#angel choir system

[enderluna]

Choirusan

[pt: Choirusan]

an umbrella term for all terms under the Angel Choir System. Now can be called "Choirusan Genders".

this term is exclusive to angels or angelic members of systems & plurals (or anyone who considers themself Not a singlet).

Flag Description: 9 striped flag with horizontal stripes of various length, colors from left to right are medium purple, gold, light yellow, blue grey, white, blue grey, light yellow, gold, medium purple. The flag on the right has a white angel symbol in the center, the white line of the flag is going down it. /end id

flag description: 9 striped vertical flag, colors from top bottom are medium purple, gold, light yellow, blue grey, white, blue grey, light yellow, gold, medium purple. /end id

icon friendly vers

@radiomogai @gendersystemarchive

[alastors-left-antler]

this is what me, Angel, Charlie, and Vaggie looked like in my source memories !! might make the others later -Alastor

[bunny584]

OBSESSED: SHOKO (feat. The Boys)

A/N: This took an entirely different route than I expected when I first started dribbling it. This was a fun one 🤭

C/W: Cuckholding, Mature, 18+

Fact: You are the hottest woman alive.

Fact: Shoko is no better than a man.

Shoko is no better than a man because she has used you — your pictures, your smile, your tight hugs — as her personal spank bank.

Truthfully, she can’t really pinpoint the moment you broke her brain.

All she remembers is that there was an inflection point in time. Before meeting you. And after meeting you.

And the funniest part of it all is that you two have nothing in common.

Shoko is a sorcerer at Jujutsu Tech. You are a normie at University of Tokyo.

Shoko can count on one hand how many people she can tolerate. People flock to you in droves. And you like it.

Shoko is red wine and cigarettes. You are champagne and birthday cake.

So how the hell did a bubble gum, pretty pink, girly girl, princess work her way into Shoko’s life? And take permanent residence in a little (extremely large) part of her brain?

Not to mention the havoc you are wreaking in her heart. Whatever is left of the cold, shriveled plumbing system keeping her alive.

When was it exactly?

Shoko lights another cigarette on her short 2 mile walk home. You have a habit of making her burn through her vices.

Was it the night you went out dancing?

When the dress you wore made Shoko see God?

You grinded every part of your mind-altering curves on her, and Shoko left sopping wet. At home she immediately reached for her vibrator. Unable to look herself in the eye for a full day after that.

Or maybe it was the time you fell asleep curled up in her lap. Wearing one of her old ratty softball shirts, smelling like her shampoo. Small, rhythmic breaths flowing from your lips.

You looked like the missing puzzle piece in Shoko’s life.

No, no.

It’s definitely was the time you came barreling into her apartment with balloons and flowers and cupcakes that were too sweet. All because Shoko had finally mastered her reversed curse technique before the prodigal sons.

You can barely even grasp the concept of curses. And why would you?

A soft, gentle soul like you couldn’t muster enough negativity to form a curse.

You live in the clouds. Among the angels. You can’t see curses and yet — somehow —you’re the most supernatural person in any room.

She’s completely, fully, idiotically smitten with you.

And so is everybody else.

You pretty, unaware little thing. You have the two strongest sorcerers at Jujutsu Tech and their personal medic wrapped around your dainty fingers and you have no idea.

Suguru? He stares. Vision sharper than a hawk. He watches you talk, eat, walk, text, think. Suguru anticipates your next breath and would kiss oxygen into your mouth if he could. Even still, despite how taken he is, Suguru is the best at concealing his puppy love.

Satoru is the absolute worst.

Limitless goes off the second you step into a room. And Satoru rarely clicks off his technique otherwise. Even when it’s just Shoko or Suguru around.

He all but chains you to his body. He’s always lifting you, hugging you, carrying you, holding your hand, holding your hair. Satoru would crawl inside of your body and live there, if he could.

Then there’s Shoko.

Who seethes when anyone looks your way. But also masturbates to the thought of other people touching you.

A fucking mess of a conundrum, right?

The first time it happened was about 8 months ago. Definitely one too many glasses of Cabernet were poured. You two were gabbing on the phone. Exchanging the best and worst sex you’ve had to date.

And you. In that melodic, breathy, gossamer thin voice of yours that belongs in Heaven’s choir started saying the dirtiest things. About how cock-drunk you were. How you begged and pleaded for more. Swallowed cum like it was your only sustenance. And squirted all over your lover, only to kiss it off his face after.

Shoko touched herself until she came right then and there. On the phone. You unknowingly talking her through her one of the most satisfying orgasms of her life.

Since then it’s been a horrible habit she’s given into time and time again.

And who’s to say? Maybe it’s from constantly being in the shadows of Suguru’s Sun and Satoru’s Moon that there’s comfort in watching from the side lines?

Maybe she’s found the sweet pleasure in that pain and it’s manifested as her lust for others having their way with you? And her blind infatuation with you?

No, wait.

Not blind.

With you it’s like she has the Six Eyes. And with you, so does everyone else.

Shoko drags in a long, exasperated breath. Pausing just outside her apartment entrance, stomping out the last of her menthol.

If the time she spent mulling over you in her mind could be converted caloric energy - she’d be a supermodel by now.

Whatever.

Today’s the best day of the week. Friday.

Which means when Shoko opens her door, you’re going to be fussing about the kitchen. Cooking some kind of dessert for Movie Night.

The Boys usually trip over themselves getting to Shoko’s apartment after classes. But there’s always an idyllic 15 minutes where Shoko has you all to herself.

15 minutes in Heaven. Like she’s a damn middle school girl.

Shoko opens her door and nearly flatlines.

You’re evil.

An evil, mean, cruel tease.

You KNOW anyone with eyes would have a stroke at the site of you.

Fully bent over at the waist, rummaging through pots and pans. Not a single blemish on your silky smooth skin. Your lilac boy shorts could not BE any tighter. And of course, they’re just short enough to not cover the plump shelf of your lower ass cheeks.

Shoko’s hands start twitching. Like she’s going through withdrawal.

You pop back up with a triumphant “there it is!” An empty small pot in your hands. And Shoko thinks she’ll have to add a heart attack to her growing list of ailments.

Your matching lilac tank top is egregiously and deliciously small. The sliver of tummy between the hem of the top and waist of your shorts could bring civilizations to collapse.

Not to mention that the apartment is cold. And your nipples are so painfully responsive.

Sin.

You are sin.

Wrapped in the most beautiful frame of a woman.

“Babe!! You’re already home. I let myself in because the icing for these cupcakes takes forever to get right.”

You flash your Colgate smile, ensnaring Shoko in your trap.

“You’re going to give Satoru and Suguru a heart attack.” Her, you’re going to give her a heart attack.

“Hmm? Why do you say that?” So non-chalant. So oblivious.

Shoko gestures to your outfit. Attempting to mirror your nonchalance. But, ironically, she can feel her face tumbling down the descending shades of red.

Genuine confusion weaves though your features and she almost screams.

“Shoko please. You know they don’t see me that way!”

Everyone, gorgeous. EVERYONE. Sees you that way.

Before she could edge another word out, the familiar hum of Limitless buzzing inward splits Shoko’s thoughts in half.

Dammit, they’re early.

“Daddy’s Home!”

Satoru charges straight at you because of course he would.

“Satoru!!!” You’re a plaything in his arms. Legs tightening around his waist.

Shoko would pay an inordinate amount of money to trade places with him.

She watches through an envy-green screen. How easily Satoru spins you and tosses you on the kitchen counter. Situating himself between your soft thighs.

How would your body bounce against his hips thrusting into you?

“You have to taste this, pretty boy.”

Tsk. He’s not THAT pretty.

Both Shoko and Suguru watch through parted lips as you shove half a cupcake into Satoru’s mouth. Neither of you miss how his tongue flicks between your fingers. Or how his hips lean closer to your barely clothed flower.

He lets out an exaggerated groan. “Fucking, perfect. I could eat your cupcake..all night.”

“You perv.”

You laugh and shove Satoru back from between your legs. Then turn in Shoko’s direction.

Silently curving your index finger forward, you beckon. Both Shoko and Suguru start toward you like well-trained, love-struck pets.

“No pouting Suguru, you’re pretty too. And up next.”

And Shoko’s shoulders sink like the child who is picked last for dodge ball teams.

Her eyes trail Suguru’s back - wishing to every God she was born with a technique allowing her to take over a host’s body.

“Me next.” He settles between your legs.

