#why not go read those instead

[panakina]

A lot of discussion lately about whether or not jason fans hallucinated a character who cares about his community (the ‘protects women and kids’ thing), but i think that’s doing us a disservice and frankly letting DC off the hook.

Its not unreasonable to dislike that DC consistently makes the kid with the poorest background the most violent and selfish. (And the second poorest, Steph, the most incompetent).

Its not wild to extrapolate that someone who was first characterised as being Too Upset About Rape Victims and later characterised as prepared to take action where others won’t, could be getting involved in that kind of work.

It’s not crazy fans being blind to canon when we don’t want the sole voice of reason on the subject of community support to be the benevolent billionaire.

It’s not delusional behaviour to make fanworks where the guy heavily implied to be a child victim of sexual assault takes on responsibility for other victims.

Is that what DC gave us? No, they didn’t bother to address it.

[not-the-living-ghost]

cannot stop thinking about that 80s chaotic bisexual punk and his uptight repressed edwardian boyfriend

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I bring a sort of "flawed female characters can be fun and enjoyable blorbos - both flawed in terms of having character flaws and in terms of having occasionally flawed writing" that it appears many, many, many people do not like

[onesnoopyaday]

snoopy blue-eyed person stare

Snoopy #87

27/12/2024

[bennetsbonnet]

In preparation for shortly going to see a talk about Jane Austen by historian Lucy Worsley, I finally finished her book Jane Austen at Home (it had been sitting on my shelf for months, I'm a terrible procrastinator).

Overall, I did enjoy the book. I thought that looking at Jane Austen through the lens of the various places she called home over the years and how they shaped her writing was definitely an interesting approach. Though I can't say I learned anything of significance that I didn't already know about her life, it's well-written and researched and I would recommend it if you are not so knowledgeable about her life and wish to discover more.

But I recommend it more for the historical context than the literary analysis as, although it was evident that she is hugely passionate about Jane Austen, her novels and her life, unfortunately, there was a moment where Worsley slipped into that frustratingly all too common trope found in biographies of Jane Austen. Where authors are desperate to prove that AcTuALLy, they, and they alone, truly understand her novels and everyone else has been reading them wrong all along!

I have no idea why so many of those who write about Austen have a tendency to slip into this, is it born out of sheer desperation to prove that they're actually The Biggest Janeite and that the other countless readers who have enjoyed her novels, over the course of more than two centuries, are actually idiots?

Chapter 25 of Jane Austen at Home concluded with the argument that, because the novels tend not to dwell on the so-called "most romantic" scenes (such as where the hero and heroine finally get engaged) taken in combination with the fact that Jane Austen often wrote letters with double meanings (often sarcastic remarks about relatives/friends) that contained passages that would not be picked up on by inattentive listeners upon a first reading aloud, but that later those who were closest to her (such as her sister, Cassandra) would understand, means that, if you want to, you can find evidence that Jane Austen didn't write happy endings for her heroines, actually, and was secretly undermining the institution of marriage!!

Personally, I think that Austen wanted her readers to use their imaginations and had laid the foundations well enough already in the hundreds of pages prior to these moments to convince the audience that, actually, marriage to their respective heroes was a good and positive step for all of the heroines who we've already grown so fond of.

It was a pretty egregious passage on the whole, but perhaps the worst part, to me, was the quotes selected from Pride and Prejudice.

Brace yourselves...

People who see some merit in this argument perhaps don't believe in love and marriage and happy endings more generally, for in Jane Austen's work you find, above all, what you seek. It holds as many different meanings as there are readers. So what is it that these sceptical readers might spot? Lizzy Bennet only marries Mr Darcy with 'uncomfortable feelings' about their differing rank, which 'took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure'.

I audibly gasped. The sentence itself is a little confusing, as I'm still not sure who allegedly has those uncomfortable feelings? Regardless of whether the argument is for Elizabeth or Mr Darcy, I certainly did not recall either of them expressing such sentiments at the end of the story.

