#That's the year I got back into writing *and* in English

[celestiamour]

hi again i rlly liked ur headcanons for choi su-bong x shy fem reader and i was wondering if u could pls write headcanons of him x foreigner fem reader? ty and have a good day 🫶

ft. choi su-bong x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧foreign! reader┊0.5k words

contains: headcanons!! reader’s native country is unspecified but she speaks her native language and english while studying korean! 

➤ author's note: alright, this is the last for the short specific reader headcanons, the next thanos fic will be an actual one-shot <3 

╰₊✧ notices you immediately both because you’re a cute girl and because you stand out in a crowd like he does. korea has a very homogeneous population, so people tend to take notice of you quickly. he probably greets you with a casual “what’s up” and decides right then and there that you’re going to be friends or maybe something more, you don’t really have a choice in the matter because people who stick out like you should stick together! he doesn’t mind if you’re shy because of your broken korean, he’s a master of language and wordplay and will gladly help you out!

╰₊✧ because he’s teaching you stuff he already knows and isn’t learning anything, he’s actually a lot of fun to study with. he always finds a way to make it fun and easy to remember with high-fives each time you get a question right. i feel like he was an awful student who went through a lot of tutors (only during exam season when he needed to get his grades up to pass the class though), so he knows all the best tips and tricks that worked on him when he was younger. 

╰₊✧ is probably one of those guys who asks what the swear words are and what cultural insults there are. he wants to use them other people so that he can get away with saying shit to their faces without getting caught, something that he already does in english but would like to know more

╰₊✧ even if you may not fit traditional korean beauty standards, he thinks you’re so hot. might use the term “exotic” because he doesn’t know better, but he won’t use it again once you tell him that it’s objectifying. 

╰₊✧ once you two start dating, he will seriously want to learn your native language. i can see him as someone who appreciates linguistics and admires multilingual people, loving to listen to music of all genres around the world and having a pretty diverse set of favorite artists. he might pout and bitch that it’s too difficult at first, but he’s surprisingly smart when he wants to be and will be conversationally fluent in about a year (it would be shorter if he was more consistent in his studies but alas).

╰₊✧ really looks forward to visiting your home country! he’ll try his best to be as respectful as his obnoxious ass can be, although i see him being accidentally offensive a few times because he can be a bit ignorant. loves to meet fans there and would probably go out of his way to make at least one appearance there if he ever had a worldwide concert tour no matter how off-course it may be. 

╰₊✧ when it comes to meeting your family, he puts all of his knowledge to the test to win their approval (god knows he needs all the help he can get when he looks the way he does, especially if you have a conservative family). however, he doesn’t really care if they don’t approve of him as he finds it to be more of a bonus than a requirement. 

╰₊✧ 100% wants to come back during your honeymoon, maybe even have a second wedding to adhere to your traditions if you so desire it. don’t worry about finances, he’s got it all covered!

[cheynovak]

Gravity Always Wins - pt2

Dean winchester x Y/N female friend

Summar: Y/N comforts Dean when he got aggressively emotional.

Warnings: None described, part from obvious trauma Dean went through

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Reblogs/comments and likes are appreciated

A part two since I need the fluff... Ps found the amazing AI work (bottom left) on Pinterest no idea who it belongs to.

Dean’s mind woke before his body, heavy and muddled like he’d been drowning in a storm. His eyes stayed shut, but there was a softness grounding him, warm and steady. He realized it was her hand in his.

The memories of the night before came rushing back. The outburst, the rage, the broken shards of his composure spilling all over the bunker floor. He remembered Y/N holding him—arms wrapped tight around him, refusing to let him fall apart alone.

He swallowed hard, his chest tight with an ache he couldn’t place.

His eyes fluttered open, and the dim light of the room revealed her. She was still asleep, her head resting on the pillow beside him. Y/N’s hand was tangled with his, her fingers soft and steady even in sleep. Her lashes rested against her cheeks, and her lips, slightly parted, moved with slow, rhythmic breaths.

Dean’s gaze followed the slope of her jaw, the curve of her lips, and back down to their joined hands. She looked peaceful, something Dean couldn’t remember feeling in years. He wanted to stay in this moment forever, to believe he deserved this quiet connection, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But then it hit him like a sledgehammer—Chuck.