Suguru, the master of subtlety. Everyone but you can pick up on the strain in his baritone.

There’s something so painfully sensual about the way he grips both of your thighs. Your skin is so smooth, so pliant under his large hands. Waiting on your fingers to invade his mouth.

How pretty would your lips look like wrapped around his fingers? Do your cheeks hollow out when you suck on something larger?

Shoko crosses her right foot over the left. As if jamming her thighs together would stop the growing pool of lust between her legs.

“Alright babe, best for last. I have something for you too.”

Suguru takes his time pulling away from the warmth of your core. And Shoko has to strap her mind to her body to keep from sprinting at you.

Eventually, she nestles between your legs and is at eye level with your pert nipples. Immediately caught in a trance. So close to her mouth.

“Blushing so much!” Your thumb pulls Shoko’s focus back to earth.

Blushing so much because she wants to watch her best friends fuck you. Then lick your cunt clean after they’re done.

“I’m not, what’s my surprise?”

“So demanding.” You giggle. Your palm takes away Shoko’s view of your perky, hard nipples.

“Open.”

Shoko’s jaw hangs at your command. Cold glass hits her lips before the full bodied, decadent Cabernet does.

Red wine. Because she hates sweets.

You’re as thoughtful as you are beautiful and everything you do is a turn on.

“Mmmm,” Shoko hums and you gift her vision back.

“Amazing, right?” You take your own sip, maintaining eye contact.

Shoko’s eyes fall to your lips. And how you roll the wine over your tongue. Savoring each drop.

How would your tongue feel rolling around her mouth? Her neck? Her nipple? What kind of sounds would you make if her tongue rolled around your petals? Your clit? What do you taste—

“Movie time?” You break Satoru, Suguru and Shoko’s daze.

All three of them scramble around you. Grabbing your cupcakes, snacks and wine to settle in on Shoko’s huge sectional couch.

You drape your body over Satoru and Suguru’s lap. A little loose limbed kitten. Shoko situates herself on the long arm of her chair.

Far enough to drown into her own spiral. Close enough to register everything you do in the the most permanent part of her mind.

You nuzzle your cheek into Suguru’s thigh. His forearm immediately drops in front of his crotch. Undoubtedly to avoid spearing you with his manhood.

“Play with my hair, Suguru?”

“Yes. Of course.”

His free hand weaves into your hair. The soft, decadent moan you exhale sent visible shudders down their spines.

Shoko’s eyes laser to Satoru’s hands. His eyes haven’t touched the screen since the movie began. His grasp encompasses your entire back thighs. Slowly gliding them up to the delicate mounds of your ass.

“God that feels amazing.”

Satoru’s Adams Apple drags along the column of his throat. “Yeah?”

“So good.”

You deepen the arch in your back and the physical restraint Satoru imposes on himself is visible.

The only person watching the movie is you.

And the room tilts on its axis the moment you melt deeper into the boys’ hands. Their names, quiet praise, seep from your lips.

Satoru and Suguru exchange hooded gazes.

As if to commiserate about how fucking hot you are. And how it’s taking active awareness of every single muscle to not do vulgar things to you.

Not even a backward glance Shoko’s way.

Again.

Leaving Shoko out of the conversation. Again.

She angrily tosses a blanket over her lap. Frustration bubbling up her throat. Her fingers clumsily fumble with her zipper. She’s pissed. Angry. Fucking jealous.

And so turned on she might crawl out of her skin if she doesn’t touch herself this goddamn second.

Shoko’s fingers are ice cold against her warm, wet clit. It’s agonizing. How incredible the pressure feels.

You look delicious. So small between their laps. Far too tiny to handle them both.

But God it would be so hot.

It would be so fucking hot. To watch you choke all over Suguru’s cock. Slobber into his lap. All while Satoru bullies his length into your soft, dewy pussy. Helpless. Overstimulated.

Getting used like the pretty Barbie doll you are.

And the way they touch you, so brazenly, in front of her.

Like Shoko’s presence isn’t even remotely threatening. She isn’t any competition for their big hands and broad shoulders. Masculine frames. That’s why she’s just sitting there. Pathetic. Rubbing herself dumb just watching.

She would be so happy, so fucking eager to lap you clean. Pet your swollen, abused folds when they’re done with you. Hump a pillow while she sucks your nipples. You’d moan and whine and squirm under her touch.

Would you beg? Or laugh at how pitiful she is? Getting off to remnants of you when the Boys have had their way?

Shoko accidentally choking on her own drool draws almost everyone’s attention to her. The hand that was molesting her sensitive bud freezes.

Suguru’s eyes flicker back down to you, sleeping beauty.

Their coordinated touch lulled you to bed. Satoru’s eyes linger on Shoko long enough to make her simmer under his gaze. She blinks back to the movie, credits now scrolling up the screen.

How long was Shoko day dreaming?

“Let’s get her to bed.” Suguru gently pulls you onto his chest. You sleepily drape your arms around his neck.

Satoru follows close behind him into Shoko’s room. Because putting the smallest little kitten to bed is a two person job.

Shoko scrambles to zip up her pants and swipe the last of her arousal on the blanket. She gets to the doorway and watches the Boys dote over you in a way that makes them slightly more endearing.

You wake up long enough to murmur goodnight. Floating your arms in the air so the boys can bring their hugs to you. Both of them place quick pecks on your forehead. Leaving you with the cutest, most content smile on your sleepy face.

At least Suguru can hold it together. He weaves out of Shoko’s room quickly.

Satoru, however, keeps stopping along the 10 foot pace to the doorway to just stare. As if a monster from your nightmares will pop up the second he leaves you alone.

Shoko snorts, arms crossing her chest. “Put it back in your pants, yes?”

“Look who is talking.” Sly grin pulls across Satoru’s perfect, blinding teeth. Shoko could punch him right now.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ieiri. I have the fucking six eyes. What do you think I’m talking about.”

Satoru wires around Shoko’s stunned body.

He and Suguru are out of her apartment before she can bat her eyelashes 5 times.

Shoko all but sprints to the kitchen. She gulps the rest of her red wine. Something. Anything to burn Satoru’s comment out of her mind. And to put out the desperate flame between her legs.

You’re in her bed.

She’s just been masturbating watching her two best friends touch you.

One of her best friends is FULLY aware of this all.

Her hands shakenly pour another, head sized glass of Cabernet. Which is doing absolutely nothing for how lusty she feels right now. And everything to destroy her self control.

Why does she have to sit on the sidelines?

Why do they get access to you that she doesn’t?

She downs the last few drops of red wine. Storming back to her room. She’s going to confront this once and for all.

You’re strewn over her bed like a silk scarf. Rolling, tender hills of flesh. Valleys of feminine curves. Shoko grips both of your dainty wrists. Tossing you onto your back.

Sleepy groans bubble out of you. Your eyes lazily slide open. Not an ounce of concern on your face. Full of trust. Even though Shoko is glaring down at you like she wants to crawl in your skin.

“Bad dream?”

“No.” Shoko is kurt. Angry. Jealous.

“What is it?”

“I just…” Moonlight is kissing your face in the way Shoko wants to.

“T-The boys,” Your eyes flutter expectantly. Nose crinkling in fuzzy confusion.

“The-the boys always get to touch you. And pick you up. And tuck you in. And kiss you. And-and I-im just…”

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Shoko hears her heart stop beating.

What did you just ask? So casually. As if you didn’t just catapult her into another dimension.

“H-huh? What?” Shoko didn’t hear you right.

There’s no way.

“I asked if you want to kiss me.” Something other than innocence lines your voice. And it pets Shoko’s flame

“I—I uh. M-. Yes.”

“So kiss me.”

Only one second of shocked hesitation passes before Shoko crashes her lips into yours.

Of course your lips taste like this. Marshmallow soft. Cotton candy sweet. Mini explosions of pleasure surge in all directions of her body.

“God,” Shoko groans, bringing the back of your head impossibly closer to her.

Melting into the soft hills and rolls of your sweet tongue. Shoko whines into your mouth like the desperate puppy she is. She’s drunk. Intoxicated. And it has nothing to do with the wine.

Do you know that?

Have you always known?

How does anyone ever make it out of their embrace with you with their wits about them?

“Baby,” you sigh into Shoko’s swollen lips.

Her hands tremble against your waist. Twitching to explore. Dying to map every inch of your body.

She lets out little, staccato moans of protest when you pull away.

“Feel better?”

