OM! HCs (P2)

OM! HCs (P2)

(again, consisting only of these mfing musings)

Mammon has scars on his back from Lucifer's punishments

And a fear of heights from being strung up from the ceiling

Demonus is just moldy caprisun. I said what i said. (implying that demons can get high off human world sugar?)

Lucifer's favorite shape is a rectangle (idk it suits him)

Barbatos sleeps like a sickly Victorian child who won't make it through the winter (when he can sleep)

Belphegor was pretty jealous of Satan right after the fall because, y'know, youngest child and all that (i think this one is canon in one of belphie's devilgrams?? idk)

Meanwhile, MC to Lucifer:

MC's the actual Daddy Dom of the series.

drawing random peoples obey me signatures

mammon, mammon mammon mammon mammon, mam mammon mammon?

:3

do you guys think that mammon and beelzebub can both resonate with the feeling of being empty?

of never having enough?

perhaps the reason they reach for one more Grimm, one more bite is not just their sin(s), but also the overwhelming urge to feel satisfied for once?

to not have their insides writhing with the agony of being incomplete?

or is it just me?

Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6

~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~

Julian

The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs

The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks

The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves

The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple

The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee

Asra

The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump

The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway

The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame

The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours

The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication

Nadia

The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat

The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics

The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone

The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders

The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration

Muriel

The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat

The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke

The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches

The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew

The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness

Portia

The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear

The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries

The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug

The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush

The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure

Lucio

The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat

The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne

The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand

The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps

The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings