Sage/Coin

Intro

Holy shit, I haven't had a tumblr I actually used in web since I switched to Twitter for all my main content (remember that scare in 2022?? yeah me too ToT) so forgive me if I mess up my HTML a bit LOL

That PSA aside, my name's Scout and I go by ae/aer. You can also call me Coin bc I thought this user was clever

My interests are TMA, Supernatural, Good Omens, Welcome to Night Vale, and Detroit: Become Human. Give me some recs while you're stopping by if you feel like it and I'll give it a look :)

I take requests but like. I am still a person with a life so I might not get to it for a while and I don't have ko-fi yet

Masterlist

Adjective Microfiction - a series in which I write with an adjective as a very loose prompt

Angelic (Supernatural, Sabriel, college!Sam)

Choral (Supernatural, Sam & Dean, nephilim!Sam)

Carlos knows it's all very cliche. He never would have said it before he moved to Night Vale, before he fell in love with Cecil. It's all very unscientific, or it was until he moved to Night Vale and could make everything science. He could've done it before, probably, but he never had. It's also possible that he couldn't and living in Night Vale has changed his way of thinking, but that's a scientific topic that will have him on a tangent. No, he should stop here.

What he means is that Cecil's beautiful. He'd seen things about it as a kid, sweet things on TV talking about how beautiful partners were, but Carlos means that all the time, everywhere, no matter what Cecil's doing, he's beautiful. He was beautiful when he was using his bloodstones and sweating very hard in his heavy ritual attire, he was pretty cleaning the last of the eels from the shower after the Faceless Old Woman That Lives In Your Home put a squirming mass of them in their shower to the top, and Carlos is sure he was beautiful when he was eating his sawdust and blueberry pancakes this morning. It can't be right.

He asks everyone on the science team about it. They all tell him that it's because he's in love. Literally all of them. They've been cursed into a hivemind when in a work setting for the next week. Carlos' mouth moves too.

When he gets home, he looks at Cecil. He nearly burns the possibly chicken eggs he's making uova in purgatorio with. Cecil smiles at him with that besotted, mostly-tranquil (minus his eyeing of the area where a man may or may not come in the house yesterday, despite the dicey time travel laws) look on his face. Carlos feels what must be half his blood supply rush to his face and goes back to pushing around the eggs he can now tell were definitely not made by chickens.

The way Sam sings has always been Dean's favorite sound. Sam used to want to be in a choir when he was little; Dean sometimes wishes he could've been. Dean's voice is a lot better than he pretends, and he knows that his genuine singing used to make Sam call him before bed every night. He knows Sam's good.

In fact, he knows Sam's a little too good. It's not, as far as Dean knows, to make your voice sound like that. Like multiple at once. And if it is, he's pretty sure it shouldn't be that extensive. Or make demons sway in place like they're a cobra in the presence of a snake charmer, for that matter. Dean had never brought it up, had made up an excuse to get Sam out of the bar without him noticing all the wide, besotted black eyes in the crowd. Hadn't been hard; Sam gets in his singing like it's a drug.

Dean still loves it. It's his baby brother's voice. It's sweet and pretty and gentle, and Sam always preens a bit when he's complimented on it.

Somehow, Dean hadn't realized Cas had never heard it before. He pales as Cas' eyes go wide and flash a little blue. Sam doesn't notice, pretty voice pitching up even higher, and Dean winces a little. It's beautiful, still, but it echoes in his skull in a way he doesn't like, somehow both clear and high and low enough to rattle a bit. Cas tilts his head, an innocent curiosity on his face, and then

The first time Sam Winchester meets Gabriel is when she thinks she's on top of the world. It's when she's at a Halloween party at college and singing metal songs in a pretty choir voice into a crappy karaoke mic that keeps going in and out. Gabriel's looking at her like she's beautiful, though she only barely knows him from her sculpture class in her first semester. She never forgets a face.

She's wearing a weathered, very slutty angel costume from a tiny costume store down the road and there's sweat all over her face. She winks at him, and she's surprised to see him flush, startled (or something else?), and wink back. She give him a lopsided smile, impossibly endeared. That's probably the amount of shots she took before singing, but that's the best kind of crush, isn't it? The kind that comes quickly in a burst of heat and sort of fades back out? Lust or love that lasts a night can be nice, in small doses. Not everything has to last forever.