Your starry eyes sparkle between Shoko’s. Sleepy, pretty smile playing on your puffy lips.

Shoko nods wordlessly. You’ve already stolen her logic and her heart. Might as well add her voice to the list.

You place a chaste kiss on Shoko’s lips before cocooning underneath the sheets.

Like you didn’t just make her fall in love.

“Goodnight, baby.”

PART. II

[fanfic-corner]

Lesser Known Destiel Fics pt 2

Hi everyone! Here's the second part of Destiel fics which have fewer than 5,000 hits. I hope you enjoy them!

Once a Day by followthattardis (2.4k)

Castiel has just enough control left over his body and mind that he steps into the Ma’lak Box on his own.

L’Oréal Féria 1-Step Lightening System for Men by gayliens (2.5k)

His hair had been the same since he was eleven, a tight almost-buzz on the sides, a little longer on the top. Brown, unassuming, military-issue. Never long enough to fall in his eyes, not like whatever Sam had going on on that head of his. His face had been changed by thirty-something years of slicing and dicing, aging out of those delicate features. If he dropped dead now on the bathroom floor, the coroner wouldn’t call him pretty. But his hair stayed Ken-Doll-identical all the way through.

or: dean fucks up dying his hair. cas helps

Rinse, Repeat by Ias (3.3k)

He's killed Dean hundreds of times. What's one more?

Extra Sauce by anomalation (3.4k)

Cas confides in a poor unfortunate McDonald's cashier, who is a little shit and makes Dean jealous to prove a point. Nothing but fluff and gritty fast food realism.

Mary Winchester, Lesbian at Large by alectolee (4.2k)

Mary Winchester is a lesbian. She has no idea how to tell her children.

The Passion of the Christ (and his angelic ex-boyfriend) by Bzzee (4.9k)

Dean and Cas are happy in heaven until Cas's ex-boyfriend saunters in. Dean discovers you can be jealous in heaven and that, apparently, Jesus fucks.

New All Over Again by Castielslostwings (5.7k)

Dean and Cas as childhood sweethearts separated as teenagers who have been searching for each other for years without success. Against all odds, they reunite in the middle of Times Square at midnight on New Year’s Eve.

preaching to the choir by piesexuality (7.9k)

“So, tell us—are you a religious man?”

Steve grimaces. "It's, um. Complicated. Very complicated."

or, There's no way Castiel lived that close to BYU-Idaho without running into some Mormon missionaries.

Speak Silence No More by rea_of_sunshine (8k)

When Dean imagined this moment, it went like this:

Dean bursts into the Empty—guns blazing, chin high, righteous anger coursing through him. No matter what form his plans and fantasies and whiskey-drunk-whispered-promises took, he is always, always successful. When he imagined it, he was finally the hero Cas deserved.

The reality of the moment is this:

It’s fucking cold.

Veil by evol_love (8.1k)

Not that Ed keeps tabs on anyone from his past life as a paranormal investigator, but he’s about 99% sure he heard through the grapevine that Dean Winchester fucking died, so getting a text from him on a random Thursday inviting him to his wedding is in the top ten weirdest moments of his life. And that’s really saying something. Ed’s had weirder weird moments than most.

His first instinct is No, absolutely fucking not, why on earth did you even invite me we’re not friends and we haven’t spoken in six years, but. But.

Maybe he misses the weird a little.

the pie isn't a metaphor (it's just pie) by noviembre (9.3k)

“I watched the Garden of Eden grow out of the desert,” Cas informs him. “And I’ve read everything Stacy has written on Bumbling Bee Gardener dot net. But please, Dean, share your wisdom about apple horticulture.”

Every Road Leads To You by songbvrd (9.9k)

When Cas gets poisoned by a djinn and is unable to be woken, Dean gets sent into his head to wake him up.

While Dean is expecting something that's hard to pull Cas from, he never expected to find Cas married with kids and a dog.

Dean has to confront what all this means to him and Cas has to decide whether to stay or go.

Won't You Stay? by allmystars (18k)

A week before Christmas, a weekend with his brother, and a hike into the mountains shouldn’t change a single thing about Dean Winchester’s life. It’s just a trip, just to distract Sam from everything he’s lost.

But, when a blizzard blows in, stranding the Winchesters, Sam finds a crack in the rock-face, and everything changes.

A pit, and pain, and every broken thing inside Dean, discovered by angels.

Well, one angel. One powerless, exiled angel.

Angel Recovery Project by keylimepie (20k)

An ordinary woman attempts a very extraordinary spell and brings back the wrong angel. But he's here and he needs help, from sandwiches to love advice, so what else is a girl to do?

5 Times a Member of Team Free Will Kills John Winchester and the 1 Time he is Kicked out of Heaven by bisexualsharks & Hazloveshisboo & jeremycarver (21k)

The 5 times different members of TFW (and a few others) got the chance to murder John Winchester, and the 1 time he was kicked out of Heaven because it was too late to kill him.

These are all separate one-shots that are not connected or set in the same timeline.

No need for dreaming by AsphodeleSauvage (24k)

Castiel loves his job as a wedding photographer. He loves nothing more than to capture the pure love in a couple's eyes as they say 'yes' - soulmates or not soulmates, he doesn't care. Yet, he can't help wondering about his own soulmate and about the mark on his chest that promises him a love story for the ages. There is also the fact that he keeps bumping into the charming Dean Winchester at every wedding he goes to...

A Hard-Won Peace by patheticfangirl (28k)

“Afterlife” no longer means forgetting what happened during life.

In Heaven, Dean is tormented by peace and freedom until he reunites with an also-struggling Castiel. Together, they work through issues they couldn’t leave behind, hoping to find something resembling happiness.

Diagonally Parked in a Parallel Universe by TheBlackLagoon (37k)

Cas Novak can’t see an escape from the life of hunting. Even with the frequent pleas from Jessica to leave it all behind, where in the world is he supposed to fit in? Dean Winchester can’t see a life beyond pencil-pushing for the Men of Letter’s Midwest branch. Even with the responsibility he holds to upkeep his family name, is it really what he’s meant to do? The two duos meet on what appears to be an easy salt and burn but which quickly spirals out of control.

Just for the Holidays by Fallen_Angel_Meg (41k)

After going through some tough times, Jess, Castiel's best friend, decides the best thing for him to do is to get away for Christmas. She secretly signs up their shared house on a home exchange website and it doesn't take long for them to get some interest. Castiel ends up trading houses with Sam Winchester, despite his hesitations to do so. So now Castiel has to spend his Christmas alone in Lawrence, Kansas. Which isn't so bad because Castiel is looking for some alone time right now, not wanting to get romantically involved with anyone. That is, until he meets Dean Winchester and things get complicated.

And that's it! If you have any other fics with under 5k hits that you love — whether they be your own or your friend's — please share them with me! Often these fics are swept under the rug when the authors put so much time and effort into them, so I hope you enjoy reading them :)

[kingkatsuki]

Dumping this thirst into your inbox bc if I don't tell someone about it I'll die.

Pro hero Dynamight (mid-40s) pursuing a villain with his much younger sidekick (early 20s) when said villain disables you with an attack and drags you off into the maze of warehouses you've been running through. Dynamight loses his shit when he finds the villain fixing to have their way with you and he makes to follow them when they start running but the villain stops him with "You know, she's going to die soon if someone doesn't take care of her. Do you want to catch me that bad?" and that's when Katsuki notices the state that you're in... and the empty syringe on the floor next to you. You're a mess, reduced to tears from being scared and hurt and horny all at once. Katsuki knows what he has to do but he's already grieving his relationship with you, thinking you're probably going to hate him after this.

PLEASE!! Because the angst potential of this?

Bakugou already hates himself for the feelings that he has for you, the ones he keeps so close to his chest that even Kirishima doesn’t know (except he does). He’s just about managed to seal those feelings away and work alongside you, but then this happens.

It’s like all the love for you starts erupting from inside him like scorching lava, all thoughts and hero priorities go out the window when he goes after you. He shouldn’t have, he knows it. It feels like he’s breaking some cardinal rule of being a true Pro, but he can’t help it. He has to save you.

It’s that look in your eyes, pearly tears cling to your lashes as you paw at his chest. Did you always smell this good? Bakugou is searching your eyes for any evidence that you’re still coherent, that part of you is still conscious but then you say it.

“Katsuki, please. I need you.”

A guttural, sinful groan vibrates from deep in his chest at the sound of it, something he’s tried to imagine when he fists his cock at night to the thought of you.

