Loved You Once

In which MC (You) finally came back from the past, but everything has changed and it is not what Mammon expected.

🪷╎a n g s t

🪷╎v e r y s e l f - i n d u l g e n t w r i t i n g

⚠️╎mentions of pregnancy , takes place in Nightbringer.

Finally, home. At last.

Your eyes brimmed with tears as you stood in the middle of the common room. Without a doubt, this is the right timeline. The huge crack on the wall was hardly unnoticeable, and if you are correct, that was made four years ago when the brothers made a ruckus, and Lucifer had to patch the wall himself. More than anything, you felt your pacts. The familiar warmth and restlessness that comes with it. The tears only fell incessantly when the doors opened with force, revealing a disheveled Mammon, followed by the eldest and then the rest of his brothers.

"MC...!" Mammon, of course, was the first to run and cage you in his embrace, his whole body trembling and his eyes red with tears he's already shed just a few hours ago soon as he woke up. He only pulls away to check on you to see if you're hurt anywhere or if you are completely intact. Upon his unfiltered worry, you giggled, a sound that immediately drowned all of the demons in his head. Feeling a little more reassured, he once again reached out, wanting to bask in your warmth that he lost four years ago without any trace. Just as he was to bury his head into your neck, he heard a strange sound. It is a very subtle and miniscule noise that soon became a ringing noise in his ears.

And then it hit him.

It is a heartbeat. A heartbeat of someone yet to be born.

Slowly, his eyes trailed from the shine of your eyes to your lips and finally to your belly. It's hardly noticeable, but there is a certain roundness. And his ears, that of a demon, cannot be mistaken.

You're pregnant.

Immediately, his arms fell limp into his sides. As if life was sucked out of him. His eyes dragging to a certain sorcerer standing just behind you. Not too close to seem disrespectful but not too far to not hold you. It is as if Solomon is guarding you, not like the usual. He's telling everyone in this room—he's telling him that you are his. Telling him that you chose him and not him. Mammon knew this so damn well. After all, he used to do it too back then when you were his; or at least, he thought so. But now, he lost the one thing he's ever known. Lost the first and only thing he could proudly call his. All this time, he thought you would stay like that forever—that your name will always be followed by his and his will always be followed by yours.

MC and Mammon... it was always like that. Always inseparable. Even you have said it before, 'soulmates'. But now he couldn't even utter a word for it.

So he went and looked at his brothers, his eyes pleading for someone to speak, but it shocked him to see them reflect his face; heartbroken relieved, betrayed... lovesick. He didn't have time to think earlier to wonder why his brothers had not approached you, but now he sees it. They must've noticed this before he did. He was the only fool who went running to you, expecting that everything would be the same as it was before you were taken away from him. The sole fool who believed you love him more than anything in the world. The human, his human who knew him the best more than his brothers will ever do.

Maybe he can steal you away? He'll give you anything—the world if you like. He would love your baby like it's his! You'd never want anything else!

Just one word from you... he just needs a single "yes" and he'll take you away from here. But your hand slowly reached for Solomon's. Even at a time like this, you knew what was in his mind and right now, you're telling him "no".

"You love him." He spoke. It wasn't a question, Mammon knew, just like everyone in this room. But as the fool that he is, he needed to hear it from you.

"I do..." You uttered, and when he stepped back, your hands desperately held into him. He fought hard not to slap your hands away, fought so hard not to cling on them and beg for you. So he did what he could, he gently pried it off him. "Listen Mammon–"

That time, Mammon swallowed all the love he had for you. For the sake of himself and his brothers, who could only witness as his heart break into a thousand tiny shards. Beyond any repair.

"Go back to the Human World. I don't want to see you ever again, " he fell back, "And don't even come near to my brothers."

And that was the last time he ever saw you.

Rae! This is not really a get to know the blogger anonymously, but I still have the moment you dropped Loved You Once in my head.

The song that inspired the fic still sits with me. I remember reading it late into the night when you first dropped it. Every time that some comes into my shuffle I think of your fic.

BABE WOW -- I was JUST thinking about this fic the other day and how much I missed writing for Angel y Frida and how I have this mostly-finished engagement!AU fic for them that I never was able to finish before my inspiration just left the building... I will regularly listen to Cara Mae's entire EP just because the vibes are there.

Anyways, this made my entire day, nay, my entire month -- so would you like a snippet of it?

The premise was that she and Angel travel to Oakland to celebrate one of Frida's friends' engagements, and it spurs Angel to kinda... get a move on already.... please enjoy below the cut!

Warmth, not the scorching red miasma of chaos, but the smooth, simmering heat of silken passion entangling the both of you. Angel presses himself as far into you as he can, nevermind that the thin, starchy hotel sheet has long-since been kicked to the floor, his legs are tangled enough with yours without it. You twist in his arms, coming to face him like the sun greeting a brand new day, Angel's eyes already open and gazing into yours once you've settled. You could stay like this forever. Admiring everything about your Angelito until the world ceases to turn. Made to be admired in perpetuity, your muse. You adored the map of creases that crossed Angel's proud forehead, an indicator of a lifetime of emotion pressed there. You adored the way his brow furrows in the early light of the morning, awake but not-quite.  You adored the peaking bridge of his nose, and the way it draws your eyes to the fullness of his lips. Mostly, you adored his eyes. The windows to the soul of a man who wouldn't bare it to just anyone. The tilt of Angel's head, the lighting overhead, all causing the color of his eyes to swirl and change, a kaleidoscope of feeling. In some light, the dark of night, Angel's eyes were oil -- slick and mirthless. In the apex of the evening's golden hour, his eyes were coffee -- warm, comforting and smooth. In the soft, cottony orange of morning, Angel's eyes were honey -- sparkling, crystalline, saccharine gold.  You allowed a soft sigh to escape your lips as you took in the sight of Angel in the morning light, raising your hand to softly trace a finger over the curve of his lips.  "Could you see it?" You looked up at Angel through your lashes, chin resting on his shoulder, and pressing your lips along with your intentions into his neck. "A future together?" Angel made a warm, humming noise in his throat, blinking slowly in contemplation as he felt your wan, starry gaze on him.  Of course he could, he thought. No question. Instead, he followed your question with one of his own: "Could you?" He spoke softly, cautiously. The feelings of infectious affectation that had permeated the evening of arduous celebration was hard to ignore. Maybe it would be best to have this conversation when you both weren't so inundated with amor. You smiled at Angel, sparkling teeth and comforting, cinnamon warmth.  "Smooth, Angelito," you teased gently, before emitting a soft exhale. "I don't know what the future holds. I don't pretend to. But what I do know is that if my future holds you, then I'm happy with it. Whatever it may be."