This was part of Chuck’s grand design, wasn’t it? A cruel script meant to give him an anchor only to snatch her away. It was too perfect, too serene. It felt like a setup, a final act in a never-ending tragedy.

Dean’s stomach churned as his thoughts spiraled. His fingers unconsciously tightened around Y/N’s.

A small shift beside him broke through his haze, and her fingers pressed back against his—a grounding squeeze that tethered him back to the moment.

Her eyes blinked open, sleepy and warm as they found his. She gave him a small, soft smile. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with too many emotions he didn’t know how to say.

She stretched slightly, her free hand brushing the edge of the blanket. Her smile didn’t fade, even as her eyes searched his face. She could see it—something weighing heavy on him again, pulling at the edges of his sanity.

“You’re doing it again,” she whispered, her voice low and gentle.

Dean frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Doing what?”

“That thing where you overthink,” she said, her tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. She tilted her head, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand. “Talk to me, Dean.”

He sighed, dragging his free hand down his face. “I just—” He stopped himself, his jaw clenching.

“You what?” she prompted, her tone so patient and soothing it made his chest tighten.

“I don’t want to lose this,” he finally admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Her brows knit together, her lips parting in surprise. “Dean…”

He sat up slightly, turning to face her fully, his green eyes swimming with unspoken fears. “It’s all a script, Y/N. My whole damn life—a script Chuck’s been writing since day one. Every moment, every loss, every time I thought I could catch a break—it’s all just him pulling the strings.” He shook his head, bitterness edging his voice. “And now… now I’m afraid you’re just another part of it. Something good he’ll take away the second I start to believe it’s real.”

Y/N sat up slowly, her hand never leaving his. She studied him, her expression soft but resolute. “Dean,” she said quietly, reaching up to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed against the stubble on his jaw as she looked into his eyes.

“You’re right. Chuck’s been messing with your life, all our lives,” she said, her voice steady. “But what I feel for you? That’s mine. That’s real.”

Dean stared at her, his throat tight. He wanted to believe her, but fear gnawed at him, relentless.

“You don’t have to trust Chuck,” she continued, her hand still resting on his cheek, “but you can trust me. You always have.”

Her words settled in his chest, heavy but comforting, like she’d taken some of his burden and made it hers.

After a moment, he let out a slow breath. “You make it sound so easy,” he murmured, a faint trace of a smirk pulling at his lips.

“It’s not,” she admitted, leaning her forehead against his. “But I’m here, Dean. For as long as you’ll let me be.”

Dean’s hand instinctively mirrored hers, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that belied the storm raging inside him. Her skin was soft beneath his rough fingers, warm and grounding in a way that steadied him without him realizing he needed it.

Y/N’s gaze shifted upward to meet his, her eyes full of something he couldn’t quite place—but it made his heart stutter all the same. Her breath hitched as she caught the way his eyes lingered on her lips, and suddenly the world around them faded.

Before he could second-guess himself, before he let doubt creep in and ruin the moment, Dean closed the distance, his lips brushing hers softly. It was tentative, unsure—like testing the waters—but also unbearably real. He tasted the faint hint of bourbon still lingering on her lips, felt the warmth of her exhale as their breath mingled.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

But then he realized she wasn’t kissing him back.

Dean pulled away, his lips hovering an inch from hers as his heart sank. His eyes found hers, and he saw the surprise written all over her face. Panic surged through him, and his confidence shattered into a million jagged pieces.

“I-I…” He stumbled over his words, pulling back slightly, his hand slipping from her cheek. “I’m sorry. I thought…” He ran a hand through his short hair, shame building fast. “I shouldn’t have done that. I—”

“Dean, don’t.”

Her voice stopped him cold. He froze, his breath caught in his chest, unable to look at her. But then she shook her head, reaching out to gently grab his hand, keeping him from retreating any further.

“Don’t apologize,” she said softly, her voice shaking just slightly as she tried to gather her own thoughts. Her fingers tightened around his.