He knows it’s wrong, it’s like taking advantage of you when you can’t consent. But he wants you too, he’s wanted you from the moment you stepped inside his agency. But you keep pleading, the desperate sounds like a choir of angels as he tries to ignore his throbbing cock straining against his pants.

He knows what he has to do, but it feels wrong. He’s dreamed about the moment where he sinks himself into your warm, wet cunt. But it wasn’t like this.

You actually wanted him too.

But still he moves to unbuckle his pants, tugging them down just enough to free himself as the size of him hangs down towards you. Your hands already reaching out to grab for him as you move to bring him between your thighs, but he’s quick to push you away. Knowing that even like this, if you touched him he wouldn’t last long.

Bakugou can’t remember the last time he felt like this, or if he ever had. Your warmth feels even better than any warm body he’s laid with in the past, like somehow you’re even more perfect.

He tries to ignore the fear in the back of his mind that everything will change between you forever, that this isn’t real. That you don’t really want him. That when you finally come around and you’re no longer affected by whatever aphrodisiac is in your system you’ll resent him, unable to bear looking at him much less work under him.

That he’ll lose you forever.

The fear and doubt pierce through his heart, even the sultry sound of your moans aren’t enough to distract him from the ache inside his chest. But he knows deep down, if you spend the rest of your life hating him at least you’ll still be alive.

So Bakugou fools himself into believing that this is real, that you love him just as much as he loves you, even if it’s just for this moment. Because he’s convinced himself he’ll never feel like this again.

[preservationofnormalcy]

Hey there. Saw a response you gave to a fae who was exiled from Hy Brasil. You recommended they ask to speak to someone from a "higher court" because it's important to get Paradise involved as a higher party. So, I'm kind of curious about the implications of fae-angelic relations. Not only that, does everyone have a right to invoke speaking to a "higher court" in this fashion? is the Choir the *only* higher court? Are demons considered part of a "lower court"? Just curious, thank you. :-)

What a great (and quite complicated) question! The whole situation is very complex, a lot of moving parts, but it boils down to a few things.

The first thing is the relationship between Paradise and the Court.

The first angel-fae contact was several hundred years ago, near as we can tell, since before Paradise and Pandemonium's ceasefire. Over time, many of the old Court structures had varying stances on the war, with some siding with Heaven and some with Hell - but one of the peculiar features of the Old Court is their respect for Paradise's (arguably similar) hierarchy, along with an appreciation for their likelihood to side with the fae in matters of contract disputes.

See, even while the War was ongoing, demonic contract law was respected by Paradise's courts, even if they didn't like it. Demonic contractual magic is considered nigh unbreakable to Angelic structures, which is why Paradise has courts in the first place. Earth isn't the first world they've battled over, and humans aren't the first mortals both Paradise and Pandemonium have exploited - along with the conventional arms race, they've engaged in a legal magic arms race for millennia. Upon meeting the Fae and establishing diplomatic relationships, both parties (but particularly angels) developed a begrudging respect for the literal-agreement magic the Fae employ as well as their complex system of bindings and geas. Some demonic attorneys are actually trained in lower, mortal, higher, and fae Court law. It's a fascinating topic, if you like contract disputes. I...guess that's why I don't get invited to parties much.

Anyway, this resulted in an ancient agreement called the Empyrean Accords. By an incredibly complex system of syncretistic legal agreements, most living Fae and all Angels still in favor with Paradise are bound by a non-intervention pact coupled with a promise to advise each other in legal matters. Angels are simply not allowed to interfere in fae business, and vice versa, and must take any issues to the aforementioned Higher Court, which can take decades.

If you're ever in hot water with fae you suspect to be of the Old Court, you can ask for your case to be heard by a Higher Court - in most cases they will oblige, and even though Paradise archlegals will often side with the Court, you can buy time that way.

Demons are colloquially called the "lower court," but for a mortal to invoke that right, they'd have to be very, very careful about their next steps.

I stayed late to answer this question because it's a topic I'm interested in! Hope you found it as interesting as I did!

[thesherrinfordfacility]

i know ive had like 16 apoplexies in the last 4 hours but im really raking through the weeds on this one: let's talk ✨angel costumes✨ im going to leave the modern ones alone for a moment, perhaps ill take a look at them later on, but for the moment im essentially going to focus on the job minisode.

so let's go in order of what we would understand is the heaven hierarchy. first up we have lord farquaad gabriel:

key points:

heavy gold collar embellishment

slight gold cuffs

superhero cape

accentuated waistline

purple eyes as per

biggest and Baddest angel around, michael:

key points:

heavy gold collar embellishment

heavier gold cuffs

more noticeable gold makeup accents

my bamf-y bOY:

key points:

(im presuming it might be down to lighting but his costume is noticeably duller on earth, which kinda fits with how his general daily outfit elevates in s1 when he discorporated, but fundamentally retains the same features)

heavy gold collar embellishments

gathered sleeves with heavy gold cuffs

accentuated waistline

snazzy little gather of material on the waist, also embellished in gold

the light of my life, muriel:

key points:

simple gold collar embellishment but embellishment nonetheless

similarly small gold detail on cuffs

some gold makeup accents (i think eyeshadow?)

and these other angels (im going to call them the Sycophant Squad bc why not) in the background:

key points:

similar to muriel; small gold embellishments on collars and cuffs, possibly even less than muriel's, but otherwise unadorned as far as we can tell

(also special shout out that the representation in this show is unparalleled, mad behaviour i love it sm).

so we could attribute aziraphale's costume to him not only being of relatively high rank (when you take into account that there are 10 million angels milling around somewhere) in the GO!angels hierarchy, and to boot he's one of the main characters. but... his angelwear is almost so ornate that it looks like he actually genuinely belongs in the archangel cohort?

ive remarked on it a couple of times but god still seems to be present in heaven in the job narrative compared to 'modern day': The Lighting Change Is Everything. and when you take into account that his costume before the Beginning used to look like this:

the impression i get is that between this point and job, he may have had a promotion? now i get that neil has said before that fashion changes in heaven, but the general themes (however individualistic the costumes are depending on the character) seem to follow the same trend: the more embellishment and detail in their design, the higher the rank.

the above picture of aziraphale and AWCW may well be because it's simply long before job and the fashion was simpler (ie had more important things to do), so i won't double down on it, but i do feel there might be a little something-something there.

in any case, we know that muriel is below the rank of a throne or dominion. neil has said that the angel hierarchy in good omens runs like this, but nothing that explicitly says about thrones or dominions; but from christian angelology (which he said he and terry based their hierarchy iirc, he said in another ask somewhere), they are in the show at least high ranking below seraphim and cherubim, presumably below capital-A-Archangels, and presumably higher than aziraphale, a principality.

neil also alludes in the ask that muriel is one of the lower tiers/choirs; so in this, we have our scales - muriel's dress being the lowest tier, and gabriel's being the highest tier. when we look at aziraphale's dress, it is ornate, and it is Fancy; is this representative of the midpoint in angel attire (ie a principality, more or less), or could it be indicative of a higher rank at the time?

idk where im going with this in particular, but it just seems very strange to me that there would be a two-step system to how the angels dress - that everyone from presumably principality rank and above gets lovely gold things and fancy dress patterns, and then small gold detail but otherwise plain gowns if below a principality. again, might just be that aziraphale is a Main Character, but it's fun to speculate right?✨

[honkowo]

wheeeee figured out a couple of plants for angel homeworld!!!! + a little beast youll find in just about every biome on that damn planet

cherubs are the result of a wild subspecies of angel mixing naturally w a meat car(this was not intentional). cherubs build their nests via ripping up/off whatever plantmatter is available. nestbuilding is a group effort, often involving 30-50 cherubs building elaborate structures in whatever crack, crevice or cave system is available. angels use these guys to teach their children about teamwork & the importance of choir-building(which may or may not involve colourful puppet cherubs lmao).

the 2 plants shown here(1 moreso than the other) are seen most often on angel homeworld. one is a single leathery leaf that joins up with others of its species to create giant colonies of the same plant. angels often uproot them due to the fact that they make climbing cliffsides really fucking difficult(they r both tightly joined together & VERY SLIPPERY). the other plant is a treelike plant that grows inbetween cliffs & large crevices. their stringy bark is favoured by cherubs.

[pieroulette]

#004. whisper ▶ koga yudai.