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

"But if college was free, then people would abuse that and get useless degrees" hell yeah I would! If I could go to college without debt I would make it my job to get a degree in every little thing that interested me. I'd get a doctorate in film studies. I'd have a bachelor's degree for every science I like. I'd try to learn at least 5 languages with varying results. I would learn something "useful" like coding and then follow it up with a ""useless"" degree like art history. I'd be the world record speed run holder for getting every degree possible.

But I can't afford college without going into massive debt, so instead I spent the last 5 years trying to figure out what I am passionate enough about to consider going into debt over, because unfortunately being passionate about everything is extremely expensive to pursue.

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

what if there was a plague doctor that was so so so cute (and was also secretly a bird themself)

Michael Afton let his FNAF trauma slip again…

i got an ao3 comment a while ago saying how it was "uncomfortable" and "out of character" for bruce to use terms of endearment and nicknames towards his kids in fics. which proves to me that some people have truly rotted minds, but also that you've never picked up a batman comic. so, here are some nice panels that show it is very much in character.

sweetheart:

Batman (1940) #452

honey:

Batman (1940) #318 & Batman/Grendel (1993) #2

little one:

Batman and Robin (2011) #22

lad:

Detective Comics (1937) #573 & #574

chum:

Detective Comics (1937) #570 & Superman Annual (1985) #11

good boy:

Robin & Batman (2021) #3

ITS OUT UPDATE 1.6

TIME TO ROMANCE THE EMO MOTORCYCLE BF ONCE MORE

*chugs mayo violently*

kamala khan would have the most horrendous ao3 author's notes known to man

"hey guys sorry the update is late i switched places with an avenger (ajdgrhsh literally crying) and a really cool space scientist lady and then got into a fight and some alien dudes wrecked my house and then I met Nick fury and I was literal space it was crazy and I had to help save the universe and saw said scientist lady give up her life to save all of us... anyways hope you like the new fic, branching out with an arranged marriage au for this one!!!"

I have been working on this piece for AGES aajsdfjkndf AUGH

I just! I just want Wally frog catching with his bestie to exist into the world dang it!!!! The idea of him slowly catching frogs and running straight to Barnaby to show him is one of my favorite things to think about. Now I can beam such an idea into yalls mind with the power of art I spent too much time on

but it ain’t called love without a little tragedy 🍁

⭐️ Loved you once

I’ll take any breadcrumbs you have, cause it’s one of my favs and I love Frida.

OOOH, my lovely Arte -- I'm ALWAYS down to talk about LYO. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

One of the questions i often got at the end was -- "Who was on the phone? Was it Angel or Christopher?" I always envisioned it as Christopher. That he and Frida date for a while and she gets to experience a healthy, confidence-building relationship. But that she and Angel build back an understanding and terms of respect for one another. Whether they eventually end up together? I'd like to leave up to the reader. (In my heart, I want it so desperately ... but he was awfully cruel). I always liked Coco and Frida's chemistry but thought within the LYO-verse, he would never make a move out of respect for the both of them and his friendships with both of them. I STILL want to write an AU with Frida y Coco. They were a surprising favorite part for readers, which made me SO happy.

The scene of Angel and Frida in part two eating peanut butter cups on the couch after he'd come over and done sheet masks with her was one of my favorite things I've ever written. I'm a sucker for soft domesticity and I wanted to just bask in that moment of their relationship forever.

For my engagement!AU where Angel proposes to Frida, he'd had one of her little poems from one of her sticky notes tattooed to his chest. And he has to keep it from her until he's ready to show her and pop the question (with a ring, and a planned picnic and everything.) But in the days leading up to their date, Frida is ever-suspicious that Angel hasn't taken his shirt off in front of her in a while in an attempt to hide the tattoo. When she confronts EZ about it, he's classic EZ (he knows what Angel is plannign, but still has to cover for him, and chooses to deflect):

EZ wrinkled his nose in over-dramatic disgust. "I don't want to hear about my brother stripping down, no offense, hermanita." "You're of no help, Ezekiel."

director's cut -- fanfic asks

FUNK TROLLS SAVE ME

"For a moment or two I could see nothing, as the shadow of a cloud obscured St. Mary’s Church and all around it. Then as the cloud passed I could see the ruins of the abbey coming into view; and as the edge of a narrow band of light as sharp as a sword-cut moved along, the church and the churchyard became gradually visible. Whatever my expectation was, it was not disappointed, for there, on our favourite seat, the silver light of the moon struck a half-reclining figure, snowy white."

Mina and Lucy in the kirkyard at Whitby, August 11th.