#I’m ngl I often just loose all track of time like today I thought I was already twenty

[kavehater]

I just saw mdni and i was like oops but then i realised im not a minor anymore 🤨

[writingsformuse]

Calm, Perhaps

SUMMARY: To her, Dean Winchester is nothing short of art, and she loves to watch over him. But as a mission goes wrong as she becomes captured, the hunter finally realizes the importance of her eyes that trace his skin.

WORD COUNT: 1,814 words

AUTHOR: Lydia

NOTES: ngl, this is one of my favourites. have fun!

She loved to look at him. His eyes, they were usually vibrant, but she loved when they turned dark in the face of death and how they seemed foggy when he woke from slumber. How Dean Winchester smiled, and what a special occasion it was when he truly laughed. When he would lock his jaw, or cross his arms, or stare at someone as they told a tale. (Y/n) loved his face, his arms, his legs (no matter how bowlegged they were).

Her favourite times to watch the him was when he just wakes up, or when he’s deep in work. When he stumbles into the kitchen with that grey robe loose around his body, his eyes traced with sleep and his mouth yearning for coffee. When he sits in the library, sifting through books and cracking through databases, he often bites his lip from, or furrow his eyebrows as he reads a new article. And when he was really stressed, he’d run a hand through his hair.

Art, she would think, this man is a piece of art.

He would catch her a lot. How could he not? He was trained to know when eyes were upon him, eyes of the dead or of the ones he lived for. Often he would watch her back, and they would wait until one of them smiled or walked away, or until Sam came in and they had to look away. That was torture, having to cower, but neither could admit what they felt to anyone on earth.

They had their questionings about each other. When Dean would catch her staring, he wondered if it was from curiosity, fear, lust, anger. And when he would stare back, (y/n) would try to figure out of it was aggression, assertiveness, interest, or maybe calmness.

She always scratched out that last one. Calmness didn't exist for hunters.

But he made her feel calm. For those seconds where she could breathe, and where her eyes could rest on him, she felt such ease with the ruined world.

She wasn’t foolish, and neither was he. They both knew calm doesn't last. Nothing lasts.

~~

She was keeping up with the days. Somehow, past the pain of the lashes and the constant draining, she remembered the number of days she had been held by these vampires. She’s at 67 now, and she thinks it’s a Wednesday. Maybe it’s noon, but it feels like midnight. She doesn’t know that; it’s been 52 days since she last saw sunlight.

“Mission gone wrong.” That’s what someone would call it, someone who would be comforting Dean and Sam and trying to tell (y/n) she would make it out alive. But this mission had been going so right, so perfect and to the point of what they set on the table. (Y/n) as bait, Sam and Dean with machetes to take the small pack out. But when their numbers turned out larger than they had estimated, the mission had gone too well, and she was taken.

(Y/n) was tired. The constant feeding the pack of twelve did was exhausting. Their last girl, a young teen by the name of Maddy, died of blood loss on her third round with the vamps. (Y/n) was past the hundredth, and she wonders how she still manages to breathe.

They let her sleep six hours, and she had to guess the time off of those moments. She would eat a small meal in the morning, hook up to an IV and maybe a blood bag if the prior day was heavy during lunch, and she would get another meal in the afternoon. They let her shower once a week, but she hasn’t seen her own face in a mirror in over two months.

She’s tried to figure out where she is. She knows it’s close to Kansas City, but that’s only a feeling in her gut. She’s tried to escape, the last attempt just a week back, but that resulted in lashings and a cut down on meals. She had given up on day 58, and wanted to die on 64.

She knew she would never be found. Sam and Dean had probably pronounced her dead by now; what would be the use of searching for a lost cause? It’s lost for a reason. She had accepted her fate: bleed, eat, sleep, repeat, until maybe death had managed to catch her.

She had found an anchor. A thought, a memory, a distant stretch of her heart and soul to the image of Dean Winchester. His eyes, his walk, his demeanor. She longed for that little tranquility she got by watching him. But by now, she was having a hard time remembering the layout of the hunter’s face and body, or even how that grey robe draped across him in the early mornings.

She could recall his arms, how scratched and scarred they were. She remembers his eyes, but only that they’re green (the last look she got at them was when they were filled to the brim with fear and anger as she was dragged into a car). She holds onto the memory of his smile, and the sound of his laugh, but she’s starting to think she made those up by now.

Oh, what she’d give to watch Dean Winchester one last time before she left for beyond.

~~

The door opens and (y/n) closes her eyes, her hands shaking as someone stands in the doorway. She slowly looks up, sitting still on the edge of her cot when she sees a familiar figure. The tall girl, the alpha’s lover, the one who retrieved her and sent her back every day. She looked normal, (y/n) was sure of it, but to her she was as awful as Lucifer.

“Come on, (Y/N/N), don’t make this hard,” the lady calls out.