- one word prompt. / yandere content.

alike the whispers engraved silently on the canvas of the dark night; written all across the stars hanging above them, it bears solitude you were not able to decipher—pulling along the blanket of the cool breeze which slid closer to the back of your neck and crawled across your bare arms, inch by inch.

like icy frost, it stings beneath every layer of your skin—penetrating the blood cells that provide warmth across your entire body system.

yet it bears the remnants of freedom along with it, one that you used to own so bad you'd do everything to have it within the grasp of your hands one more time.

as the silk curtain brushing against your pale cheek wasn't anywhere softer to you, nor the windows showcasing the sublime canvas of the night sky to you does you any good to even wander to the world outside.

because as far as you want to go and reach for the stars hanging high above the canvas—the rusty metal bars plunged in deep below window's concrete before your glossy eyes only did nothing but stirred utter helplessness into your soul.

"you're awake."

a whisper so soft, sickeningly devoid of mercy but at the same time hold a thousand vows of promises to you resonated through your ear, sending waves of alarm that replaced your longing for freedom a few seconds ago.

your interlaced hands grew tighter around your folded knee against your chest, refusing to look at him; those very eyes that held whispers of the border between day and night.

why is he awake? now that he knew you woke up in the middle of the night, in these ungodly hours—where are you now going to seek solace from? a solace away from his eyes, voice, and touch—to pray to the nightsky to keep your sanity intact for one day more.

"ah, you wanted to see the stars?"

you hummed in response, the collection of memories from back those days which was not even far enough yet—were enough to instilled obedience inside you.

approaching you with light steps, the edge of kei's face crept up behind your peripheral vision—illuminated greatly by the vast array of the stars.

"look at me when i talk." he whispered, icy fingers creeping up your neck, grabbing your jaw to met his eyes you very much loathed.

kei brushed the hair strands that were obscuring your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. a tender smile grew on his lips, reaching the rosy shade on his cheek before leaning closer and pressing a deep kiss on your forehead, his bare arms caging your frail form in the process.

you despised his touch.

letting go of the tight hold he had on your jaw, he rested his chin on your forehead after, his lower lip jutting out in a pout as he look out at the scenery you've been dying to keep secret all these times.

"huh, what is even to there look at?"

"just," with your back against his chest, you still held the need to frown at his words. "the stars, they're pretty."

"oh." his throat vibrated clearly through your ears, as a light chuckle followed after. "they aren't as pretty as you, though."

you stayed silent, for a harmless compliment out from his tongue were nothing but laced with whispers of venom; one that had their fangs bitten deeply on every beating soul you've laid your eyes on; your loved ones and people you've met barely for a minute.

all for a love he claimed to be 'innocent'.

innocent he was, and will always be—although only in your memory—engraved with the canvas that held the whispers of an angel resonating from the choirs of the church; a sublime piece that had been crafted with utter attentiveness and passion, melodious and harmonious to the ears, calming one's mind, heart, and soul.

he was your angel, one that you grew to adore and love.

yet those whispers of this serenity he brought with him, came to a total destruction that ended with a sharp crumbling note. slipping in whispers of that you never knew could exist within him. utterly tender he was, that you couldn't help but still refuse to believe in this total tragedy that came upon your angel.

a silent prayer he often sang to the gods was nothing more but a fabricated piece that contains whisper of hell; floating along the bed of the sea—spite, hatred, jealousy, greed, lust, and love.

it came out of nowhere, or atleast the way you thought at first, yet you were proven wrong. as it never came out of nowhere, or that a change that occured within a night.

it came in little doses trailed with whisper of insanity. too little to notice, but once left unattended, can grew into a spiral of chaos.

and that's how he eventually turned to be; a whisper of chao.

the tip of kei's fingers slowly encaged your wrist, leading you back to the comfort of the bed where you've been and will be confined to for everlasting eternal.

resting your head back on the pillow, you refused to be at an intimate position where you could see his face, opting to turn your back against him. yet that didn't deter him from settling in—nestling his face on the back of our neck, relishing himself with your scent he oh so adore, pressing his ears to where he can hear the whispers of your heart, enough to soothe him that his love will always be here, right in his arms creeping around your tummy��pulling you closer and deeper to him.

a breathe of satisfaction escapes his lips.

and a clench emerging from your fingers, digging your thumb beneath your palms as once again, you're back into the monster's embrace.

sleep? you are never going back to sleep, if you could—you would rather have your eyes glued against the ceiling you've seen countless of times, corners you've memorised out of boredom, and the clock on the wall you've counted each passing second—hoping that your heart would stop beating at any point this moment.

"you see,"

you instantly held your breath at the voice of the boy behind you, surprised that he was still awake.

"the stars aren't going anywhere," kei's hand on your tummy reaches your clenched ones, breathing out whispers so tender to your ear. "but if you do, then the stars wouldn't be the last thing you'll ever see again."

a shiver ran down your spine, threatening a sob to emerge from your throat and he was quick to notice with a faint smirk adorning his lips.

from there, his arms reached below your neck, palms on your head to softly caressed your hair all while as he sang whispers of lullaby to hush you back to slumber.

#04112023

[muzzleroars]

Out of curiosity, we know a lot about how the arch angels felt about Lucifer after his fall but what about before? We have a buch of info on Michael but not the others, im particularly curious about Uriel and Raphael since we have the least Info about their relationship and what it was like

this is such good timing bc i've been thinking a lot about uriel and raphael and just how i want them to be developed. lucifer worked closely with the archangels as a unit, as they were meant to be a guiding force for heaven as well as the major interface between humanity and god - where lucifer was to conduct the host as a whole, rule over the seraph choir, and serve as the head priest of god's temple, the archangels would each look after a couple specific choirs under them, as well as eventually interact directly with humans. like i've said, michael was the closest to him due to being the head archangel (meaning he had more responsibility to be taught and a job that aligned closely with lucifer's), but all of the archangels knew lucifer very well and were subject to his mentorship.

lucifer actually had a very particular fascination with uriel's role, holding that uriel may be the most specialized angel in the whole host of heaven for the task he must perform. on uriel's end, he was always reserved with other angels but his infinite questions found a place in lucifer, who had an inquiring mind that many of the others didn't. he assisted uriel in developing his shorthand system (and supplied many, many aides on uriel's behalf that would serve as the book's interpreters as they are unreadable to those who don't study under uriel) and gave him plenty of art lessons, which he regularly uses to illuminate his manuscripts. ultimately the two admired about one another what they themselves did not have - uriel felt the breadth of lucifer's presence and the ability to spread himself so far was as close to god's omnipotence that one could achieve, while lucifer was almost baffled by uriel's ability to remain so laser focused on his singular work that once he began it, he never fell behind in his chronicles (yet he could still speak and even fight if necessary). i do think uriel was probably the first to go off on his own (for lack of a better term), but lucifer kept an eye on him as there was a lot of wrinkles to iron out before he produced his books as seamlessly as he eventually did.

raphael had a personality type that meshed well with much about lucifer's, both of them enraptured by god's creation and wanting to spread that joy to those around them. so raphael greatly looked up to lucifer, but for entirely different reasons than those that michael did - all the seraphim burn with the fire of god, but lucifer's poured out of him in barely controlled exuberances, and raphael found it aspirational. he often attended seraphim lessons and gatherings, which lucifer allowed at first as a curiosity and then as an understanding of raphael's gifts, realizing that even as a cherub raphael had a much gentler spirit. he did not blaze with the passion the seraphim did but he connected to their love of creation, so lucifer taught him all about the natural world god was creating and they spoke endlessly on its wonders (raphael can talk for a LONG time). lucifer was a bit concerned about how raphael would fit in with his fellow cherubim, built largely for combat, but he turned out to be highly durable and took very well to healing which suited him perfectly (and so strengthened both of their beliefs that god can make no mistakes). lucifer was very proud of the angel raphael became, and knew he would be a great mediating force to his siblings with his resilience.

the archangels worked very closely in concert, almost as an individual split into four parts, so they were always very close. before lucifer's fall, their responsibilities were definitely much lesser (no humanity yet and mike's lower position) and they had more time to each other, but that closeness really didn't change until god's death and heaven's fracturing. i know i've talked about gabriel and michael, but i actually think michael was closest with uriel while gabriel was closest with raphael given their personality types - michael is quite introverted and uriel feels very safe with him, while gabe and raph are just SUPER gregarious and outgoing. regardless, they cared deeply for one another and in fact may have become tighter knit after the loss of lucifer, given that they were now sensitive to the concept of loss itself. it was possible, they learned, to have someone taken from you. so michael protected his siblings, gabriel buoyed their morale, raphael tended to any emotional distress, and uriel shared whatever wisdom he could, all to keep each other close. this delicate balance was finally collapsed under the loss of god, tearing apart the archangels to leave them all relatively unstable. i've got a couple simple comics in the works about this from raphael's pov, who really gets left behind and has the most time to really contemplate what's become of them, so i hope i can get the feelings across there since this was a devastating split for each of them.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Teeth Glistened in the Gloom

Large, leathery wings flapped. Every flap thundered with tremendous force. Every flap produced a gale, whipping up chunks of frozen earth and pine.

