ive been really tempted for ages to write a fic from mu qingfang's pov about how sqh's injuries gradually get more and worse. trying to subtly approach the subject, leaving certain medicines within easy stealing access. desperately trying to talk about it when he comes in one day with a dislocated shoulder, a shattered elbow, and an arm broken in two places. hes just clumsy! he fell down the stairs! nothing to worry about shidi everythings fine! he said its fine. stop. asking. questions. please.
Mu Qingfang is so worried about him, He's really only trying to help and Shang Qinghua definitely seems the type to just straight up not go to the doctors if he can help it so he probably had WAYY more injuries that he hid
Shang Qinghua definitely would just laugh it off like "I'm fine. Im fine! I do so much work I'm bound to get an injury here and there!" Except he's been continously getting injured and to such a degree it's CONCERNING
I would love to see a fic about a concerned Mu Qingfang trying his best to help the resident god that can't seem to control his shit very well
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i just got here so ignore me if this is a repeat idea but have we considered the possibilities of eddie wearing jason's letterman after those pics of joseph for that magazine
Surprisingly, I have not!!!
So I assume you mean these pics
(Side note: he is. so pretty)
Consider, if u will, this photoshop I just did in like 6 minutes
And the answer is uHM YES. LOOK AT HIM.
I’m imagining something along these lines;
Jason and Eddie hook up one night (hatesex, enemies with benefits, secret relationship, doesn’t really matter which)
They’re running super late for school afterwards and just throw on whatever clothes they can find without really seeing what they’re putting on. Since they both wear jackets, they just kinda guess whose is whose in the dark
As you might guess, Eddie takes Jason’s letterman and Jason takes Eddie’s vest and leather jacket. They walk into school separately and with staggered times like they usually do so no one gets suspicious, and they go to their respective groups and everyone is staring at them.
When Jason walks up to his team, they’re like “what the hell are you wearing?” Same with Eddie. Then they realize. Oh shit.
I can see in my mind a funny scene where Eddie’s like “yeah, I just wanted to get into some school spirit and get myself a jacket yknow?”
“Eddie that literally has Carver’s name plastered all on the front and the back.”
“…school spirit.”
I think that Jason would immediately take off Eddie’s jacket, but Eddie would leave the letterman on for shits and giggles. I’d also like to imagine that Jason gets really flustered whenever he sees Eddie with his jacket, because I think it’s cute. And Eddie knows this, so he flaunts it.
Because I’m mainly on the side of secret relationship, my continuation would go something along the lines of Jason tryin desperately to pretend nothing happened and making a ton of excuses while Eddie’s just going around like “yea. we fuckin” and Jason trying his goddamn best to do damage control.
No one believes him. Duh.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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I love Zutara as much as the next girlie, but I think people romanticizing Zuko catching Azula's lightning in the Final Agni Kai are doing Zuko's character a massive disservice. He would have done that for anyone. Not just anyone in the Gaang, anyone.
He did it for the division he ended up getting burned over. He did it for his subordinate that was going to fall to his death after the ship was struck by lightning. He did it for Lee, when he was kidnapped by Gao. He did it for Iroh, when he confronted his dad and tried to break him out of prison. He did it for the whole Gaang at the Western Air Temple. He did it for Sokka, Suki, and Hakoda at the Boiling Rock.
His whole character revolves around saving everyone else first. Hell, he tried to save Zhao of all people! There's no way that would have gone well for Zuko if Zhao had actually taken his hand. He always does what he thinks is right first before considering his own safety.
Zuko always saves other people. Even if, especially if, he can't save himself.
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