“Please, just another hour of rest, Aba,” she pleads.

The woman, Aba, laughs with amusement. “I don’t think so.” She walks to her and (y/n) gasps as Aba pulls her by the arm. She feels so fragile, her bones frail and her blood thin. She’s lost weight, she knows this, and she feels like if Aba pulls any harder that she might fall apart.

As she’s pulled though the basement, her feet seem to stick to the cement. It’s cold, always so cold, and dank in the air with the windows boarded up. Aba tightens the grip on her arm and yanks her around a corner, and (y/n) lets a whimper echo her chest.

She dreaded the room she was now in. “The fill-up” was what they called it. It was a small room with a few cots, IV stands all around with blood bags and needles on carts. But the one thing different today was that it was empty.

“W-Where’s Liam?” (y/n) asks quietly as she sits on a cot.

“Finally ran dry,” Aba says coolly as she grabs a needle. (Y/n) blinks back tears; Liam was her last straw, the one person she trusted here, a small boy of seven years old. She had tried to protect him, she tried to have him seem weaker so she could bleed more instead of him. But she must not have tried hard enough.

As Aba walks to her with a needle, (y/n) shifts.

“Aba, please,” she whispers.

“You’re the last one, (y/n), you know that,” Aba says in a monotone voice. “The longest lasting we’ve seen, too.” She grins, kneeling in front of her as (y/n) tries to scoot away. “I wanna see just how long I can drain you for-”

“I’m not weak,” she manages to say despite the fear. “I’ll get out.”

Aba laughs, looking up at her. “I will drain you of blood and soul, girl,” she hisses, and (y/n) sits up straight. And as Aba looks down at the needle, an impulse runs through (y/n). She raises her hand and hits Aba hard, making her fall onto her butt as a crashing sound is heard overhead.

(Y/n) looks up with wide eyes as she backs out of the room. Aba rises quickly, and (y/n) flips a cot in front of her to make her trip. It buys her a second to turn and run down the long hall. She can hear the harsh steps behind her as she turns a corner, but she doesn’t turn around.

“(Y/n)!” a strong voice calls, and she stops in her tracks. It’s a voice she held onto for over two months, one so deep and full of pain and strength that it made her knees shake. It was the voice of Dean Winchester, and it was just too far.

Before she can recover, she gets tackled to the ground. She rolls over to see Aba with her fangs out, and (y/n)’s eyes go wide. She shouts through barred teeth, pressing up against the vamp’s neck to keep her teeth as far away as possible from her flesh.

A door opens across the room, and hard steps trample down the stairs. (Y/n) keeps her eyes on the vamp, yelling out as she pushes her face away.

But suddenly, arms reach out and pull the vampire off of her, and a machete ends all the commotion in the room as (y/n) scoots back to sit up. She takes quick breaths, shaking with fear and exhaustion from such a simple action.

Soft hands touch her shoulders and she cries out in panic as she spins around. But it’s familiar hands, the touch of Dean with Sam coming down the stairs. And as she looks into his eyes, she’s engulfed once again.

“Dean,” she whispers, tears in her eyes. “Oh my god.” He drops the machete and falls to his knees, grabbing her and pulling him into his arms. She sobs, gripping his jacket and wetting his shirt with tears. His hands are strong on her weak back, and his fingers wrap around her sides to keep her body against his.

“I’m so sorry,” he says into her ear, kissing her forehead and her hair. “(Y/n), I am so sorry.”

She shakes her head, crying as he pulls her to his lap so he can sit. Sam just smiles, leaning against the wall as Dean buries his face deep into (y/n)’s hair.

“68 days,” (y/n) whispers, and Dean pulls her back. He marvels at how much weight she's lost, how small she seems in his arms and how her skin hugs at her bones.

“What?”

“It’s been 68 days, and you never gave up,” she asks, looking up at him. “Why?”

“I don’t think I could make it a lifetime without having someone watch over me,” he says, and she laughs once with tears in her eyes. He kisses her forehead and her laugh turns back into a cry as she grips his shirt for dear life.

And for the first time in months, she feels calm.

[courtanie]