The pterodactyl screeched again, having mounted its prey on Appalachian soil.

Mischchenko’s arm broke. A bone’s audible crack blended into the cacophony caused by the prehistoric creature. Then the woman’s pained scream joined the choir.

It all happened so fast. In the blink of an eye, their relief over having survived a swarm of mutant insects was erased by the big winged beast attacking them.

Both Chloe Grant and Valentín Ruiz acted on pure instinct. Former soldiers, drilled and disciplined as they were, they responded in kind to the animal’s brute force. The futuristic, silvery rifles in their hands flared up, discharging electric blasts. The EMD batteries whined after every shot.

One, two, three, with a deliberate delay before the fourth blast. Grant and Ruiz pelted the pterodactyl, causing it to stagger and stumble, backing off its prey while its body jiggled and jittered from the havoc the EMD’s were wreaking upon its muscles and nervous system.

Mischchenko was crawling away from the animal as the shots landed, and the beast reeled.

Then, like a dark angel, the menacing silhouette of a second pterodactyl swooped down upon them from the mist and the treetops.

Their EMD rifles had been set to low power output, to conserve energy and slow the onslaught of the insect swarm prior. Now, those settings were too low to incapacitate either pterodactyl outright. As Carter once put it, until they readjusted settings, the two field operatives were currently wielding glorified cattle prods.

The winged dinosaur on the ground shook its head, as if to regain its bearings in a very human fashion. It was far from unconscious, only somewhat stunned, and that sensation would wear off soon.

Its wings spread with a menacing span, matching that of the one swooping down.

All in the blink of an eye.

How was it that time ever stretched into infinity when things were unbearably slow, while being contracted into painful shortness whenever pressure was at its worst, and the danger overbearing?

Ruiz was caught off-guard, busy adjusting his rifle to maximum output. Grant saved his hide by taking a potshot at the second pterodactyl, in the split-second before it could pounce on him in its crashing descent.

This, too, was not enough to stop the beast outright. It wasn’t even enough to change its trajectory. The only good thing that came from her shot was how it alerted Ruiz to the pterodactyl in the nick of time.

He ducked. Shouted in pain. His EMD rifle went flying in a different direction than the creature as it curved back upwards with another mighty flap of its wings, another gale from the leathery thunderclap. The pterodactyl had winged him, but he had been more fortunate than Mischchenko, emerging from the hit without any broken bones.

Mischchenko’s crawling had taken her to retrieve her own EMD rifle. Unfortunately, her now broken right arm afforded her only poor aim. The shot she took at the ascending pterodactyl missed, singing the firs around their clearing.

Ruiz dove for his rifle while Grant carefully lined up a shot at the same time. The pterodactyl’s deadly shadow circled high above in the fog.

He pulled the trigger first, fast. Then he uttered a string of profanities—as sparks flew from his EMD instead of a shot, and the weapon fizzled and crackled with electricity from its short-circuiting. The dinosaur had damaged it on impact, rather than breaking his bones.

“Ground team, come in,” Pruitt spoke on the radio. Alarm shook his voice. “We lost you there for a while, what’s going on down there? Over.”

Too high and far away to understand the gravity and danger of their situation, and too distant to offer them any immediate help, answering Pruitt needed to wait.

And Grant was too high on adrenaline, too driven to survive.

Where Mischchenko missed and Ruiz was prevented from shooting altogether, she shot the flying pterodactyl. Her rifle still only had the output of a cattle prod.

The flying dinosaur therefore flinched. Once, twice, then it screeched in a pitch so high as to pierce the heavens above the wintry Appalachian forest, while completing another circle with another flap of its thundering wings.

“We need backup,” Ruiz spat in response, “Mischchenko needs evac on the double, and Spencer fucking needs to hire more personnel! Over, motherfucker!”

More shots from Grant’s EMD caused the flying creature to circle around with another angry flap of its wings, and it served to draw its ire. Yet another circle, and it screeched again.

She felt that screech, deep down, shaking the marrow in her bones, and curdling her blood.

The pterodactyl was not deterred. Its killer instinct had focused on her.

And the other one on the ground, it flapped its wings again—no longer so stunned, it responded to the flying one’s screech, and spread its wings, preparing to pounce—

Grant ran. She ran to Doctor Solomon’s Anomaly locking device.

She wasn’t thinking clearly, but could imagine no other way. She punched in the three-digit security code, and the device’s locking system shut down.

The nearby basketball-sized floating orb exploded into a big sphere of glittering light. It chimed mysteriously, slowly rotating, inches above the ground… the Anomaly once more connecting two periods in time.

The portal of the Anomaly was once again open.

Worst case scenario, even worse things could now come through. The mutant insect swarm could potentially return. Maybe the ancient warrior covered in blood, with the mutant beast chasing him, would dash through. Maybe a raging wooly mammoth would arrive, or perhaps a hungry T-Rex.

Best case scenario, Grant was going to send these dinosaurs elsewhere.

Elsewhen.

She shot at the pterodactyl in the air, then at the one on the ground, alternating between her EMD’s shots at them both. One, two, three, and a fourth shot to fully anger both “big birds”, drawing their attention towards her.

It worked without fail.

The shadow in the misty sky flew at her with deadly trajectory. The other made two leaping bounds, frozen grounds crunching after every jump. Both screeched in unison as they descended and lunged.

She had already turned. Ran.

Right into the open Anomaly. She dove into the shimmering sphere and tumbled down a sandy hill—

A sandy hill?

What had happened? A minute prior, this side of the Appalachian Anomaly had been a grassy hill near an idyllic beach in an undetermined era.

The crossroads of Anomalies, with dozens over dozens of Anomaly spheres, still hovered all above the ground here, now…

But the environment had changed. A different biome welcomed Grant on this side of the Anomaly.

She had no time to dwell on this new phenomenon. Grant had witnessed such a shift or paradox before—history changing in the blink of an eye—simply by traveling back and forth through another Anomaly. Airlift pilot Sears had entirely ceased to exist the last time it happened, and only she remembered him ever having existed.

In the new here and now, Grant rolled down the sandy dune of a hill, with neither grass nor ocean in sight. Only dust and bleached stone and cracked earth surrounded her in this new Crossroads of Anomalies.

She grunted at the final impact of her rolling descent when she crashed into a boulder and it knocked the wind out of her lungs. Further robbing her breath, a gale swept over her as one pterodactyl flew over her on this side of the Anomaly, its wings spread with frightening majesty. The other stumbled past her, then tumbled down the other side of the dune as it lost its footing after its leap through the Anomaly, emitting a pained screech when it fell with as little grace as Grant had.

The other already began circling, high above the glittering spheres of the manyfold Anomalies here.

Time froze for Grant. The look she took at her environs was short-lived yet rich in detail.

A jagged rock jutted out of the sand near the Anomaly they had crossed through. A chunk of it was broken off, dragged down with the pterodactyl that had tripped over it.

And the trails they both left in the dune’s sands pointed her in the direction of the Anomaly. Her only way back home. The trails would help tremendously in choosing the right way to go.

Time was no longer frozen and she needed to act.

Pain flared up all over her body from her many falls. The pain only centered her and spurred her on, granting her greater speed. She ran for another Anomaly—any would do, really—but she chose one that flagged in its chimes, with a flickering light that faded in and out as its stability waned.

A Flicker.

A deadly stunt to be sure, as it could trap her with the pterodactyls in a time stranded beyond humanity, but it was the only way she saw to keep these two dinosaurs out of her town time.

She charged into the Flicker, not even wasting time to check if the pterodactyls continued their pursuit of her. She gambled on it. Needed to act quickly. That Flicker could close any moment now.

She crossed the flickering, blinding light into another time.

With a pounding heart, and gasping desperately for breath, she barely managed to take in any thorough glimpse of her new environment, this new world.

