Let’s all collectively take a moment to appreciate Richard Speight Jr’s acting right here. Every half a second, a new emotion shines through those eyes. His portrayal of sheer trauma is simply staggering! How can a person be so expressive with just his eyes? He stole the show IMO.
Attention fanfic writers: If you use Google Docs to write/store/back-up your fics, you might want to download anything you don’t already have backed up elsewhere. Google is apparently invading and deleting people’s personal drive content thanks to the FOSTA/SESTA bill that recently passed through Congress. Essentially, it criminalizes ANY platform where sexual content could be placed.
It may also be worth making sure you have offline back-ups of any and all fics you have posted here on Tumblr and on AO3, in case Yahoo get antsy (they’ve been cracking down on the porn bot tumblrs already) and OTW face a legal challenge to take down AO3. I’m hoping that’s not the case – but I was on LiveJournal during Strikethrough in 2007 and I remember the way that whole communities as well as individual LJ accounts were deleted and purged; it was instrumental in the founding of AO3 in the first place. That was a widespread purge of fanfic writers and communities, LGBT+ communities and writers and more, all due to legal threats that SixApart, the company that owned and hosted LiveJournal, received due to allegedly hosting paedophile content. After Strikethrough was over and LJ admitted they’d gone OTT, there were a number of communities and accounts that didn’t get reinstated. I’ve always been quite careful not to have my Tumblr flagged up as NSFW in part because of that. Given the number of Facebook accounts that get temporary or permanent suspensions thanks to malicious false reports, I have very little confidence that Tumblr’s staff won’t make mistakes.
I’m not sure what this means for collaborative fics; but Google Docs probably aren’t a safe platform for that anymore.
since there are no links here i did some googling and found that yes, google is deleting sexually explicit content from gdocs, but no, google is not deleting sexually explicit written works. only pictures/video. the terms of service state:
“Do not publish sexually explicit or pornographic images or videos…. Additionally, we do not allow content that drives traffic to commercial pornography.” Writing about porn and sex is permitted, the policy states, as long as it’s not accompanied by sexually explicit images or videos. According to Google, Drive uses a combination of automated systems and manual review to decide what’s in violation.
I’m a Ravenclaw (though sometimes I have doubts on that lol)…but that’s interesting, I’ve never been assumed Gryffindor! Usually peoole swear up and down I’m really a Hufflepuff
@multifandomhcsforinsanity I feel honored you put me in Gryffindor. I feel more like going to sit at the Hufflepuff table. Thank you for tagging me in that, I was curious about the house I would be sorted in. ^^
Most of the people I want to tag already have been but
@wearemykingdom I feel like you would sit next to me with the quiet Hufflepuffs.
@i-bleed-salt is more Slytherin than Salazar himself.
As for @spnyoucantkeepmedown the sorting hat took its time to sort you in a house. He hesitated for a moment, talking to you about Gryffindor for sure, but finally announcing loud and clear that you are a Ravenclaw.
Definitively. I’m sitting at the Hufflepuff table with you!
@hufflapute I know you will join us at the Hufflepuff table ❤
@gondorsroukmout Guuuh, I don’t remembeeeeeer but I want to put you in Gryffindor, but… you will make a very good Slytherin.
@space-time-paradox You’re the new addition, I want to find your house!!! I have a strange feeling that you’re at the Ravenclaw table.
Ooooh!!! Thank you @wearemykingdom ! Yes, I totally am in Ravenclaw.
Well, most of my favorites are already sorted.
But I have the feeling, that @ttttrickster might belong to Slytherin,
imagine how scared gabriel must’ve been when sam was removing the stitches – last time he felt cold metal pressed against his lips, it was a needle sewing his mouth shut, it was his voice and his autonomy and identity being stolen away
and yet, still, he looked at sam like he trusted him with the world, and he let sam cut them
i’m so weak rn
(i’m going to write a coda fic on this later i Have To)
What kills me is that between Dean accepting Ketch’s offer and Sam cutting the stiches off Gabriel’s mouth there is a short cut and during this lil time skip Sam not only had to fetch a kit to help Gabriel, but also nudge him to get up and seat a little bit different position for him to take off those nasty strings.
Like think about, those very few steps from the end of the table to the side are Gabriel’s first steps he’s taken without someone dragging and forcing him. Cos Sam would under no circumstance force him to get up, cos Sam knows better. He must have talked to him kindly and asked.
When was the last time Gabriel was asked for any sort of concent, I wonder.
My Sabriel heart is gonna kill me any of these days.
Because Sam knows what it feels like to be in that state. He’s the only one out of TFW what has beeen through something close, and I feel like he feels partly responsible for him.
So this didn’t really turn out how I saw it in my head, but I still like it. There was something about the scene of Sam cutting Gabriels stitches that was so calming, so…I don’t know how to describe it. But I felt good. Really good. And then it hit me what was causing it. It was the way Gabriel was blinking. That slow blink that cats do when they like you and feel safe. I had the idea to get it down in words, but I don’t think I got it right. Either way…
Sabirel, yo
~850 words
SPOILERS FOR 13X17!!!!!