His green eyes darted back to hers, confused and still a little hesitant. “But you didn’t…” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you to kiss me,” she admitted, a wry smile pulling at the corners of her lips.

Dean blinked at her, completely caught off guard. “Wait, what?”

She bit her bottom lip, her cheeks warming as she looked up at him. “I just… I’ve always thought…” She sighed, gathering herself before continuing. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, Dean. But I didn’t think you saw me that way.”

Dean stared at her, the words hitting him like a sledgehammer to the chest. For years, he’d convinced himself he wasn’t allowed to feel this way about her, that he needed to bury those feelings deep because there was no way she’d feel the same. And now, here she was, baring her soul.

His heart thudded painfully against his ribs. “You’re serious?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Dead serious,” Y/N replied, her smile softening.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “And here I thought you were just putting up with me all these years.”

Her laugh was soft, and the sound sent warmth flooding through him. “Dean, you idiot. I’ve been waiting for you to figure this out.”

He couldn’t stop the grin that broke across his face, and before he could second-guess himself again, he leaned in, capturing her lips once more. This time, there was no hesitation. Y/N responded immediately, her lips pressing back against his with an eagerness that made his head spin.

Her hands slid up his chest to his shoulders as the kiss deepened, and Dean felt something in him break free. The weight of Chuck, the years of pain, the doubt—they all faded into nothing as he held her close.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, Y/N rested her forehead against his, a shy smile tugging at her lips.

“Well, that’s one way to make sure you don’t overthink,” she teased softly.

Dean chuckled, his forehead still pressed to hers. “You might have to do that more often,” he said with a smirk, his voice warm and full of something he hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.

“Deal,” Y/N whispered, her fingers curling into his shirt as if she never wanted to let him go.

And in that moment, Dean Winchester finally let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, this was real. And for once, it was his.

--

Tags:

@jackles010378 @libby99hb @winchesterwild78 @suckitands33 @mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-baby-momma @ancles @tulipsvanilla @thesilmarillionblog @jays-bonnie-on-the-side

@kr804573 @kamisobsessed @hobby27 @globetrotter28 @kindollss @muhahaha303

@shadysoulangel @lyarr24 @spxideyver @impala67rollingthroughtown @panickedbitch

@deansimpalababy @livya99 @yvonneeeee @ladykitana90 @stoneyggirl2 @imsiriuslyreal

@roseblue373 @n-o-p-e-never @ariasong11 @lmpala1967 @sherlockstrangewolf

[invisibleicewands]

Michael Sheen: ‘I have considered going into politics’

It would be a surprise to no one when Michael Sheen reveals that he has considered getting into politics.

Viewed as one of Wales’ most inspiring individuals, a firebrand speaker renowned for his political and social activism, many people have long tipped the Port Talbot-born star to head into the political sphere.

It’s something that Sheen himself admits he has at oft times thought about.

He has never been one afraid to discuss ‘political’ issues or make his voice heard at the Senedd or the Houses of Parliament.

He has variously made calls for discussions about Welsh independence, aired forthright views about the institution of the Prince of Wales title, showed support to a cross-party campaign of Plaid Cymru and Welsh Labour focused on devolving the Crown Estate to Wales and most recently called for a Fair Banking Act to help tackle the unaffordable credit crisis in the UK.

“It’s something that I have thought about for many years now,” he says. “Ultimately, I come back to the same thing, which is that I feel like I don’t want someone else to tell me, ‘Oh, no, you can’t vote for that’, it’s that I don’t want to be beholden to other people.

“I’ve got a freedom and a platform for what I believe in, and I don’t necessarily have to edit or censor that to toe some sort of party line for now. Now, I can see why that’s the case in politics and see why you need to be able to do that, but I feel like I’ve got more license and more ability to create the change I want to see by being independent.

“So whilst that remains, then I wouldn’t want to get involved. But you know that can always change.”

Speaking to Nation Cymru as he launched the Welsh National Theatre, described as ‘a new dawn for theatre in Wales’ with a vision to create world class work from the country, it was created as a result of the demise of National Theatre Wales, when the company’s funding from Arts Council of Wales was cut.

It’s yet another grand statement of intent from Sheen, who will be the theatre’s artistic director, using his own money to get the project off the ground.