Its apocalyptic vision would haunt her with nightmares beyond nightmares.

A city of ruins. Empty buildings, missing all windows, surrounded her. The street she stood on was only recognizable as such from the rusted husks of overgrown cars dotting its length.

Everything in this era was blanketed with creeping vines, and lush with abundant green. And utterly devoid of all human life wherever she could see. This was a world, a time after people.

Grant scrambled away from the glowing sphere, and without fail, one pterodactyl flew through the Anomaly, chasing her into this apocalyptic future. Its flight corrected course before it threatened to crash into a crumbling wall, swerving upwards into a dreary gray sky at the last second.

She clambered up half a wall and rolled through a window. Remnants of glass shards cracked and crunched where she landed.

The other pterodactyl followed, now flying again. It screeched—no longer in pain—but with wrath ringing in its piercing tone.

The hunter’s wrath.

Grant ducked behind the wall, staying in cover, knowing very well the first pterodactyl would locate her and pounce if she made one wrong move.

The Flicker flickered. Her heart skipped a beat. The Flicker was about to close, and she needed to dive back out, and run for it, across the overgrown street, underneath the pterodactyls circling above.

Then something howled. A blood-curdling howl, more terrifying than the two pterodactyls’ screeching in its sound.

Grant had heard it before… in the other wasteland past another Anomaly of the Crossroads. In that barren, ghastly wasteland, even more apocalyptic than these city ruins.

She had no intention of finding out what kind of future mutant creature could make such a sound.

The Flicker flickered again. Almost collapsed. The Anomaly was on the verge of closing.

Counting the breaths she suppressed, she waited till a silent number five crossed her mind, then she made her move. No second too soon, as her fear came true, and she witnessed the creature that had howled its horrific howl in these apocalyptic times.

Spindly limbs displayed uncanny strength, supporting a powerful and muscular body. Its every digit ended in deadly claws, piercing the very stone of the wall above her, roosting on the ledge, and capable of leaping down. Everything of this mutant’s body screamed one message clearly: it could and would tear her limb from limb if it caught up to her.

A strange, gray-splotched head with too many unblinking eyes crowned the future mutant’s slender frame, and a maw of jagged teeth, like a sawblade, opened.

Those teeth glistened in the gloom.

Grant glimpsed this future predator only long enough before new hell and chaos broke loose. It leapt—not at her, but at one of the pterodactyls circling above the building’s crumbling wall. It leapt with such staggering force that the two creatures crashed into a wall on the other side of the overgrown street.

And the other pterodactyl screeched in response, high above, kept out of Grant’s sight by the canyon of crumbling, overgrowing city blocks.

The Flicker flickered. The Anomaly’s subtle chimes faded.

She would not stay to witness more, to learn more. In the shadows beyond a broken wall, the future predator flew with feral ferociousness as its claws mangled the pterodactyl’s flailing wings. Blood sprayed everywhere. They screeched and shrieked and howled and thrashed.

Grant fled. She ran towards the Flicker. It flickered and blinded her as she ran through it, back through the Anomaly.

Black spots clouded her vision, but a wave of relief washed over her as her environment had changed. The Flicker flickered, the Anomaly collapsed behind her.

The relief died as the Flicker’s chimes were snuffed out with its vanished light.

She no longer stood in a desert among the Crossroads of Anomalies.

“Fuck!” she yelled into the void of this new world.

Trees swallowed any echo.

No longer grassy hills by an unknown ocean, nor was she standing among a desert’s barren dunes, either.

She stood in a jungle, teeming with life, and glowing with the light of the dozens of Anomalies all around. The Crossroads persisted, but the world had changed again.

Almost drowning out the chiming sounds from the glowing Anomalous spheres, chirping, chittering, and rustling assaulted her senses. Her heart almost leapt from her chest as she dreaded the return of the mutant insect swarm. Though the Flicker had separated her from the future predator and the pterodactyls, all manner of new danger awaited her here, now.

Nearby, another Anomaly flickered, then closed. Her heart skipped another beat, a dreadful reminder that she may become stranded in this everchanging Crossroads.

Certain death, by all her accounts.

There were no trails in the sand to guide her, no jagged rock.

Between the trees of this fresh green hell, she glimpsed no clues as to where to go.

Time froze again. Despair awaited.

Before despair could overwhelm her, a familiar figure stepped through an Anomaly. Though the helmet on his head concealed his face, she recognized his movements, his shape: Valentín Ruiz stood in the jungle, emerging from an Anomaly. He waved to her and shouted.

“Come on!”

She did exactly that.

Grant pushed past dense foliage, nearly tripping here and there, and followed Ruiz through the blinding light. She stumbled back into the Appalachian forest.

No longer were these woods foggy. Fir trees almost glowed in bright sunlight.

“God damn, am I glad you made it!” Ruiz said, EMD rifle in hand. The weapon didn’t look damaged anymore. To Mischchenko, he waved and then shouted, “Quick, lock it down!”

Mischchenko punched in the three-digit security code, and the spiky orb topping Solomon’s device clicked and clacked and reconfigured its form, aligning to seal the Anomaly. The glittering sphere of the chiming Anomaly froze, then collapsed, shrinking back into the basketball-sized orb, floating immobile, several feet off the ground.

The generator chugged, the Anomaly Locking Device hummed, and the other—

This place, this time—it too, had changed.

A sinking feeling brought Grant’s stomach low, and the world started spinning around her with an incoming onslaught of sudden nausea.

More Future Proof agents surrounded them. Unfamiliar figures. Since when did they have so many operatives to field? Dozens of spotlights were set up, other generators hooked up to power this new camp. Silvery tents had been pitched in a matter of time impossible for the short amount of time Grant had been away in the Crossroads to shake the pterodactyls, and dozens of researchers in winter jackets and Future Proof ID cards clipped to their chests now swarmed this camp that had seemingly sprung up out of nowhere.

And Mischchenko’s arm… it wasn’t broken. She had used her broken arm to operate the Anomaly Locking Device, as if the pterodactyl had never broken her arm. Mischchenko extended her now-healed-or-never-before-broken arm—to point at Grant.

“A round of applause for Agent Grant! That was one hell of a stupid move! But a bold one, and I can’t say I ain’t glad it worked out.”

Half a dozen black-armored Future Proof agents lifted their EMD rifles, no longer aiming at Grant and the Anomaly.

Grant didn’t know what to say.

Was the very fabric of time unraveling all around her?

[yourdeepestfathoms]

So I have a head cold at the moment, I’m immunocompromised, may we get some sick chaos choir headcannons pretty please with a few sprinkles on top?

-✨

of course! hope you feel better, anon! 💕

Okay, so we all know Ocean basically has no immune system and Always Gets Sick

But Penny has an immune system of pure IRON

Homegirl NEVER gets sick

Nobody knows what the hell kind of vitamins and CBD oils she was being given at Elysium Farm, but she’s like a Barbarian that chose Totem Warrior as its sub-class. Immune to basically EVERYTHING (except Psychic damage lol)

Also, Ricky has a weak immune system

He and Ocean are sick buddies!

Noel is the overdramatic sick person

Noel: I’m dying!

Constance: You have a cold

Ocean 🤝 Noel - Not wanting to ever blow their nose because it’s embarrassing

Meanwhile, Mischa will, no fear. And he sounds like a goddamn TRUMPET

“And this is why I refuse to blow my nose in front of you people” -Noel (with Ocean nodding at his side)

Constance will make soup for people who get sick!!

And that soup is like it’s made by ANGELS

If God is real, some of his holy essence is in that soup

That soup will make Noel religious

It’s just really good okay

Once when Constance got sick, the others decided that they would make HER soup!

It, uh

Well

It certainly was a liquid-based food that they made

So none of them knew the recipe (it’s a secret), so they tried to wing it

That didn��t work

They used Way Too Much chicken broth, so it tasted kinda chemically for some reason (based on when I attempted to make egg drop soup, used too much chicken broth, and it tasted like a chicken marinated in cleaning chemicals…with eggs)

They didn’t have the noodles Constance usually used, so they used spaghetti noodles 😭

Halfway through, they were like “this isn’t gonna work,” ditched the soup (didn’t throw it away, though, because that would be a waste), and decided to make something else

Mischa suggested porridge!

Easy peasy!