So, naturally I went to the novel and this is the passage, right at the end of Chapter 61 which Worsley very selectively quoted from:

Mrs. Phillips’s vulgarity was another, and perhaps a greater, tax on [Darcy's] forbearance; and though Mrs. Phillips, as well as her sister, stood in too much awe of him to speak with the familiarity which Bingley’s good humour encouraged, yet, whenever she did speak, she must be vulgar. Nor was her respect for him, though it made her more quiet, at all likely to make her more elegant. Elizabeth did all she could to shield him from the frequent notice of either, and was ever anxious to keep him to herself, and to those of her family with whom he might converse without mortification; and though the uncomfortable feelings arising from all this took from the season of courtship much of its pleasure, it added to the hope of the future; and she looked forward with delight to the time when they should be removed from society so little pleasing to either, to all the comfort and elegance of their family party at Pemberley.

The meaning of this passage is to illustrate that, despite a much-reformed Darcy trying his best, even still, there was only so much he could (understandably) take in Meryton before his patience was exhausted due to the vulgarity of Elizabeth's relations. Though he wasn't rude anymore and made an effort with them, he still wasn't exactly comfortable in the company of the Bennets and their relations. Elizabeth understood this, and did everything she could to keep him happy as she accepted that her family could be A Lot too and she knew that he was trying his best to be civil in company with them.

I mean, that's not subtext, it's RIGHT THERE. We are told that the society of Meryton is 'so little pleasing to either,' that both Darcy and Elizabeth cannot wait to retreat to Pemberley. See, they both feel the same. This is no longer a case of Mr Darcy being a snob and Elizabeth feeling desperate to rush him off before he realises 'their differing rank,' as Worsley puts it, will prevent a happy marriage and is tempted to call off the wedding entirely. No, both went into the marriage with their eyes wide open.

Plus, both Darcy and Elizabeth have already overcome 'their differing rank.' It's such a ludicrous argument. Is Worsley seriously contending that the woman who boldly said to Lady Catherine de Bourgh, in the face of overwhelming snobbery and personal attacks,

'in marrying your nephew, I should not consider myself as quitting that sphere. He is a gentleman; I am a gentleman’s daughter; so far we are equal,'

would retain any 'uncomfortable feelings' about her upcoming union to a man of Mr Darcy's standing? The woman who views herself as his equal? I don't buy it.

Likewise, Darcy does get along with some of Elizabeth's relations. It's shown that he does find Mr and Mrs Gardiner in particular to be good company. That is the last line of the entire novel. And let's not insult Elizabeth Bennet's intelligence! She would not have accepted him if she truly believed Darcy was still a snob who thought himself so much her superior.

Anyway, if this argument wasn't already weak enough, due to Worsley's selectiveness when quoting from the novel (conveniently she leaves out the end of the 'season of courtship' quote; that, while it may have lacked some pleasure, 'it added to the hope of the future' i.e. that though being in company with her relatives during her courtship wasn't always pleasant, Elizabeth had seen enough of Darcy's altered manners to know that she'd be happy with him) and the fact that when she does quote from the novel, she uses them completely out of context in a weak attempt to back up her points, it is the conclusion is perhaps most unconvincing of all:

But if you follow me this far in the idea that Jane was undermining the very moment where you'd expect marriage to be most praised, there could be an explanation. The same applies to her novels. At first reading, these are stories about love and marriage and the conventional heterosexual happily-ever-after. Only at the second does a sneaky doubt perhaps creep in to suggest that maybe marriage is not the best thing that could ever happen to these women.

What?! Seriously, if you have a 'sneaky doubt' that any of the heroines and heroes would not lead happy lives together, you need to reread the novels! All six are dedicated to showing us why these two people are compatible with each other, and truly love and respect each other in ways that go deeper than any superficial attraction.

