@blue-mint-winter commented post:
Your welcome and I completely agree about TCW changing important characterizations, especially Anakin's. Also Barriss, I will never forgive that shit. They definitely did that. That's why my favourite eps were about Jar Jar LOL
I spent the whole day debating with myself should I go on and scream about the unfairness done to Barriss and Jedi as a whole or not since talking negative about TCW at times feels like opening can of worms, but my frustration with current star wars content already hit acceptable limits and is waaay past them so I decided to screw all consequences, it is time for a mini-rant. I hope you don’t mind me bringing that up as separate post (or if you don’t wish to be tagged in that post, lemme know :))
Okay. Where do I even start? Anyone who would sort posts through my blog will know that I love analyzing stuff and more often than not, I’m critical toward the Jedi Order (especially Order as the institution) and that through the years I have a lot of critical things to say about the new canon, with the emphasis on The Clone Wars.
TCW has literally been a thorn in my side for years and although the show had its good moments (storyline wise and artistic effects/music) that I want to acknowledge, the longer the show was run, the more it felt to me as the Triumph of Form over Substance. The creators needed to go from point A (post AotC/clone wars) to point B (RotS / Order 66) but as it was proved, they did not need to actually keep Legends (old canon) elements in the original form and things were used or discarded as they wanted. Some choices made more or less sense, some were turning our knowledge totally 180 degrees with various effects or fan reactions. Like I will never agree with chip in clone brains storyline (x)(x) nor implying domestic abuse toward Anakin and Padme (they were meant to be tragic, doomed lovers, not being in abusive relationship for Force’s sake) or erasing Prequels/Legends characterization of Anakin for the more common action macho idiotic one (something that creators themselves admitted to do, which is why Skywalker is more mix of Han & Luke because apparently some people aren’t capable of accepting introverted / emotional man as main hero? Riiight). At the same time, I’m willing to defend changes done to Mandalorians, because the story has a great potential but sadly the show focused mainly at the pacifism vs. terrorism angle. Which I guess makes sense from U.S.-centric perspective, but for someone like me, whose country/nation actually lost its independence for over 123 years (1795 -1918) and then suffered through the Nazi occupation (1939-1945) and survived the communist regime (1945-1989) before finally feeling like free country again, then Death Watch, however brutal or incoherent at times, rings a different bell. It is not about nationalism itself but wanting to have your culture back despite all the damage done through the years of forced expulsion / displacement or warriors (those not fitting into New society) and be independent from Republic / Empire. And this hits me more closely as a Pole than terrorist narratives done to DW (and Bariss).
But the thing that irritates me the most is how characters and their powers aren’t incoherent in a sensible way. They can use Force for great action and dueling, but Anakin can’t feel Obi-Wan’s presence when the man worked undercover (sorry if the show actually explained it for I do not remember it was ever addressed?). Anakin at first was shown as a self-sacrificing type of person (e.g. Jedi Crash) but for some reasons sometimes doesn’t do anything to save clones from certain doom even if he could use Force to stop them from falling down into lava or whatever it was in Citadel? And it is not just him? Ahsoka killed clones infected by worms but didn’t kill Bariss because they were best friends or whatever? But she is the bestie with clones! She cares! She is after all the protagonist who acts smart and all while all adults suddenly lose their brains. Like Anakin, a Jedi General, does not study maps before an attack on an enemy position, but Ahsoka did and saved the day. What a hero! And whatever she will do, it is all right at the end of day. Bo-Katan willingly supported Pre Vizsla/DW who destroyed the whole village and killed an innocent girl (whose Ahsoka befriended) but does it matter? Nope. Because she is now besties with Bo-Katan, a beloved freedom fighter, a noble lady and all the jazz.Pre Vizsla? Anyone remember him? No? No wonder, a persona non grata who would drag Bo-Katan (and Ahsoka by extension) in bad light so the show and other current sources are literally erasing him from the Mandalorian storyline. Because it is better to not remember the past than face a consequence of characters (creators) choices.
It feels like yeah, Jedi care if the episode needs it but don’t care if the show needs some shock value or feeling of danger. Mace cares for clone troopers and even offers droids a chance to surrender but isn’t somehow bothered when 12 year old Boba was put in prison for the worst ADULT criminals. Sure, it is very reasonable. Anakin cares for clones, unless the show needs a high death toll or jokes (throwing Rex off the dam without warning). Jedi will literally jeopardize an important mission just to give one of them a proper burial but will not give a shit about dying or dead clones. And so on.