Never one to trade in empty platitudes, his unyielding ambition and desire to showcase the best of Wales, has now manifested itself as he heads on a theatrical journey which he hopes will reverberate for generations to come.

“This is a new dawn for theatre in Wales.” he says. “We’ll be a home for our greatest talent, bringing them together to create ambitious theatre which makes our national story come alive. That’s what national theatres should do.

“Wales has such a rich storytelling history but our stories are underexplored in the English language, both at home and internationally. I’ve spent much of the past year on stage playing Aneurin Bevan in Tim Price’s ‘Nye’ to packed houses, both in and out of Wales. Audiences have a huge appetite for our stories if we give them the chance to experience them.

“Our plays and performances will tell the stories of Wales’ past, present and future, as well as classics seen through a Welsh lens. They’ll be produced on the grandest stages around the world, by world-class Welsh talents. We want truly ambitious writing from Welsh playwrights for the best actors in Wales, to be the pinnacle of our creative talent, raising the bar for excellence in entertainment.

“We want to help create a world where the stories of Wales help us make sense of tomorrow. Where the people of Wales understand their power to change society thanks to the spark of a performance on our stage. Where Wales is respected as a nation with a powerful voice and a story to tell.”

Since moving back to Wales more than a decade ago, Sheen has thrown himself into service to the people of the nation he loves, giving back to the ‘country who made me who I am’.

In 2019, he famously sold his own houses to fund the Homeless World Cup in Cardiff when its £2 million funding fell through at the last minute.

The Welshman has declared himself a ‘not-for-profit actor’ announcing that he would be giving all of his future earnings to his various charitable and community causes.

His altruism and philanthropy can be seen with such ventures as Mab Gwalia, a community organisation giving the underprivileged in Wales the opportunity to fulfil their potential and A Writing Chance, which gives new and aspiring writers from working-class and lower-income backgrounds resources and access to the writing industries.

Most recently it was revealed that the actor, who is a prominent campaigner on issues surrounding debt, had written off the personal debts of hundreds of people in South Wales.

He did not publicly announce the move, but fans discovered it when they spotted Facebook posts in local community groups from a television production company who are making a documentary about Sheen’s highlighting of the debt crisis in the UK.

The Good Omens actor, who gained glowing reviews for his performance as Aneurin Bevan in ‘Nye’ at the Wales Millennium Centre, describes his motivations simply as repaying a debt of gratitude to Wales.

If you want use historical metaphor he can be seen as a Welsh Atlas carrying the weight of a nation on his shoulders. Having done so much for so many for so long in Wales, he does however admit to feeling a pressure on himself to ensure these various ventures and pursuits are ultimately successful.

“I do, I do feel pressure, but I would feel a lot more pressure if I wasn’t doing anything about it when I knew I could,” he says.

“I know I would feel far more pressure if I was sitting there thinking, ‘well, I could do something about this, but I’m not going to, because I’m a bit scared or it might not work out , or what would people think, then I would feel a lot worse pressure. It’s good pressure and it also gets more than balanced out by the kind of joy of it and the feeling of being of service and contributing and using what I’ve got, what I’ve been given by this country.

“Everything I’ve got, everything I’m putting in, I wasn’t born with it. It was given to me by my parents, by my family, by my local community, by a local education authority when I was growing up, by all those people who volunteered to be part of youth theatre, all those people who give up their time to do all this stuff, I stand on their shoulders.

“So any pressure is completely balanced out by a feeling of the privilege to honour what those people gave me.”

No one should ever doubt Michael Sheen’s sincerity nor his humility. His fire is forged from a burning passion for a nation that he says has given him everything and made him the man he is today.

We are lucky to have him.

[niwolah]

I saw a few AO3 wraps turning around end of December and it reminded me of the one I did last year. (You can find it here.) And since I did it mid-January, I waited for 2024 to end properly.

So here it is!

I wrote a lot less compared to last year, wow. In fact, I only wrote for a challenge, the @spnagereweek, and I still have one day to write... *sigh* Anyway.

I'm sick of this is the fourth and is actually pretty close to be my favourite as well.

