you and your dad, Sam! I'll use it while in self-quarantine with my toddler. Cheers!
I should just take some photos of my favorite recipes in the book. The vinegar balloon trick is in there too I think...
rsfcommonplace replied to your photo “I went to my favorite art book as a child, "I Saw A Purple Cow", to...”
I have that book at my library! I am using to post ideas for parents trying to keep their kids busy.
It’s such a classic. And so very late-hippie-parents -- there’s something so incredibly era-specific about the art.
melayneseahawk replied to your photo “I went to my favorite art book as a child, "I Saw A Purple Cow", to...”
I have a recipe somewhere for corn pudding in my great-aunt's handwriting (she was like a grandmother to me, for that side of the family). I don't actually *like* the recipe, but it makes me smile
Yeah, I have a bunch in my mother’s handwriting -- she sends them every once in a while. She and my grandmother both used to store letters and cards in books so they’d find them by surprise years later, so whenever she gives me a recipe she tells me “If you don’t use it, put it in a book” :D
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Hey, loved your Happy Everything! artwork (so cute!), but I just wanted to let you know that the menorah (candelabra) used at Hanukkah has 9 branches, not 7; the 7 branch is a symbol used the rest of the year, but the one for Hanukkah (called a hanukkiyah) has the extra branches because the miracle lasted 8 nights, plus an extra helper candle in the middle. I dunno if it's too late to fix, but I wanted to let you know. Happy Holidays, whatever you may celebrate, and happy new year!
Thanks, Oops 😅, yeah I noticed this morning and I am so sorry I'm just stupid.
Man, I have so much trouble understanding the Gabriel love because he, like, reminds me of the cool kids that bullied me in school? The way he talks to Aziraphale makes me so mad. Which is a great job on Jon Hamm's part, and the writing, but I just can't see him in anything like a likable light? I'm iffy on the other angels and demons (really depends which one(s) we're talking about), and I'm not saying anyone *shouldn't* like him, but I can't grok it, yanno?
I have to admit, I don’t really see most kids who’re bullies as children as bad people, for the most part, having had my own issues in school, and known others who were bullied tremendously.
I think they learn from others, and don’t learn better, and I think the reason that they act that way, barring a handful of genuinely cruel little shites, is because they’re ultimately frightened of difference. It threatens them and makes them feel insecure in the world, like other people aren’t following an unspoken set of Rules, and they don’t like that their victims don’t appear to be governed by the same Rules that they are, because it means a) what if the rug is pulled out from under them? b) what if they’re not enjoying x embarrassing thing for no reason at all?
And I do think that’s a big part of Hamm’s Gabriel - he is frightened of difference and dissent. Of course he is. The last time an angel wanted to be Different, he split the world into two, dragged 10 million angels down into the Pit with him, and then started a war.
More than than that, Gabriel sees the world as Things That Are and Things That Will Be. It is a very linear, clearcut way of looking at the world. It does not account for Things That Should Be, because Gabriel doesn’t think in terms of Should - he thinks in terms of Certainty. It does not account for Things That Might Be, because again, Gabriel must be Certain. It does not account for Aziraphale feeling so much pleasure and affection for the world (or for a demon) that he betrays Heaven. It does not account for Aziraphale disliking him, even though Gabriel follows all the Rules of social engagement the best way that he knows how.
When it becomes clear that his clearcut worldview is incorrect, Gabriel breaks the fuck down. He loses his temper, he looks distressed and antsy as all fuck, and he freaks! He wants it all to go the way it was supposed to! He’s furious at Aziraphale because he trusted him repeatedly, and Aziraphale fucked it all up! And now everything has Gone Wrong!
I don’t mind if you don’t grok it. I also don’t mind if you don’t feel any desire to empathize with those people that bullied you before.
However, I... I honestly don’t even see Gabriel as a cool kid. The fact of the matter is that he seems to be very similar to Aziraphale and Crowley, in many ways - he has a temper and all these emotions, but also a desire to protect others (e.g. how he jumps in front of Sandalphon and Uriel during the hellfire scene); he thinks humans are weird, but has a certain affection for some of their things, and seems very engaged with them; he says pointblank that Hell has to be defeated, but when you see him talking with Beelzebub, he engages them constantly, he talks to them passionately and with a sense of rapport and trust (at least on his part), and he defers to them in conversation when they make good points. That isn’t blind hatred of the Other. That’s... liking someone you’re not supposed to even though the Rules say otherwise.
The main thing that sets Gabriel and Aziraphale apart in these things is how blandly and insipidly confident and self-assured Gabriel is.