I understand that the show was made for kids, but if we go into dark themes - and the show went into pretty dark stuff, mind you - then at least it should be addressed properly. Slick accused Jedi of keeping clones slaves yet it doesn’t matter. What a bad clone! Totally forgotten for the rest of the season. Bo-Katan’s past crimes don't matter since you can just erase Pre Vizsla from her narrative. Does the story need emotional impact? Create female characters (Satine, Steela, Tryla, Teckla Minnau) to kill off, so someone else (Obi-Wan, Ahsoka & Padme) could use it for either development or making political statements and either turn dead ones into some saints or forget them all. Or just kill off clones, there is so many of them anyway, who cares how competent soldiers they were or if you make them act idiotic. Jedi lead an army made of people with no legal right, but the clones *love so much them they have nightmares about order66* so everything is right. All makes sense, right?
This doesn’t just influence how fans see Anakin (turned into a typical action male lead) or how Ahsoka is literally everywhere now. The show, as I’m seeing it, did a great disservice to Jedi. And Barriss… Barriss is just the tip of the iceberg. The authors literally twisted every established clone wars storyline around a new character - Ahsoka Tano - so there was no real reason to use Barriss since they could simply introduce us to original Ahsoka’s friend. She already interacted with so many original Jedi characters but instead the team took one of the most known Legends!Jedi Healers and turned into terrorist? Killing innocent people to prove Jedi lost their ways? It really feels disrespectful, both to fans and Jedi.
And you know what TCW did not show us? Jedi Force-healing their troopers. Something that Barriss did on various points in Legends sources. She literally worked in various Republic Mobile Surgical Units (Rimsoo) as was seen in Republic comics series & Medstar duology or helping at triage unit(s) and as Jedi healers would not abbadon the wounded during enemy attack. Like when fire spread around them and cut away from safe way to evacuate, her first worry was about the injured people (Republic #65)
I’m really supposed to believe a person with such a mindset and compassion would decide to kill innocent people to make a point about war? Really? REALLY? Even more since there was no focus on why a Jedi like her could break and do something like that in the first place? This wasn’t a development or fleshing out for character, it was just shifting the blame on someone so Ahsoka could get out of Order before RotS/Purge. Which is unfair to Barriss.
Oh, and by the way, remember how Luminara was talking to Anakin to let it go and accept that his padawan may have died or something along the lines? The mentioned Republic #65 has Mace Windu personally searching for survivors and not leaving enemy lines without checking first if someone survives even when he was told that enemy may attack at any moment:
This is a proper Jedi. There is a difference between accepting that you did not manage to save someone and not bothering to at least try to save. Which is just another reason why TCW Jedi strikes me more as arrogant, manipulative and uncaring than the flawed people presented in Legends.
Good Force, it is really bad if I'm going out of my way to rant about respecting Jedi characters...
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gently in the cold dark earth
scum villain's self saving system
word count: 2k
canon divergent / no system au; sy transmigrates into an empty npc role; gray lotus binghe loves his shixiong more than life and he's ready to make it everyone's problem
title borrowed from work song by hozier
read on ao3
x
The first thing Luo Binghe does when he escapes the Abyss is return to Cang Qiong Mountain.
With Xin Mo secured to his back, the way could be instant if he so chose—the journey of a thousand miles reduced to a single step—but he unsheathes the elegant jian at his hip instead.
Yong Liang sings sweetly for him, the snow white blade still shining and untainted even after years of helping Luo Binghe carve his way through hell. It has never once failed him, soulbound to the one person still on this earth who has never failed him.
“Take it,” his shixiong insisted, low and urgent. The Abyss was behind them, an even deadlier threat was ahead, and Without A Cure clogging his meridians made Luo Binghe the best choice to wield the only unshattered spirit sword they had between them. “Binghe, take it.”
He pressed until Luo Binghe’s grip curled tight around the hilt, not hesitating to put his soul in Luo Binghe’s hands even with the rosy glow of an unsealed demon mark shining on his face.
Luo Binghe flies at a pace best described as dangerously reckless, hardly smelling the fragrant spring air or feeling the sun on his face. His robes are a disgrace, his hair a tangled, matted mess, and it occurs to him that he could stop somewhere and clean himself up, make himself presentable, but it’s a brief, fleeting thought.
Shen Yuan would be furious to find out that Luo Binghe wasted even a single second returning to his side.
——
He passes through the ancient wards effortlessly, feeling them fall away from him like water. It’s a simple thing to tamp down on his demonic qi, to disguise the parts of him that those so-called righteous cultivators would scorn. He ghosts through the familiar grounds as eagerly as a starving animal bolting down a fresh game trail, but one by one, all of their familiar haunts come up empty, without even a lingering trace of Shen Yuan’s spiritual energy left behind.