~~~
It was when Sam was raising the scalpel, preparing to cut the bloody twine from his lips, that he noticed.
This wasn’t the frantic and panicked man that Ketch pulled into the war room. He had changed. Gabriel was now calm, peaceful, serene. Sam could almost see past the blood to the golden holy being that Gabriel used to be.
When did he change?
Was it after Dean gathered his stuff and led Ketch away to pick a room? Was it after Sam’s gun clattered to the map table, the sharp noise causing the traumatized archangel to retreat back into the dark library?
Or maybe it was when Sam chased him into the dark, only to find him curled up in the same corner Ketch had tugged him out of. A little too roughly, if anyone bothered to ask Sam.
“Gabriel?” Sam asked cautiously, hands raised defensively and careful not to touch the archangel. “It’s Sam. Uh, Winchester? Do you remember me?”
Sam frowned deeply at the image of Gabriel; cowered as low in the corner as he could get, his arms pulling his knees in tightly to his chest and his face buried in his arms. The only response Gabriel gave was a pathetic whimper, and Sam gaped in horror at the thought of what could destroy one of the most powerful and holy beings in the universe.
“Gabriel,” Sam tried again, and slowly, so slowly moved forward to place his large hand on Gabriels arm.
The archangel jerked up at the gentle touch, his eyes wide and frightened. His whimpers shifted quickly into muffled screaming as Gabriel tried to shove himself back further into the corner.
“Hey, hey, hey, calm down.” Sam tried to mimic how Ketch relaxed Gabriel before, a grounding hand on his shoulder and a strong yet soothing voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re safe here. Hey. It’s me, Sam.”
At his name, Gabriel stopped suddenly. His eyes seemed to focus, regaining a little of that heavenly focus, and trained themselves on Sam. A noise escaped him, one Sam took as understanding.
“Do you remember me?” Gabriels gaze never wavered, never lost that manic stare, but he didn’t answer. Sam tried to push past the way his skin crawled with those wild amber eyes staring at him and kept talking.
“That’s ok if you don’t, but I need you to know that I won’t hurt you.” There was a barely there nod, just a miniscule movement, but Sam took it as a win. And even though those eyes were still boring into him, Sam heard one long sound, like Gabriel was trying to speak, muffled by the stitches binding his lips together.
Sams eyes flickered down to the twine, and frowned.
“We should take those out, yeah?” He held out a hand to Gabriel, and to his genuine surprise, the archangel took it. He allowed himself to be helped off the floor, and shuffled the few feet over to one of the cushioned chairs in the library. He was always looking at Sam, studying him.
As Gabriel sank heavily into the chair, Sam knelt in front of him, a hand still on his arm.
“I’m gonna go get the first aid kit, ok? I’ll be right back.”
He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and walked off quickly in search of supplies. He didn’t have to go far, just back into the war room. As much as the Winchesters get hurt, there was a kit in almost every room of the bunker.
Sam pulled a chair over to Gabriel, too involved in preparing the scalpel with rubbing alcohol to even look up at him. He turned his chair to face Gabriel, hands raised to begin working, when Sam noticed.
These eyes.
The beautiful eyes of the archangel Gabriel.
They were no longer wide and frantic. No longer staring, flicking back and forth so quickly looking for an attack he was sure would come.
Sam smiled a little before he began to cut, but as he focused on his work, he noticed that his own emotions were changing, softening into calm and contented. He looked up from his work, and watched Gabriel calmly look around the room, not looking at anything in particular.
And then he blinked.
Slow and heavy lids went down and up, and Sam laughed quietly to himself.
Just like a cat, he thought.
Sam knew that this was a good sign. Gabriel felt safe. Safe enough for Sam to help him. Safe enough to let Sam use a sharp object so close to him. Safe enough for his feelings of security to bleed from his vessel, strong enough to affect Sams own emotions.
And as he continued to cut through the bloody and crusted cording in Gabriels skin, Sam had a feeling that he could do this. That he could help this broken archangel put the pieces of his grace back together.
A flash of light. Bright. Stinging. And Dean’s gone.
Sam’s stomach twists and churns. He stares at the sliver of light, the gate between worlds, and he waits for another beat before turning around to face Gabe.
Gabe.
It’s so unreal, so heartbreaking to see this slip of a man shrink in his seat, becoming even smaller. Sam’s heart aches and a surge or pure, unadulterated rage floods through him and boils beneath his skin. Asmodeus has had Gabe all this time, has been doing God knows what to him, leeching his grace like a grotesque vampire.
How Gabe ended up Asmodeus’ prisoner is another conversation for another day. With Dean gone, Sam has twenty-four hours to…to what? Take care of Gabe? Where does he even begin?
Sam glances at Gabe and sighs, his eyes skirting the blood-crusted twine on the table, chopped in pieces. What sick bastard would do that to another person? As soon as the thought hit him, Sam shakes his head and chuckles. A demon would.
