UM SO I NEED SOMEONE TO WRITE A FANFICTION STAT!!! I ABSOLUTELY LIVE FOR SOULMATE AU BUT WITH EP 10 OUT IT CHANGES THE GAME???? LIKE THE SOULMATE MARKINGS ONES WHERE THE FIRST WORDS UR SOULMATE SAYS TO YOU ARE ON UR WRIST OR SMTH
BUT GET THIS!!! YUURI DOESNT REMEMBER THE FIRST TIME HE TALKS TO VIKTOR!!!!!!!! HES DRUNK OUTTA HIS ASS AND DOESNT REALIZE VIKTOR IS HIS SOULMATE BUT VIKTOR DOES!!!!! BUT THEY LOSE TOUCH AND VIKTOR SEARCHES FOR HIM BUT HE CANT FIND HIM UNTIL YUURIS VERS OF STAY CLOSE TO ME IS RELEASED SO HE BOOKS HIS FLIGHT ASAP BECAUSE HOLY SHIT HE FOUND HIS SOULMATE AGAIN!!!!
BUT YUURI DOESNT REMEMBER SO HE DOESNT THINK VIKTOR IS HIS SOULMATE DESPITE HOPING FOR YEARS THAT MAYBE, JUST MAYBE HE HAD A CHANCE
SO UM,,,.. YEAH. CAN SOMEONE WRITE THIS FOR ME THANKS. IM NOT THE BEST WRITER.
I'm mixed race and an actress, so I'd be willing to play the sidekick in our SW film directed by the director anon and starring the WOC actor anon. You're a fab writer so you could do the screen writing. We just need someone who will hold the boom mic. Let's go and dismantle Lucas Films, y'all! WE GOT OURSELVES A MOVIE RIGHT HERE.
WE GOT OURSELVES A CREW… @ LUCASFILM WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, WE ARE RIGHT HERE
And finally I can’t write. But I still could write about my inability to write. I could be truly eloquent speaking about writer’s block, if needed. Not as eloquent as W.G. Sebald, who made Austerlitz to mar page after page in description of this peculiar sort of numbness, only known to writers (and absolutely maddening), but in my own way. W.G. Sebald is dead, after all, and someone needs to write on how difficult–bordering with impossibility–it is to write, every God’s new day.
You know what I need to write more? Fierce Druime. Picking up someone by the collar or dangling them over an edge to get info on a friend who’s been kidnapped. Angry/hot-tempered/blunt af Druime (esp bc now she’s mentally shoving me against the wall and telling me to GO SLEEP BC IM GETTING UP EARLY TOM. YOU WILL PASS. USE THE TIME YOU’RE GIVEN TO STUDY AND YOU WILL PASS. NOW GO TO BED BEFORE I STEAL GAE BUIDHE AND STAB YOU WITH IT.)
Okay so you know that trope in fics where after Harry comes out, Ron asks him if he ever looked at him that way? Usually his response is relief but like, what if it wasn’t? What if it went like…
Ron: What do you mean you’ve never?
Harry: Well, you’re like my brother. It would be too weird.
Ron: Not even once?
Ron: But you’ve thought about Malfoy?
Harry: Um, recently, yeah.
Ron: I’m gonna need a 20 inch essay on what Malfoy has that i don’t.
Harry: It’s not like that! Hermione, help me out here.
Ron: Is it the hair?
Hermione: I doubt that’s it, he used to like Ginny. Maybe it’s more about posture.
Harry: *hitting his head to the desk and groaning*
Ron: I’m taller than he is Harry and he’s a bit skinny to be honest. I have more bulk, you know? Wait, where are you going? I’m a bloody catch, come back!
Hermione, snickering: There there, Ronald. I know you are.
Yeah, Ushiwaka, that's what we're doing. In our very limited free time and with our very limited budget we went out and took a class on a very outmoded, very unnecessary form of communication just so we could talk about you in front of you.