I mean, it's a tie between a) Sammy's perfect birzday because it was the first time ever that I wrote in a little!POV and, all considered, it turned out really good, and b) A picnic gone... not wrong but sideways because even though it's hard to write fights, I like to hate it. Hate to like it. Whatever. It's challenging and that's the bit I prefer in that story.

[taegularities]

…

[asterdeer]

not to be like “i miss college” even though i do but mostly i think i miss being smart. before depression and life events had chewed up and partially swallowed my brain. just getting to problem solve and think, being Very Into something as the norm. i know being an english major is basically the easiest thing you can be at the undergrad level but i do feel like that was the one and only time in my life where my natural state was actually a pro instead of a con. i graduated with the highest honors and absolutely no one cared but i cared

[sheila--e]

when I say Sheila E. I mean Sheila E. idgaf about those two others gay boys go get ur own fanfic this is about her

[unwaveringblade]

it's wild how i basically forgot about tales for three years but then logged onto leon one day and BAM the feels came rushing back. like. wow i really do feel that strongly about this brooding little disaster.

thinking back, i picked leon up as a muse under somewhat unusual circumstances and often wished there were more destiny muses to play with, but loved every moment i've spent with him on this blog regardless. and i am very glad to be back!

to the old familiar faces - hello, i'm so happy to see you again! <3

to the new faces - hello, it's a pleasure to meet you! <3

[dannybobany]

Its become a life goal of mine to make an omori mod one day all about Basil- I have so many ideas about him that I want to make a reality

:( but I literally don’t have access to a computer so while I’d love to write for a mod and draw art for a mod, making it playable would be impossible for me to do

But if I ever had the chance I would do it so so fast man, I think Basil deserves a backstory and I have a really good idea of what I would want it to be- listen if anyone out there is thinking of making an omori mod about Basil I want to help so bad you don’t even get it i want there to be more content about him so bad :(

I think about my hypothetical Basil mod all the time I want it to be real so bad

I might go draw some portraits…

[bmpmp3]

the epic highs and lows of trying to read an ongoing shounen manga

[outer-edges]

just discovered cockney rhyming slang and i am SO obsessed with this i wish it didn't sound absolutely ridiculous in american english because it is right up my alley i LOVE doings that make my speech borderline incomprehensible

[deus-ex-mona]

it started as a simple song-inspired fic, how did it end up like this

[bear-of-varley]

I'm finally done with my university studies like all I have to do is submit some journal entries and my final and that's it. Forever. I never have to do a master's degree ever again and you'll never make me.

[jasper-dracona]

So uhhh I was just gonna make an addition to this in the tags, but i didn’t realize how verbose I was gonna be, so I ran out of tags. So I’m gonna continue it up here cause I don’t wanna rewrite all the tags:

But writing the words “maybe I won’t become a palaeontologist” caused me to burst into tears in class. I pushed through and kept writing to finish off the piece, but something in my heart had snapped like a twig.

I used short snappy sentences and repetition to show my anger, fear, frustration, and most importantly, my constant anxious thoughts that kept giving me anxiety attacks during tests. Telling me over and over again that I was never gonna make it. That I was stupid. That I’d never make it into university, let alone survive it.

This also, conveniently, was a motif in the text.

Anyways, a week or two later I got the grade back for that piece, and if I’m remembering right, it was pretty solid. But I didn’t… really care about that, which was very weird for me at the time. But for some reason I just wanted to have it back. Despite the pain I felt in writing that phrase, I felt an inexplicable urge to read it again. So, when I got it back, I tucked it away in my backpack.

That night, sitting at my desk, up too late, I pulled the pieces of looseleaf out of my bag, and read what I had wrote in full. Most of it was still just as visceral as when I had written it, and while it was emotional, it didn’t bring me to tears like it had before.

Until I read that phrase.

I sobbed for probably over an hour that night.

After that I made a consistent habit of digging out that piece, reading that line, and letting myself cry for a while whenever I was feeling hopeless about school or my future. And each time I did, it got a little easier to read. Slowly I was convincing myself that this wouldn’t be the end of the world, that things would be okay, that I would be okay.