More to the point with Pride and Prejudice, I think that any remaining unmarried sisters, upon Mr Bennet's demise, who ended up as spinsters entirely dependant on other men, would maybe have been 'not the best thing that could ever happen' to the Bennet sisters, to say the least.

So, not only is this passage astonishingly poor literary analysis, it's also baffling that an experienced historian would make such an argument... given the historical context of how vital it was for women to marry for financial considerations just as much as romantic reasons.

Ultimately, and although this quote which I'm about to use can be used in the worst context sometimes, especially from thoroughly pretentious individuals, it's still worth concluding with. Jane Austen wrote in a letter to her sister Cassandra, shortly after the publication of Pride and Prejudice:

There are a few Typical errors – & a 'said he' or a 'said she' would sometimes make the Dialogue more immediately clear –  but 'I do not write for such dull elves As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves.' [The 'dull elves' quote is not originally from Austen, rather she quotes from Marmion by Sir Walter Scott]

Which to me, shows that Jane Austen clearly believed that she did not need to spell everything out for her audience. That we are capable of filling in the gaps for ourselves and that we can understand, thanks to the context of all that has preceded it, that although we do not get to see really anything of the Darcys married life, that they certainly would have been very happy together.

And, most importantly, we can easily understand that Elizabeth did get her happily-ever-after at Pemberley with Mr Darcy. There is no secret other interpretation that needs to be made which claims otherwise.

[the---hermit]

22|04|2025

You know how in my last post I said I was on the verge of a reading slump because of my energy levels as well as the book I was currently reading? Well, guess what, the real culprit was the book, because later that day I decided to switch reads with The Ballad Of Singbirds And Snakes and I ended up spending the next few days struggling to put the book down. I just finished it and I have so many thoughts I am even struggling to put them together coherently. I was a bit sceptical over the idea of a book focusing on Snow, because I feared there was a high risk of having a story that would end up somewhat justifying him and his actions. I am so happy to not only have found a lot of backstory that did not do that, but also even more great worldbuilding. I am a sucker for good worldbuilding and believable politics in dystopic books and this book delivered on all fronts. I was glued to the pages for the plot, but at the same time my brain was going on tangents about the historical and philosophical inspiration and commentary of the author and it was simply amazing. Can you tell I had a good time with this book? I really appreaciated how the author made clear every few pages that you are not rooting for this main character, he is bad in ways that go beyond the "brainwashed by the regime he lives in". This guys suckes severly, but witnessing his story and his thoughts is a great way to make you reflect and it really packs a punch.

[gamer-comix]

my new favorite kind of amazon review is people who bought manga but don't know what manga is

[katzensilber]

Man, this is why I always hated math class.

Khan Academy gave me this easy (or so I thought) problem to solve:

"A factory makes toys that are sold for $10 a piece. The factory has 40 workers, and they each produce 25 toys a day. The factory is open 5 days a week. What is the total value of toys the factory produces in a day?"

I said to myself, okay...

10 times 40 times 25 equals 10,000. That means the factory produces $10,000 worth of value per WORKING day.

10,000 times 5 equals 50,000. And then there are two days per week (the weekend) when no value is produced. So, per week, the total value produced is still only $50,000.

And finally, there are seven days in a full week, so $50,000 divided by 7 equals roughly $7,142.86. That's the total value of toys produced per day. Not "per work day", but "per day", as it specifically says in the problem.

But what does the teacher say as he guides us through it? 10 times 40 times 25 equals 10,000, so the answer is 10,000.

That's it. The end.

He even acknowledges: "So, you might be thinking, 'Hey wait, we didn't use all the information! We didn't use the "five days per week" information!' And yeah, as it turns out, that was information we didn't need."

'As it turns out'?! Are you kidding me right now?! I carefully read the question, precisely calculated exactly what it was asking for, taking all of the provided information into account... and now you're saying I'm supposed to have somehow magically known to ignore one of those pieces of information in order to make it easier for myself?