The head disciple’s room is dusted and undisturbed, as if its occupant might walk through the door at any moment, but the lack of clutter and the empty book shelf makes it very clear to Luo Binghe what the truth must be.
If Shen Yuan returned to the peak after the Conference, he didn’t stay.
All at once, images crowd the front of his mind—his shixiong grieving, pulling away, turning his back on those responsible for his heartache.
Yue Qingyuan, always only a step behind wherever his precious Xiu Ya sword went, promised that no one wanted to hurt them. They only wanted to help.
He looked so solemn and righteous that Shen Yuan reluctantly allowed himself to be convinced. Luo Binghe, who had gone to the man for help after a bloody whipping when he was a child, only to be given a walnut cake and turned away at the door, knew better.
He wasn’t surprised when Shen Yuan was wrenched away from him, and shizun sent him staggering off the cliff with a spiritual dagger buried to the hilt in his chest, all of it happening within a matter of seconds—but it still hurt.
Shen Yuan’s scream followed him all the way down.
I’m alive, Luo Binghe thinks, with no one there to tell it to. I came back to you. Let me come back to you.
——
Including time spent in the abyss, it’s three years before they meet again.
Luo Binghe’s revenge is his second priority at best, but he is nothing if not efficient and knows how to kill two birds with the same stone. Huan Hua affords him ample resources and opportunities to scour the world for his missing shixiong while playing the role of earnest and diligent new disciple. He snatches up each mission that comes along as though eager to prove his worth to the sect that so graciously took him in, but he takes every excuse to wander, to search, to make conversation with vendors and innkeepers and passing strangers.
Have you seen my heart? It lives outside of me in the form of a beautiful young man and tends to wander. Very contrary, likes to fuss over people, could argue the stripes off a lushu just for fun. You’d know it if you met it. You’d never forget.
The days blur together, meaningless and gray, but he doesn’t stop looking. Shen Yuan still exists somewhere in this world, because otherwise Luo Binghe wouldn’t. It’s the only thing that makes sense. The alternative doesn’t bear thinking about.
And then, finally—an afternoon in Jinlan City, when Luo Binghe arrives in a throng of incompetent gold-clad Huan Hua disciples, to investigate a plague of all things—
He’s there.
In dark, neutral colors and plain clothes, a traveling cloak with its hood resting down around his shoulders, as if his beauty could possibly be lessened by cheap, shapeless fabrics rather than effortlessly enhanced. His hair falls from its half-tail in glorious waves—he never did have the patience for anything elaborate, only wearing braids when one of his sticky shidimei cajoled and convinced him. Traveling alone, who could he possibly have to roll his eyes at and complain about and sit patiently still for?
A pale green ribbon is all that decorates his hair. Luo Binghe recognizes it instantly.
“You should spend your allowance on yourself, Binghe,” Shen Yuan scolded him, not for the first time and certainly not for the last.
“But I did,” Luo Binghe protested, widening his eyes and clasping his hands earnestly, the way he knew worked best. “I wanted it! And now that I have it, I want to give it to you.”
Shen Yuan was too clever by half to be truly fooled by the innocent act, but he always folded like paper anyway. He spoiled all of his shidimei but Luo Binghe most of all. Anyone on Qing Jing Peak would be hard-pressed to think of a single example of Shen Yuan telling Luo Binghe ‘no.’
Sure enough, after a second spent visibly wrestling with himself, he blurted, “Oh, fine! Hand it over.”
He wore it every day since. He’s wearing it now. The wind catches the ends of it, sending it streaming behind him like the tails of a paradise flycatcher. Lovely.
For a brief moment, Luo Binghe is frozen where he stands, finally faced with the very thing that he’s been missing for years, that he’s been living a miserable half-life without.
And then he remembers himself and lurches forward. His voice is a tangle in his throat but he manages to choke out, “Shixiong!”
A strike of lightning couldn’t have jolted Shen Yuan into more perfect stillness. He stops mid-step, every inch of him as good as carved from precious jade. He doesn’t turn his head, and the sliver of his face visible from where Luo Binghe stands is very pale.
Luo Binghe wonders suddenly if this has happened to him before—if Shen Yuan has heard a voice on the road or in the market that was almost familiar, that was almost the one he was hoping for, only to be disappointed when he turned to follow it and found a stranger.
Luo Binghe shortens the distance between them with a few anxious steps and tries again.
“Shixiong.”
The older boy whirls around abruptly, as if to get it over with. He’s bracing himself, but Luo Binghe barely has a second to absorb Shen Yuan’s painful-looking anticipation before it bleeds out of his face in favor of something else entirely.