Aziraphale is terrified he must be a bad angel. He knows all these things he does are wrong, and he knows it’s not what he’s supposed to do, and he freaks out about it, lashes out at Crowley, is awkward with the other angels, and so on and so forth.
Gabriel, on the other hand, is CERTAIN he must be a good angel. He knows these things are a little weird, but if he likes them, they must be fine! He’s an archangel, after all! He’s cheerful and bright and everything has to be alright. I don’t think the certainty goes bone deep, and I think he’s super insecure about rejection, but there’s a forced certainty that’s certainly deeper than Aziraphale’s shaky “it must be alright, because I’m an angel”.
And then you see the betrayal on his face when Crowley says “Where have you been?” about God; you see the way he absolutely shuts down when Michael says Aziraphale has been betraying him; you see his desperate anger in the final confrontation.
Even if I agreed with you that Gabriel was a bully, which I don’t (because in my opinion, bullying has to be something done on purpose and with intent, rather than just making someone feel bad without meaning to, especially when you blatantly don’t understand social cues), I would probably make the argument that Gabriel, like many other bullies, lashes out because he feels emotionally neglected and abandoned at home. It doesn’t make it okay, but without anyone else to teach him better, he won’t improve, and in the mean time he would be having a go at Aziraphale to make him feel better about his own insecurities, his own fear of abandonment, his own fear of doing the wrong thing.
melayneseahawk replied to your post “How many fics will fandom let one get away with where the two main...”
yes please!
I HAVE NEGATIVE IMPULSE CONTROL AND GOOD NEWS!!!
. . .
“The crops and the weather are the only things they’ve convinced themselves they can control. Well, not control, bend to their advantage.”
“And the animals.”
“And the animals,” Crawley agreed. “But not the other humans.”
“No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “And not even really the animals, but it’s a matter of believing they’re superior or giving in to the fear I think.”
“The fear of what?”
“Oh, everything, I imagine. She made them so fragile.”
Crawley tilted his head and let his hands slide to the ground near his foot. He bunched up the hem of his robe and unbunched it again. He spread his hands out against the packed dirt beyond the black cloth. They were thin like the rest of him, with long fingers that twitched restlessly.
“Are you ever afraid?” he asked quietly.
“No,” Aziraphale said.
The answer came so automatically he could be forgiven for mistaking it for the truth, but deep down he knew better. It was a lie that had been drilled into him during the great war. There had been no room for fear in a principality or on the battlefield. Aziraphale had been deeply afraid then, and unsure, but he’d covered it over with something like courage and no one else noticed. He had rarely been noticed at all then and was even less noticed now. It was, he thought somewhat over candidly, a godsend. The less he was studied the less chance there was the uncertainty in him would be found out.
Crawley tilted his head the other direction. He flicked his tongue out, tasting the air. He could probably taste the lie, but he didn’t challenge Aziraphale on it. He just said, “Oh, I am.”
This demon had a way of making Aziraphale feel very studied, but it didn’t hurt the way it would coming from another angel. It always felt like an asking instead of a taking. There shouldn’t really be a distinction there for an angel. To question an angel was to take from them, even if it was nothing more than the assumption of their god-given righteousness. But Aziraphale had been living among the humans for long enough that he was starting to find the shades of ambiguity as startlingly striking as the colors found in the sunsets. The golden-yellow eyes behind all of this study were also startlingly striking.
“What does a demon have to be afraid of?” he asked. “Aren’t you the one who’s supposed to be instilling fear in others?”
“To be a fearsome thing who lives in the dark is to know that there are always more fearsome things in the dark. If nothing else, the dark is bigger than you.”
“You and the humans have that in common then.”
“But not you?” Crawley asked.
A smirk waited at the corner of his lips. He was giving Aziraphale the opportunity to admit to the lie. It was too gracious of him, certainly more than Aziraphale expected from a demon, and more than he really deserved.
“I live in the light,” Aziraphale said stiffly.
The smirk bloomed. His yellow eyes flashed in the water-filtered sunlight that streamed dimly in through the windows.
“Night comes without regard for the day,” Crawley said.
melayneseahawk replied to your post “Please stop colorizing old black and white movies, it makes my memory...”
Did you hear about that documentary-ish thing some people made with old WWI footage? They colorized it, and used lip-readers to try to figure out what the people were saying, and then recorded the audio. It feels super creepy to me for some reason.
I suppose people want to feel closer to history, but they better not have dubbed my old silent war-footage reels or I’m gonna have to pick a fight!