Just admit that your problem is worded badly, dude. UGH this kind of shit drives me crazy. Why can't people use words clearly >:(

[songofwizardry]

it’s actually such a difficult time to be someone who’s unironically and genuinely and wholeheartedly into space travel, and believes in space for everyone, and thinks it’s bonkers that we have had zero (0) people who aren’t white American men who have set foot on the moon, but also who hates Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos. (but also tbh it’s been hard for us Elon Musk hating space nerds out here for a long time.)

like I’m 100% not a fan of this billionaire Katy Perry space tourism… thing, but also. you don’t gotta write off space travel as a concept entirely as always imperialist/the realm of billionaires/pointless/etc. it doesn’t have to be this way come with me and I can show you a better world.

[cluescorner]

I cannot imagine being a Damian stan right now. You've got both Zdarsky's bullshit (where he clearly doesn't give a shit about your boy) and The Boy Wonder (where Juni Ba clearly gives so many shits about your boy) coming out on the same day. The whiplash must be insane. I hope y'all get some nice warm soup for your efforts jfc

[corellianhounds]

Bad Reputation

Media: Return of the Jedi, The Book of Boba Fett

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Canon-typical slavery, allusions to involuntary prostitution, brief non-graphic reference to sexual assault.

Art Credit: Ralph McQuarrie

Summary: The less outsiders know about a culture, the more they seem to speculate. (A brief prologue to an eventual series titled “Back In Business,” but can be read standalone, leading up to TBoBF.)

Every Mandalorian has a reputation. They as a culture had a number of them. One that had been exaggerated to falsehood and beyond was of their lust for flesh in one form or another; some of the ancient Mandalorians, the Taungs of legend and history, were said to tear into adversaries and victims with their teeth and eat their fill once a battle subsided (though whether those rumors were substantiated or not was still a debate among scholars), and Mandalorians as a whole were renown for being a warrior culture. Death was met with surety, honor found in battle. In whatever form they took, Mandalorians were nearly always a fighting people.

The rumors did not stop there.

With a guarded culture such as theirs, their anonymity afforded outsiders little insight into their practices, beliefs, customs or ideals. What was known was the emphasis put on family bonds, guardianship and acquisition of younglings and fellow fighters, and raising children no matter the species with the ability to fight and defend themselves. It came to be that outsiders believed them to be hellbent on creating more and more Mandalorians with the desire to convert or destroy every other race and people they made contact with on their nomadic spread across the galaxy, a twisted extrapolation so far removed from the source it painted them as rough, lustful, insatiable, and barbaric.

Some found the myths appalling; others were enamored and intrigued. Mandalorians were the topic of speculation everywhere from cat-houses to palaces, rumors of their sexual appetites proliferating and taking on a life of their own. With such a violent race, people said, It’s no wonder they take what they want, when they want it.

The rumors were baseless speculations and accusations drawn from so little knowledge that they could scarcely be considered more than schoolyard gossip, but people for eons have always told stories, and stories revolve around some kind of conflict. Sex, desire, and fertility have always been topics of interest, and the more salacious you can spin those tales the bigger the audience you have.

The truth was, Mandalorians took said topics as seriously as they did every other aspect of life, and as an overwhelming majority they were knowledgeable, honorable people bound by a common creed; the myths of insatiable savages were unfounded. It isn’t to say there have never been dishonorable Mandalorians, but they more often than not are swiftly handled with the kind of justice they deserve, justice nearly always served by other Mandalorians.

Every once in a while, though, one slips through the cracks.

Una trembled in what little she had that passed for clothing. Her chains clinked together as she waited to be bought by whoever paid the demanded price for transfer of ownership. She was the only female Twi’lek in the slaver’s haul, something the auctioneer emphasized in every language he advertised in, saying she was the only one amongst the backwards natives.

The actual truth was that the men of her home had bought their families and loved ones time to escape as they fought back the slavers that descended on Ryloth— She just wasn’t fast enough. Now she and dozens of her countrymen stood at the back of a raised platform, waiting to be dragged out and sold to the highest bidder.