He looks like the earth has fallen out from beneath his feet, like he hardly dares to believe his eyes. Zheng Yang gleams golden at Shen Yuan’s hip, reforged and whole again.
“Binghe?”
“It’s me,” Luo Binghe says softly.
There’s a tableau he’s afraid to break, as if they’re in a delicate dreamscape and a move too sudden or loud might dissolve it. He wants to say I’ve missed you the way lungs miss air, immediately and needfully, I haven’t breathed at all since we’ve been apart. He wants to say you’re my light in the dark, I can only stand in front of you now because I love you too much to ever truly leave you.
Instead, he tells his dearest friend, “This one made you wait. But your Binghe is here.”
Shen Yuan sprints the rest of the way to meet him, almost before he’s even finished talking, and they collide in a solid embrace that knocks the air from them both.
His arms wind around Luo Binghe’s waist like steel bands, fingers digging into the back of his robes, precious face pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Luo Binghe doesn’t hesitate to gather him up close, holding him as tightly and securely as he knows how, burying his nose in his shixiong’s hair and breathing in the familiar, beloved smell of him.
Shen Yuan is a few inches shorter than he remembers. All the better to tuck him beneath Luo Binghe’s chin, to cover and surround him so completely that not even the heavens above can get a decent eyeful.
He wants to grab and bite and pin Shen Yuan beneath him and never let go. His jaw aches with wanting it.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Luo Binghe says, eyes wet. “I went home first.” Unsaid goes the obvious but you weren’t there.
“How could I stay?” Shen Yuan bites out, managing to sound all at once strangled and bewildered and—charmingly—offended. He shakes his head without lifting it, an aggressive nuzzle against Binghe’s shoulder. “After what they did to you, I’d rather die than represent their stupid sect another minute.”
“Step away from it, Shen Yuan,” shizun said coldly. “I’ll put that beast back where it belongs.”
“No,” shixiong said in a voice that was smaller than usual, one that shook. He was frightened, clearly overwhelmed, but he didn’t budge from where he was plastered in front of Luo Binghe like a breathing shield.
“Now.”
“No, shizun.”
“Shizhi,” Yue Qingyuan said gently, offering his hand. “Come here. It will be alright.”
Shen Yuan said, “No. You can’t hurt Binghe. He’s not bad just because of who his parents are. He’s as good as he was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. He’s hardworking and loyal and a sweetheart to anybody who gives him half a chance. He’s so good.”
Liu Qingge was behind the sect leader, sword drawn. Shen Qingqiu was quickly losing what little patience he had, face twisted into a sneer, dark eyes stabbing hatefully at Luo Binghe from over his head disciple’s shoulder. There were more figures rapidly drawing closer, the other peak lords following the flare of Yue Qingyuan’s qi. The standoff was becoming more and more untenable, and Shen Yuan was too smart not to see that, shrinking back against Luo Binghe as much as he could without crowding him closer to the edge.
“You can’t hurt him,” he said again, the closest Luo Binghe had ever heard him come to tears, “he’s my shidi.”
Luo Binghe is unsurprised by his shixiong’s loyalty, because it’s already been proven to him over and over. It’s unremarkable at this point, which is an absolutely remarkable thing in itself. It makes him feel warm with gratitude and affection and ownership.
Shen Yuan is clever and quick on his feet and always three steps ahead, more knowledgeable about flora and fauna than anyone else Binghe has ever known combined, and probably a force to be reckoned with as a rogue cultivator, where the only rules of conduct he has to adhere to are his own.
But Luo Binghe hates to think of him on the road alone, without the little martial siblings who follow him like ducklings, without his Binghe there to make sure he remembers to eat all his meals and comb out his hair before bed. He’s a creature of comfort, made for airy rooms with too many cushions and an abundance of sweets and books to read.
Luo Binghe has fantasized more than once about building a home for Shen Yuan to lounge prettily in. It was, in fact, his favorite flavor of daydream since he was about thirteen.
If Shen Yuan wants to rogue cultivate, then that’s what they’ll do. But Luo Binghe thinks, if he constructs a palace that’s as comfortable as it is grand, and fills it with trashy romance novels and obscure beasts and his own hand-made meals, he can convince his friend to live in it with him.
Shen Yuan needs to be taken care of. Luo Binghe needs to be the one taking care of him. They’re together now and they’ll never be apart again and those needs can both be met.
That possessive, proprietary feeling coils dark and deep inside him, undulating lazily like a serpent who’s fed enough for days, reminding him over and over what he already knows:
Mine.
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