And so would he. If Sam ever got his hands on Colonel Sanders, he’d soak his pompous white suit red. Give back to him every little thing he did to Gabe with interest. Sam takes a deep breath and calms his nerves. It would do them no good for him to agitate like this. He’s got more important to do. Things like taking care of Gabe.
“Hey, Gabriel.” Nothing except for a small flinch and Sam’s heart breaks all over again. “I’ll, uh, I’ll be right back.”
Sam wants to move them to the library and get settled on the couch, but he can’t leave the rift unattended in case someone or something tries to come through. He puts the kettle on and rummages through the pantry until he finds what he’s looking for. Turning around, he pulls two mugs from the cabinet.
He still doesn’t know what to do. How does he even begin to sooth the jagged, raw edges of Gabriel’s violated soul? Do they just pick up where they left off? How does he mend his own broken heart, still cracked and in pieces from losing Gabe the first time? The ghost of Gabe’s touch still haunts him, the sweet taste of his kisses a lingering specter on his tongue.
Artificial cherry. Sweet and fragrant and—
A broken sob echoes. It’s him, but Sam doesn’t recognize the sound. Doesn’t register the hurt until it’s manifested into something audible. The kettle shrills, snaps Sam out of his thoughts, and he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand before ripping the paper packets and pouring hot chocolate mix into each mug.
The aroma of sugar and cream permeates the air, its tendrils wrap around Sam like a long forgotten lover. A lover lost and found, and, hopefully, not so broken Sam can help put him back together again.
Sam grabs the mugs, pauses, and pulls Dean’s box of Oreos from the pantry. He’ll buy him a new box later. With cookies tucked under his arm and a mug of steaming hot chocolate in each hand, Sam makes his way back.
Gabe hasn’t moved from where Sam left him, his eyes vacant as he stares at some unseen horror. His lips—so plump and playful in Sam’s memory—are black with dried blood. The Archangel doesn’t even have enough strength to heal himself. Or, perhaps, he’s given up trying to mend what will be ripped apart again with every fresh scream.
No, Sam will not let himself go down that route. Not going to let his rage blind him right now. Dean needs him. And Gabe needs him. Another deep breath, a pause, and the red haze in his vision recede as he places a mug and the box of Oreos in front of Gabe.
“Hot chocolate, your favourite.” Sam sits in the chair across from Gabe. “And those are Dean’s, so they’ll taste extra good, right?”
Gabe doesn’t respond. Doesn’t appear like he’s heard. Sam swallows the lump in his throat and sips at his mug. The days, weeks, months after Gabe died, Sam wanted to nothing more than a chance to sit down and talk to him one last time. Now that the chance has come, he’s drawing a blank.
The silence eats at him, picks at the scabs of his old wounds until fresh blood seeps through. It hurts, but Sam’s sure his pain is nothing compared to what Gabe has gone through, is still going through.
“You still make that face when you think too hard,” Gabe croaks, his voice raspy like sandpaper, but it’s the best sound Sam’s ever heard. His head snaps up, and he finds liquid amber eyes trained on him. “Can you get me a straw?” Gabe points at his lips, a weak smile twitches in the corners.
Oh, God. How stupid is Sam to serve Gabe a hot drink when his mouth is in such bad shape. “Oh, crap. Uh, I can get you something cool to drink—”
“No, this is fine. But I can’t open my mouth very well.”
Sam nods and pushes to his feet. He rushes back with a straw, then pulls his chair closer to Gabe before sitting down. He places the straw in the mug and brings it to Gabe’s mouth. Gabe pulls the straw between his lips, winces, and pulls with a gentle suck. He takes tiny sips, moaning around each mouthful until the mug is empty.
“Ah, but that is the good stuff,” Gabe says. Colour has returned to his cheeks, and though he’s still filthy from head to toe, something eases in his eyes.
“You want a cookie?”
Gabe shakes his head. “Maybe later.”
Sam puts the mug down and leans back in his chair, his knee so close to Gabe he only needs to twitch and their legs will touch. But he doesn’t dare, doesn’t want to put any more demands on Gabe.
“Do you want a blanket? A book? I can bring the laptop here and we can watch a movie?” Sam tries to fill the empty silence with chatter, but even to his own ears, his voice sounds strained.
“I sat in a cell for longer than I can remember,” Gabe says. “Got pretty good at entertaining myself.”
Sam flinches as if slapped, and he’s not sure what to say. What can he say? Something presses into the side of his knee, the pressure gentle, timid, but it’s a solid contact that sends Sam’s heart racing through the galaxies. His eyes snap to Gabe’s leg then to his eyes, and there’s a small glint of mirth there.
“You know what I’d die for right now?”
“Bad choice of words, but what?”
“A cherry lollipop.”
Sam huffs a chuckle and something loosens in his chest. The Gabe he knows is in there, and, maybe, given enough love and care and hot chocolate, he will come back to Sam. “As soon as Dean gets back, I’ll get you all the candy you want.”
I Aim To Misbehave 