There were faces of every kind in the crowd: Foremen looking for laborers. Nobles looking for exotic servants and entertainers. Dons, madames, pirates, and pimps, all looking for workers.

Una wished there was some way she could revolt them, something she could to turn them away and keep them from considering her, but her countrymen had already tried to fight back on her behalf and received punishment for it. Nothing that left a mark, but enough to cause an enduring, inescapable pain nonetheless. She’d already thrown up before they arrived on-planet, and even the mud and clay that had covered her legs and arms had been scrubbed off before they were transported to the auction block.

She was last, of course, the prize of the evening. She watched as her cousins and friends and townsfolk were sold off to despicable people of every kind, the crowd thinning until only the most wealthy remained: a courtly woman with cranial horns, flanked by two looming Dathomirian guards; several dons of varying stripes, some accompanied by enforcers, some alone; a madame and a droid with several of the male Twi’leks already with them; spectators and other sentients in nondescript clothing, their attire masking their purpose or reason for being there. There was a Mandalorian with a flock of five women surrounding him, all of them different species and all of them resigned, their eyes turned to the ground.

Something about the man— he had to have been a man— was familiar. Something in his stance or his armor, she wasn’t sure. None of the women moved from where they stood, no chains or guards keeping them in place, and somehow their implicit obedience sickened her more.

Una approached the front of the platform, the lingering threat of the shock collar around her throat compelling her to obey. She couldn’t hear the auctioneer’s voice, her head swimming with fear and trepidation. Though her eyes were filled with unshed tears, she bit her cheek and willed them away. They’d made it very clear that she was not to cry.

Finally the chain tugged on her wrists and she exited the stage down the steps below. With horror she finally gasped, realizing now out of the stage lights that it was that Mandalorian with the retinue exchanging the credit transfer to the seller. Her legs shook even more than before, and her shoulders tensed when she felt hands on the back of her neck, unlocking the collar.

The Mandalorian, she realized. He was a collector, a sleazy lowlife with a harem of women at his beck and call. No one knew how he could afford to acquire and keep them, seeing as no one knew of his place of business and he’d never advertised that he was interested in renting out rooms by the hour. It was rumored he took them and polished them up to be resold to buyers with much deeper pockets, keeping the ones he liked best for himself. An unrelenting hunter, bringing his spoils back to the den.

His distinct paint and armor etchings proved he could be no other, and as the other women guided her along she felt the dizziness and despair return from before. She stumbled along the streets of the foreign planet, traded from one set of hands to another.

There were several twists and turns through alleys, passageways, and districts, so many she couldn’t keep track of where the starport was behind her. One by one three of the women split off alone and bid her farewell, and once the rest of them arrived at a boarded up and seemingly abandoned theater in the entertainment district, several passersby looking at them curiously.

Una was guided inside and the back door closed behind her. The boarded up theater looked abandoned and partially destroyed. There were lights strung between passageways, but it didn’t appear to be populated even by employees, the grand thrust stage in the open air unused even as a niche performing platform for the seating surrounding it.

One of the women’s wrist comms pinged as they traversed the stairwell. They paused on a landing, the woman and the caller speaking in a language Una didn’t recognize. For the first time she heard the Mandalorian’s voice as he interjected.

They will come to you, he said. I will take care of the Twi’lek.

“It’s going to be okay,” the human woman told her when he stepped away, both her and the Mikkian looking apologetic despite what might have been warm smiles. Una couldn’t have believed them less.

Both women split off onto the next level, and when the Mandalorian turned he gestured for her to take the stairs. When they reached the upper levels where none of the windows let light into the building, he gently guided her by the arm and said “Bear with me. I’ll explain everything once we are out of range of the street level security and recording tech.”

Una wanted to run, but she had no idea where she could escape from or where she would go where they wouldn’t find her. She thought she would pass out when they got to a set of double doors, and as he keyed in a code she held her breath and tried to steel herself for what was to come.