Submission from anonymous

Hey dude, is it okay if I post a review of one of your ficts on your tumblr? I don’t have an account on ff.net and I honestly don’t want to if there’s an option to reach you elsewhere anyway.. cause point is I’m not really into fandoms or ships or smut or fanart, this ain’t really my cup of tea, but I really like the idea of fanfiction. I guess what irks me in other fanforms is the lack of exploration of the source material? Lack of critical input? I’m not sure and honestly I don’t think too much about it, but I love storytelling above all and it’s great to know that there are places out there where people build communities based on free world building.. you know what I mean? And I won’t lie and say that such a wild and unkept environments bring out only the best out of people, because really, the world of fanfiction (at least as much as i had seen..which ain’t much) is fulled with folks that use is to serve their own fantasies rather than valuing cohersive writing or um..sometimes logic? And that can be so morbidly fascinating and at the same time.. off putting.. to me? I’m not writing this to be a dick and I’m really sorry if it comes over as such, I’m sorta struggling to explain why I’m even reading it if the first thing I’m stating is that I’m not into this stuff.. oh yeah, fuck it, back on track- It’s so fascinating with what kind of stuff people come up with, truly astonishing, things I wouldn’t have thought of in my life for better or worse and the thing that surprises me the most is when I open up a story as a joke, just because i thought the premise sounds so ridiculously it ought to be entertaining in some way- and am consequently blown away by how well it is written. A thing that only fanfiction can do to me- use my predjustices against me and punishes me with good fortune. I never thought reading about a fairly punching another fairy in the mouth would make me so happy but here I am, nooding approvingly out of shock (and some satisfaction too I’d say). It’s soooo impressive how much thought you put into this Dude! Fucking went and invented a language for them! Jesus Christ- I know so little professional writers that would do that..

So much detail, but not enough to be overwhelming, enough to keep the characters grounded. Enough development of the world to feel the realism creep onto the character with a steady persistent pacing, enough room the breathe and how much the humor contrasts it is wonderful and the fact that it derives so much out of the characters themselves makes them fell much more independent to me.

I’m not a native english speaker (so sorry for bad and confusing grammar) and recently moved to another country I barely speak the language of and certain things in the story hit home. I’m so so impressed by your research for it. Just take my word for it that you’re writing the dialogue (or the content of it?) really well and organically, not childish at all. Fact is, when you adapt to a new language you need to step a few steps back in order to be able to follow the path. You gotta hold yourself back so often it feels like you loosing on credibility and everyone sees you as a child of sort, and you know you can give much more, can show much more and just know much more that you are able to be but cant for the time being. And you wonder if you’ll ever come that far to be able to express what you want, and you start doubting yourself if you truly do know what you think you know or did your frustration get the best of you. It’s hard to explain, all the new and old information gets mixed together and it gets kind of hard to keep track of it you know? The things you were certain off, become or seem useless and the things that are new and incomprehensible become like a key of survival.. but you need more time, you need to wait.

Ramble, ramble, ramble. This was just meant to be a bit of encouragment, but of course I rambled into oblivion.Hope it’s not too awkard :) but I really enjoyed Glass and I’m gonna check for updates here and there, just don’t overwork yourself- It’s too sad to see when people get overrun by their own work especially if it is meant for enjoyment and relaxation.

If you find any of the above info usefull feel free to use it, you don’t need to post this ..um..submission(?) I just wanted to post my compliments, you’ve fished yourself a fish out of water. I probably won’t change anything about my fanfiction habits (that is, skipping trough it twice a year when I remember that it exist..) but it feel good to know that people are being creative out there and are getting so good at it as well. Seeing talented people in any field is such joy, as a hobby or profession, it doesn’t matter, It is so good to know that there are so many passionate people scattered around the world ,hidden, doing what they love.

Enjoy your day, xoxo

Hi sorry I know you said I don’t need to post this but okay I do I have no other way to reply to you

There was literally nothing better in the world I could’ve woken up to today holy crap I am legitimately crying happy tears right now. Like I am all but speechless and trying desperately to figure out how to express how appreciative I am for this.

Glass is like, my ultimate pet project. I have others that I’ve been working on that I enjoy a little more, but when it comes down to it, nothing takes more of my effort than Glass’ worldbuilding, so getting any kind of advice or criticism or praise on certain elements really means the world to me. You have no idea how long I waited for someone to talk about the “child” talk. Literally no idea. I was literally BEGGING people to comment on it, to tell me if I’m way off course for how situations like that would play out. No one would help me at all despite the number of readers I have over two sites. You cannot imagine the relief I felt from your words here. I’ve been carrying that stress for months and it’s just nice to know it was carried for nothing more than my own anxieties. Considering I only took two years of a foreign language about ten years ago, I don’t really have a lot of memories on how it played out other than hating the course. (I have my sources who are a lil more practiced in the language field but lol I’m awful about asking for help)

But either way, thank you. Holy shit thank you SO much for this. Ngl I saw ‘submission from anonymous’ in my email and immediately groaned like “jfc it’s another goddamn spam link”. So my glee here is just expressed tenfold from the utter surprise of it all. Also can I say I loved you opened it as a joke. I jump back and forth between treating it like a joke for myself and being super cereal so I totally get coming at it from that angle.

(Also, there’s ArchiveofourOwn that posts fanfiction and has a bit of a nicer comment interface in case you run into this problem again with someone else’s fics and not knowing where to post them, and you don’t need an account to review)

All that aside, thank you again. This just... it really made my day. I may come home and work on the next chappie a lil more after work this just boosted my confidence in the project like no other so thank you.