Except it was not easy, and it was not, in fact, peasy

Constance can hear the choir’s shouts of dismay from her bedroom

Noel and Penny had to rush to interfere with her when she came out of her room to see what’s going on

“No, no, everything is fine!” “Yeah, everything is fine! Go back to bed! We got it all under control!” “OW, I JUST BURNED MY FREAKING HAND!!”

It was a mess (literally)

Okay, okay, away from that!

Other various headcanons for the choir while sick!

So we all know that Ocean will REFUSE to rest when she’s sick until she’s either forced to rest or passes out

Mischa is kinda the same way, but not as severe

He just doesn’t like being seen as “weak” because of his whole Tough Guy persona

He doesn’t mind the other kids taking care of him, though! However, he WILL roll his eyes and act like he doesn’t care (he cares immensely)

Meanwhile, Noel will tuck himself in bed like a sickly Victorian child when he just has a little fever

Ocean will do the choir’s work if they’re too sick to do it themselves (she doesn’t mind, it gives her something to do)

Constance encourages everyone to get a lot of rest when they’re sick!

On the other hand, Penny will message the sick person wanting to play Pool on Game Pigeon to keep them busy

[nerves-nebula]

If you want a peek into my twisted psyche, I have 2 tags for funny things. The first one was #meme, but then I found things that were funny but didn’t really fit the definition of a meme and instead of just shrugging and using meme as my funny things tag, I invented a SEPARATE tag, #funny, on such occasions that I might find something funny that isn’t a meme. I often use both of these at the same time. There was no reason to do this beyond my own little neurotic choir of angels telling me it’s weird to tag non memes as #meme.

I sometimes think about all these little systems I have set in place, and I worry that there would be no way to figure them out again if I like, got amnesia or something.

[thefiresontheheight]

“A lot of idealists, syndicalists, you all like to imagine that the big interstellar corps are something imposing order on you. No better than the petty dictatorships of the Psmanthic Choir or the Angelic Kingdoms. Top down. Imposition.

“But when the core worlds need something, a new starship built, space elevators, transcendant ethertech, how are they going to do that? The factory in System Fall is already there, planning the next resort station dozens, hundreds of periods before the raw material will even be mined.

“Imagine space. No, really imagine. We’ve mapped close to a million points connecting the known universe. Probably only a scant sliver of what is out there. Different galaxies, Freetraveler. And still that factory is relying on the mines out past the Scarlett Abyss. Do you think just anyone could coordinate interstellar commerce? Supply chains that bridge teralightperiods, across fucking time itself. No. The corps that emerged were just the ones that did it best.

“You imagine us as this external thing. But the truth is its the workers in System Fall, the miners in the Scarlett Abyss, the people on that resort that allow us to coordinate those under our control. Because we bring order. We allow civilization to span those distances. That’s what the corps do, Freetraveler. We aren’t the problem. We’re just the most efficient solution.”

[deceasedchoir]

system name / name and pronoun suggestions for ame chan from needy streamer overload

fem / masc / andro

web pack ៸៸ internet playground ៸៸ idol collective ៸៸ k-Angel system ៸៸ landmine choir ៸៸ sad girl collective ៸៸ it girl brigade ៸៸ singing / dancing / stream(ing) cloud ៸៸ member hoard ៸៸ yandere troupe

aria ៸៸ isla ៸៸ zoe ៸៸ anika ៸៸ zara ៸៸ kia ៸៸ kiane ៸៸ stella ៸៸ melia ៸៸ eloise ៸៸ freya ៸៸ seraphina ៸៸ wren ៸៸ genesis ៸៸ zuri ៸៸ valentine ៸៸ august ៸៸ channing ៸៸ wynn ៸៸ river ៸៸ phoenix ៸៸ rowan ៸៸ sailor / saylor ៸៸ xavier ៸៸ cain ៸៸ zayden ៸៸ emerson ៸៸ jodie ៸៸ taylen ៸៸ bentley ៸៸ desmond ៸៸ bennett ៸៸ graves ៸៸ elliott ៸៸ jasper ៸៸ beau

💄 / 💄៸៸ bomb / bombs ៸៸ 🎵 / 🎶 ៸៸ praise / praises ៸៸ web / webs ៸៸ angel / angels ៸៸ magic / magics ៸៸ 💉 / 💉 ៸៸ idol / idols ៸៸ moon / moons ៸៸ landmine / landmines ៸៸ it / its ៸៸ sing / sings ៸៸ 💻 / 💻 ៸៸ 🎤 / mics ៸៸ halo / halos ៸៸ fear / fears ៸៸ halo / halos ៸៸ 📸 / 🎥

[carlosjijonwrites]

Only God Was Above Us Review

Alternative rock is almost synonymous with loud distortion. It’s a classic staple of the genre that allows bands to bring energy and emotion to their recordings. And although Vampire Weekend has been one of the more successful indie bands of the last few decades, they have always refrained from this practice. Since their debut in 2008, their electric guitars have sported clean tones and their sound has always been more bright than anything else. But that all changes in Only God Was Above Us, the group's latest release. In their fifth full-length LP, the band fills their songs with heavily distorted guitars and noisy synths. And interestingly, what they add to the music is not fierce emotion, but an atmosphere of chaos. 

The album’s second track, “Classical,” is crowded with all sorts of loud, dissonant sounds. Even the acoustic guitar sounds dirty, somehow. Still, it never comes off as a heavy rock song. Instead, the loud elements create an air of confusion and eeriness. The most surprising part is that this is all paired up with tender melodies and delicate piano sounds. It results in a sense of tumultuous beauty that’s present in the whole record. 

It’s a sound that fits well with the themes of the album, which are unapologetically bleak. When it was released, the band’s frontman Ezra Koenig shared a message in which he said the record was “kinda heavy” and it’s easy to understand what he meant. Vampire Weekend has tackled dark themes before, but Only God Was Above Us goes to much darker places. Just look at the lyrics of “The Surfer,” which casually mention “broke bodybuilders crushed beneath the weight” and “inept long-distance runners losing every race.” “Classical” gets into how, with time, even the most horrible acts can become normalized and even glorified. “How the cruel with time becomes classical,” sings Koenig before jumping into an apocalypse-themed chorus section.

And it all concludes with “Hope,” the ambitious, folk-inspired, 8-minute closing track. In it, the band explores tragedies of all sorts, going from corrupt justice systems and naive self-deception to backpacks falling onto the train tracks and everything in between. “The phoenix burned but did not rise”/ “The righteous rage was foolish pride.” And what’s the song’s response to all this dysfunction? Resignation. The lyrics suggest that the world is unfixable and that “the enemy is invincible,” so the answer is to just learn to let go. The lyrics make this point with unmissable clarity. Every verse ends with the words “I hope you let it go” and the chorus is a constant repetition of that same line.

It’s more than “kinda heavy,” I would say, but it’s accompanied by an unrelenting energy and a tongue-in-cheek sense of humor that prevents it from ever becoming depressing. The album’s third track, “Capricorn,” is definitely sad, but it also contains an air of playful self-deprecation that makes it fun and exciting. In the second verse, the singer complains about being “alone and wounded” only to immediately add “but in my prime.” My favorite song on the record, “Pravda,” uses dark humor in a similar way. The lyrics describe a person with an almost comically desperate desire to go away. To make this clear, every verse ends with the phrase “I’m leaving at the rising of the Moon,” even when it doesn’t really make sense. Like in the final section, the narrator reminisces about a job they once had selling ties at Penn Station only to cut themselves off midway and remind us that they, in fact, are leaving at the rising of the Moon. 

I’ve talked about the noisy synths for a while now, but that is just one element in an album that’s honestly chock-full of creativity and fun. The song “Mary Boone” mixes angelical choirs with upbeat hip hop rhythms and “Connect” features one of the craziest, most psychedelic piano sections I’ve ever heard in a pop song. And even with its dark lyrics about false prophets and matadors being killed by raging bulls, the main piano riff in “Hope” is just so catchy.

Can’t help but get the feeling that Vampire Weekend is alienating their audience somewhat with their incessant experimentation. The weird-sounding electric guitars and deafening synths will surely turn many people off. It almost feels like dissonance-core, to be honest, and I can picture more than one person thinking that “Capricorn” would have worked better without all the dinosaur sounds in the mix. Not to mention the hyper-local New York references about “Grant’s tomb” and commuting from New Jersey might come off as obnoxious to some. I have always admired how the band has maintained their bold artistic approach even though it’s constantly being met with skepticism by mass audiences and hardcore fans alike. Just gotta let it go, I guess.