Inside she found she was a bit… underwhelmed by the simple furnishings. The room had been converted into what one might call bedchambers, but it didn’t match the Mandalorian’s alleged opulent taste. He closed and locked the door behind her, and Una heard him sigh beneath the helmet before he made a sweep around the room as if looking for hidden cams.

“Please forgive the theatrics,” he said over his shoulder. “It’s the only way to ensure our operation remains undetected.”

He came back to the center of the room with what looked like a set of clothes folded over one arm. “This isn’t how I like to handle things. Ideally you would still be with the other women and they’d be able to explain what we do, and ideally you’d never have to talk to me again. You’re more likely to believe this coming from them.”

The Mandalorian set the clothes aside. In his hand she could see a handheld scanner similar to the ones the slavers had.

“This is only to check you for any chips or trackers. It won’t hurt.”

Una remained silent. The Mandalorian briefly hovered the scanner over the back of her neck, each of her limbs and her torso.

“Did they put anything in your teeth?”

Una’s eyes widened. “They can do that?”

“Yes, unfortunately, though I assume by that response the answer is no.”

She nodded.

He stepped back and dragged a chair to a distant wall, facing the boarded up bay windows away from her. “There’s a dressing screen to the right,” he said. “You’ll be able to see me through it but I cannot see you, and I won’t turn around.”

Una tentatively pulled the screen out, and the corrugated plasticlear screen proved to do exactly what the Mandalorian said it would. Still she hastily changed from the rags into simple, comfortable clothes, her eyes on the Mandalorian the whole time. He too did exactly what he said he would and remained turned away from her. She surveyed the room.

“I’ll keep this short and simple,” he said. “I have a reputation for buying people from the invis market and I let the rumors that I run a private brothel or bathhouse or whatever abound because the less people know the truth, the more they’ll fill in the blanks for themselves. In truth, I help people escape. The women you saw with me— All five are employees by choice, paid and provided for with the ability and skills to leave any time they want. They’ll meet us shortly to explain more over dinner, but they were called away, like you saw. I try not to appear in public more than I have to, and anything they do when they’re with me is to reinforce that reputation, nothing beyond what they’re willing. I won’t get into why or how that reputation got started right now, but I do assure you it’s entirely false. I’ve just found a way to leverage it to my and others’ advantage.”

Una slowly lowered the wine bottle back down, rethinking her escape plan.

“Are you dressed?”

She set the wine bottle aside. “… Yes.”

He stood and turned again, keeping his hands visible and keeping the distance between them.

“I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t expect you to believe them. I’m still going to give you the resources you’ll need to get off this planet and go wherever you want or need to go and hope you understand that your silence about what we do will ensure we can continue to do it. Do we have an accord?”

“… I’d like to eat.”

The Mandalorian nodded. “Follow me.”

Over the following hour Una heard the Mandalorian’s story corroborated by everybody she met. The dogged rumors of insatiable lust and a habit of “going through” slave girls were baseless accusations thrown at him by rivals intent on discrediting him as a bounty hunter, and as the rumors followed him his employers became more and more scarce until the only ones who would hire him were the ones buying slaves themselves.

Disgusted by the invis market but unable to escape the sordid reputation, he realized there was a way he could leverage it to his advantage.

Outwardly he appeared to buy women from the auction blocks and haul them off to “refine” and resell to high buyers, others remaining behind as his obedient prisoners. His public appearances were accompanied by the women he hired making a show of fawning over him and following his every command, but with their help in the hidden headquarters of the abandoned theater, he used his bureaucratic skills, connections, and network of contacts to help others escape.

What he really made his money in was commissions: most of those who chose to stay in his employment were trained to be bounty hunters themselves, and once they’d been initiated into the Guild, he acted as their broker under a pseudonym, collecting a percentage of the Guild payout on their successes, which in turn kept his operation up and running. In just under five years he’d amassed over fifty loyal hunters bought or traded from the slave market and trained under his expertise, and over two hundred others he’d helped secure the freedom of.