And I think this was among the top 3 best things I ever did for myself. Along with going to my doctor about getting assessed for ADHD and a particular break up.

And now I keep journals with my most visceral of emotions in them, so that I can go back and read them over and over, and learn to accept how I feel, and my situation. I write prose and poems and unorganized swaths of thoughts and feelings. I draw, scratch and scribble with a shitty pen, with no care for beauty, just expression. (I did this a lot during anxiety attacks in my math quizzes and tests. I’ve lost most of them but I remember how much those made me feel too)

The idea is that if I keep writing and drawing these things, I’ll eventually come up with another of those twig-snapping phrases, or a visceral image, and I can look back on those and view them again and again, allowing me to process those emotions.

It’s cathartic and therapeutic, and I’m glad I learned to do it, all thanks to that shitty fucking chemistry test.

(GOD this ended up long, sorry lol)

So, okay, fun fact. When I was a freshman in high school… let me preface by saying my dad sent me to a private school and, like a bad organ transplant, it didn’t take. I was miserable, the student body hated me, I hated them, it was awful.

Okay, so, freshman year, I’m deep in my “everything sucks and I’m stuck with these assholes” mentality. My English teacher was a notorious hard-ass, let’s call him Mr. Hargrove. He was the guy every student prayed they didn’t get. And, on top of ALL OF THE SHIT I WAS ALREADY DEALING WITH, I had him for English.

One of the laborious assignments he gave us was to keep a daily journal. Daily! Not monthly or weekly. Fucking daily. Handwritten. And we had to turn it in every quarter and he fucking graded us. He graded us on a fucking journal.

All of my classmates wrote shit like what they did that day or whatever. But, I did not. No, sir. I decided to give the ol’ middle finger to the assignment and do my own shit.

So, for my daily journal entries, over the course of an entire year, I wrote a serialized story about a horde of man-eating slugs that invaded a small mining town. It was graphic, it was ridiculous, it was an epic feat of rebellion.

And Mr. Hargrove loved it.

It wasn’t just the journal. Every assignment he gave us, I tried to shit all over it. Every reading assignment, everyone gushed about how good it was, but I always had a negative take. Every writing assignment, people wrote boring prose, but I wrote cheesy limericks or pulp horror stories.

Then, one day, he read one of my essays to the class as an example of good writing. When a fellow student asked who wrote it, he said, “Some pipsqueak.”

And that’s when I had a revelation. He wanted to fight. And since all the other students were trying to kiss his ass, I was his only challenger.

Mr. Hargrove and I went head-to-head on every assignment, every conversation, every fucking thing. And he ate it up. And so did I.

One day, he read us a column from the Washington Post and asked the class what was wrong with it. Everyone chimed in with their dumbass takes, but I was the one who landed on Mr. Hargrove’s complaint: The reporter had BRAZENLY added the suffix “ize” to a verb.

That night I wrote a jokey letter to the reporter calling him out on the offense in which I added “ize” to every single verb. I gave it to Mr. Hargrove, who by then had become a friendly adversary, for a chuckle and he SENT IT TO THE REPORTER.

And, people… The reporter wrote back. And he said I was an exceptional student. Mr. Hargrove and I had a giggle about that because we both knew I was just being an asshole, but he and the reporter acknowledged I had a point.

And that was it. That was the moment. Not THAT EXACT moment, but that year with Mr. Hargrove taught me I had a knack for writing. And that knack was based in saying “fuck you” to authority. (The irony that someone in a position of authority helped me realize that is not lost on me.)

So, I can say without qualification that Mr. Hargrove is the reason I am now a professional writer. Yes, I do it for a living. And most of my stuff takes authorities of one kind or another to task.

Mr. Hargrove showed me my dissent was valid, my rebellion was righteous, and that killer slugs could bring a city to its knees. Someone just needs to write it.

[bookclubforghosts]

It’s so funny how like everything, every interest you have, every class you take, every experience you live through, everything can build and build and suddenly you’re doing some totally new thing you’d never consider before

[wow-an-unfunny-joke]

My English teacher asked me ‘do you think the antoganist can be a hero’ and I don’t think she was prepared for the ESSAY (like two paragraphs) I wrote