#gabriel's inspiration was the dust devil (which i spent a good ten minutes laughing about) but also tornadoes in general

[setevulpo]

i was thinking about the archangels and how fucked up being possessed by one of them would be and this was created. headcanons on what each (non-bloodline) vessel would go through while possessed! bon appétit

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michael

their vessel runs hot, grace a constant thrum under the skin that imitates a heartbeat well enough for those unaware not to notice. the blue glow that takes over their eyes upon the slightest provocation calms only when their enemies are on the ground, enochian seared into what’s left of their skin once the light dies down.

the heat that follows them shapes the air into wings too big for the space they’re in, even in the most expansive fields earth has. they have to watch out when stepping on grass, or stretching their wings too far into the trees, or fire will follow them too.

eventually it starts to burn, whatever body they’re in. the grace running through its veins turns closer to lava with each passing day, flares deep inside its chest and expands down to its hands when their anger rises. bruises showing up in blues no matter how old they are, burns in its skin hot to the touch.

a smell of fire and smoke follows them when they leave the vessel, and they set ablaze anything in their path on the way to a new body. the largest fires are caused by their rage, charred eyes and hearts left behind on their path.

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lucifer

there's something freezing under their skin, somehow encompassing entire rooms and digging into the skin of everyone around them. the air around them is cold enough to kill, frostbite reaching others before turning their own vessel's hands red with it. its lips are bitten red and raw because the taste of blood is almost intoxicating.

garbled enochian slips through in a constant downpour, because they are an angel and won't taint their tongue with a human language despite the way it burns their vessel's mouth. the easiest way to find them is following the trail of frozen footsteps and the scent of rust so strong it can be tasted.

the hypothermia that sets after some time is what leads them to find a new body, when the one they are wearing becomes too sluggish and their grace starts slipping through the dry cracks in its skin. all that's left is a cold body with its eyes frozen shut.

the earth bleeds on their path, water freezes red by being in their proximity, plants burn and die from the frost. their grace whips through the air and leaves bloody slashes in the skin of anyone who dares get in their way, the wounds never closing completely.

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raphael

their electricity can be felt under the skin of their vessel, sometimes shocking those who try landing their hands on it. their presence makes people’s hair stand on end, their voice resonates through the room in a way that makes it impossible to ignore. the fissures that appear on its skin from one day to the next are eerily similar to lightning.

the eyes of their vessel gain an unnatural brightness, something fiery that is just wrong when compared to the decaying state of the rest its body. their words flow in a way that’s almost hypnotic, calming until the next strike of their blade.

an ill-suited vessel can’t hold them for long. the tremors starting in its hands show that, as do the bouts of dizziness that hit them every so often. by the time their vessel starts losing its sight they have a new victim picked, their electricity having already eroded the brain of the previous.

it seems as if thunderstorms follow their grace, both rain and lightning falling close but never hitting them. wildfires start in their wake, raindrops never quite reaching their destination, and the injured miraculously recovering in hours.

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gabriel

there’s a wind hiding under their skin, usually unnoticeable to the common eye. they’re light on their feet, eyes travelling through every corner of the room they’re in, the air around them somehow feeling heavy with the power they chase. at times it blows stronger, the whole of them looking longer, bigger than their vessel, but it doesn’t last long anymore.

their vessel’s skin grows dry with time, tearing open with each snap of their fingers, grace pouring from its hands and giving life to lilies wherever it falls. all of their vessels’ hands are burnt by the time they leave, skin too fragile to handle their grace.

erosion is what kills their bodies, the debris that always seems to fly back towards them easily chipping away at flesh and bone. what’s left of the body after they take their leave isn’t enough to keep it alive, not with the dust coating its lungs.

tornadoes follow the path of their grace, leaving destruction and chaos between their vessels. they are angry, and they are frustrated, and the mayhem they create is the singular way they can be heard. the debris lifted by their rage is flung as far as their grace can reach.

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