By the time she’d healed and been fitted with some resources to keep her on the move, Una found herself beneath the theater with several others heading out the secret passageways under the city. She hadn’t spoken to the Mandalorian since the first day— Didn’t even know his name— but when she looked back to him conferring with the women who had helped her, he nodded and she nodded back.

After Q’rad, Una found that every Mandalorian she crossed, even those with the most fearsome reputations, was an honorable person who largely kept to themselves and didn’t start trouble (though she found they very easily ended any that came their way). Once, she’d seen a rather boisterous and uncouth fellow with the telltale armor be thrown out of a casino on Canto Bight, only for two Mandalorian bounty hunters to summarily beat him within an inch of his life when he tried to clumsily fight back. It turned out the loud one was not, in fact, a Mandalorian at all, just a pretender who’d found or stolen the armor of the two hunters’ brethren. Time and again she found that she could tell which Mandalorians truly shared the culture and code by which so many of them lived, opposed to the people who’d simply claimed the armor for themselves.

As the years went on, Una saw fewer and fewer Mandalorians in her travels. Eventually she wound up again in chains, this time as a dancer to the syndicate slug on the planet with two suns. It was an unfortunate commonality she had with several girls, including three other Twi’lek women. They had all been betrayed by the Hutt’s majordomo, a selfish, pasty former noble of their species by the name of Fortuna, a male Twi’lek who had gifted them to Jabba and who they all knew had also captured the Secura heir during the fires set to their homeworld.

The last woman, Oola, was the one Una formed the fastest friendship with. The lot of them, alongside a Rodian, a Theelin, an Aruzan, and an Askajian, made up Jabba’s then-current menu of performers. Max Rebo’s band, Barqin D’an and the other musicians at least had the luxury of wearing clothes if they wished, but for the dancing girls they were back in the thinnest scraps of clothing available, compelled to sing and dance and… entertain Jabba the Hutt.

When she heard of a Mandalorian hunter under Jabba’s employ her hopes were lifted, until she saw the green-armored warrior herself. Even if he had painted his armor, she could tell he wasn’t the one who’d helped her all those years ago. He didn’t make an effort to free the slaves, but with numbers against him and slave chips keeping those like her tethered on pain of death, Una knew there wouldn’t have been a way he even could have, not unless he or someone else managed to kill Jabba and his entire entourage. Though his reputation as a cold-blooded killer was well-known it was only partially true; sometimes employers like Jabba paid more for live capture. Beyond that though his fearsome reputation was bolstered by his ruthless efficiency, which it was said could be found in every job he took, from acquisitions to executions. Not only was it rumored he’d taken work from Vader himself, it was said that he’d even turned down permanent employment from the Emperor's enforcer.

The near-silent Mandalorian proved to be one of the few in Jabba’s hire who was an exception to some of the usual constraints: free to come and go as he pleased, not indebted to Jabba in any way, and formidable enough to hold his own without question. The bounty hunter stopped by Jabba’s palace from time to time to refuel; nobody could really say that the Mandalorian rested, per se, and for as slimy as the slug pit was there were well-paying clients and connections to be found in spades, and he liked to keep busy.

The times he lingered, Una found him to be enough of a conversationalist that he’d exchange some surface-level stories, provided nobody tried to dig any deeper, and if it appeared to others like he was just enjoying the rest of what Jabba had to offer there in his personal den of iniquity, she could find respite herself for a time appearing to entertain him. She could count on her hands the number of times it happened, but just seeing his armor there in the court gave her a sense of relief. His reputation and the usual rumors preceded him, but Una and the others never found themselves on the receiving end of more than his company within the throne room of the palace.

And then the sail barge came under assault and the Mandalorian met his demise in the maw of the Sarlacc, pulled down into the acidic depths even as he clawed at the sand in an effort to stave off a grisly and agonizing death. He had fought his way out of every other obstacle in his life; Una had hoped for his sake it would work again.

It was a fruitless hope though, and when the lights were shot out and the chaos continued she barely managed to yank her bindings free and jump for the scorching sand like the rest of the rats on Jabba’s sinking ship. How many survived the explosion, she wouldn’t know until much later when she tried to scrape a living together in the streets of Mos Espa, but the Mandalorian was not among them.

After that it was several more years of much of the same, eaking out a meager living and resorting to desperate measures just to survive. The Tatooine suns kept her from braving the wilderness, and in the city she had to be fast to escape the hands of those much stronger and more wicked than her.

Having blue skin and lekku makes you stand out on Tatooine though, and it wasn’t long before she was caught by Bib Fortuna’s agents and hauled back to Jabba’s palace in chains, a slave again.

When Una saw the assassin in black descend to Bib Fortuna’s throne room, killing the daimyo’s attendants and guards, she jerked against her chains on instinct, bare feet slipping on loose sand, trying to get away. When the assassin stopped, seeing her left, Una squeezed her eyes shut and prepared to meet her end.

A shot rang out. The chains jolted in her hands. Una fell to the coarse sand floor, her irons severed, and she looked around wildly until her eyes met the assassin again.

The woman jerked her head to indicate that she should leave, and Una didn’t have to think twice.

At the farthest end of the throne room near the stone staircase that would take her to the tunnels however, Una paused, looking back at the sound of spurs.

And when she saw the green Mandalorian descend into the throne room, she hesitated.

… Is that…?

Bib Fortuna, vile thing that he was, entreated the silent figure that now stood before him. Una flinched when another shot echoed through the room, a flash of red ending in the Twi’lek traitor’s demise. The Mandalorian stepped up onto the dais, effortlessly heaving the corpulent daimyo’s body aside. The assassin took up a flask and the Mandalorian eased onto the throne as comfortably as if he’d always belonged there.

And as Una silently ducked out of sight and raced on sandstone stairs to one of the hidden exits, she found she was unafraid.

Boba Fett was back.

[sirenemale]

everything abt the httyd remake feels like such a deep insult to the first film. Insulting animation as an artform, insulting the texture and lighting work that still holds up so so well. Insulting everything they put in to make it such a tightly written and skillful film. Like what could you improve with this scene, the amount of character you get from toothless here and seeing his thought process, fhe mix of accepting his fate, weariness and curiosity, you're just sucking the life and intention out of it for what. To see the dirt in between toothless's scales? Guess what you can already see that in the first movie. To flatten the lighting, remove all mood so you can see how good they modeled his new scales? Show you how real the mulch looks. Whatever. They do this all the time but this is personal (autism) you're being shown up by a film from 2010. She is eating you ALIVE. Even the other httyd films couldn't quite re-capture what they did with toothless in this first one, they remodeled him ever so slightly and he lost that edge of intelligent Animal, and became a Slightly more condensed version of himself now that his personality was established.

[rollercoasterwords]

[darcyolsson]

my dad got me the new hunger games book (he jokingly informed me it was to get me to stop thinking and talking about a Certain tv show literally 24/7) but i'd been meaning to reread thg anyway so i'm now reading everything starting with the original trilogy and it's made me realise i never actually finished mockingjay. i watched the movies so i know how the story ends but i didn't think i ever read the entire book and lo and behold, there's still a bookmark from 10+ years ago stuck in my copy. time to go read the hunger games for THE FIRST TIME EVER i guess

[kuiinncedes]

ok bruh i am now finally reading chain of iron lol

[quietwingsinthesky]

Have you watched dead boy detectives yet? I think you’d like it. Canon gay ships!

I’m gonna be real with you, man. Absolutely fucking nothing I heard about that show made it sound even remotely interesting to me before, and now, the idea of even interacting with stuff tangentially attached to Gaiman makes me feel physically ill. I’m not watching that.