I’ve spent most of my life chasing the person I want to be. Because 20-year-old me will have better friends, and 25-year-old me will land a killer job, and 30-year-old me will be madly in love. And me 6 months from now will be skinnier, and me a year from now will be more confident, and me some time from now will be better somehow. So much better. For years, this is what I thought. That if I could just wait it out, everything would get better.
It took me a long time to realize that life doesn’t work that way. Older doesn’t mean happier or easier, and it certainly doesn’t mean better; it just means older. Life isn’t a well plotted screen play, or a checklist, or, God forbid, some waiting room. We have got to stop waiting. Because life isn’t about growing up to be all that we’ve ever wanted; it’s just about growing.
It’s about love, and change, and crying yourself to sleep when it’s all too much. And working at a burger joint, and kissing your best friend even though he might not like you back, and calling your mom every Sunday because you miss her like hell. It’s fights, and promotions, and hospital visits. And then it’s this: another wedding of another one of your college friends, the third one this year, but this time you meet a groomsman who’s just as down on love and you dance all night. And this: he cries when you say “I do.” And this: a kid with your eyes and his dorky ears.
Or maybe not. Maybe it’s this: you write everything, everywhere, all the time, even when the prettier kids make fun of you, and the short teacher with the big nose tells you it’s good. Really good. And this: you’re living in a shoebox, by the skin of your teeth, but there’s a bar across the street that lets you read your poetry, and every time you do, someone in the crowd finally knows what it feels like to be understood. And this: your words being published. Your words. Being bought by people who could be spending their money on anything at all. And you sit in your twin bed where you’ve written your entire novel, a dozen empty coffee mugs still dirty on the nightstand, and you scream until your lungs burn.
It’s all of these things, and bad things, and good things, and the raw realization that it doesn’t get better or worse, it just gets different. It just changes. Always, always changes. And somehow that makes it more wonderful. Because future you may have the friends, and the boy, and the job, but she didn’t get it by waiting around. She is a product of you. Right now, tomorrow, changing and growing every moment that follows. She is kind, and breathing, and beautiful. But she waits for the day she doesn’t have to worry about paying a mortgage bill, and she worries too often about what people think of her. She still doesn’t have it together.
And maybe that’s what I’ve learned after all this time: nobody has it together. We’re all just here, floundering around in pursuit of being something more. Broken, thoughtful creatures with too much time on our hands, desperate for the companionship of someone who reminds us that we are not alone. We don’t have much of anything figured out. Maybe we never will. But more importantly, I think that’s how it’s supposed to be.
Looking for a snack? Try pie, or a pie by-product. Dinner? Pie and/or its by-product. Trying to patch a leaky roof? We have just the thing for you, and we also have its by-products.
Mandy & Jenny: “We are living in an immaterial world – a ghost world, and I am an immaterial girl – a ghost.”
Bitty: “To the family of Chowder the intern, we regret to inform you that your son has, in the line of radio duty, transformed partway into a shark, and that his original body will be missed and never forgotten.
To the family of intern Dex, we thank you for his service to the cause of community radio, and join you in mourning the permanent loss of his chill.”
Hockey Mantra: Pain is just weakness leaving the body. And then being replaced by pain. Lots of pain.
An update on our previous message about pie and pie by-products. You should not eat pie or pie by-products, say several frantic sports nutritionists, waving clipboards in our studio. If you have any pie or pie by-products in your home, you are almost certainly already dead. Sorry about that.
You know what would be a cute au?
Daycare owner Yuuri and single dad Viktor.
Viktor moves to Japan with his son Yuri after a divorce. He barely speaks the language, has zero friends to rely on and the only one that seems to care is the adorable man that runs the daycare he takes his son to. The guy even offers to teach him japanese!
They soon become friends and Yuuri even invites them over for dinner sometimes since he knows Viktor is struggling with money. Every now and then he would even watch little Yuri if Viktor had to work overtime.
In return Viktor cooks Yuuri delicious Russian food.
They fall in love of course and are just so happy and domestic and just the cutest little family.