#Spirit Possession

[shootingstarwritings]

Body Surfing Lesson

“’Body surfing,’ is an important skill to learn as fledgling body possessors,” Gerald spoke to the hidden camera, putting on his teacher persona as best he could considering the ciscumstances. “Normally, it takes a lot of mana for us to take over other people, but the body surfing technique involves taking over multiple people over the course of a single day, using their own mana as a sort of ‘surfboard,’ to ride the waves of mana that flow inside of us all.” He inwardly cringed as he spoke, his current body very clearly unfitting for his lesson.

Gerald had no idea who had come up with such awful terminology, but it was far too late to change that. The small yet tight-knit community the possessors in the area had formed needed to have a sense of unity. Too much innocent blood had been shed for shame to hold Gerald back. ‘Far too many of you have been lost for me to get cold feet now,’ he thought to himself. Taking a deep breath, he continued his explanation for the future viewers.

“I’ve already spent quite a lot of my own mana to possess this young man,” Gerald forced his host to say. What was his name again…? He focused, face visibly tightening before his eyes widened in realization. “Jerry! Huh, it’s so close to my name.” He winced and made a mental note to himself to delete that part of the video. “It was difficult, y’know,” he said, pacing around in Jerry’s underwear with very little shame. He couldn’t help but strut, already enjoying the tight muscle in this youthful form. “I had to float into his cute little butt to take him over.”

Gerald grinned and slapped Jerry’s butt, enjoying the slight jiggling. He thought back earlier today as he launched into a story of how he had taken Jerry over for his class.

Gerald’s misty form had crawled through the apartment building’s pipes, searching for a nice and hot host that would catch people’s eyes while he tried to educate them. Then, he found Jerry exiting the shower and clad in just a pair of new-age briefs. Gerald stared at it in confusion, unsure if this is really what the young ones were really wearing. ‘Am I getting old?’ Gerald had briefly mused before launching himself towards Jerry’s ass.

“AH! Woah, ahhh…!” Jerry collapsed on his stomach, ass facing the ceiling as Gerald’s essence took him over. “Ah, pl-please… help…!” gasped Jerry, his hips thrusting on their own as he lost consciousness.

“Mmm, nice…” Gerald muttered as he sat up. He rubbed his stomach and then his bare, youthful legs. “It’s been a while since I was someone so young. And so hairless,” he chuckled.

“And that’s what happened,” he finished for his class. “It was lucky that this young man enjoys filming so much. Now I’ve got a nice and high-quality camera for this lesson rather than some janky phone.” It truly had been serendipity for him. Gerald giggled as he sat cross-legged in front of the camera, enjoying just how his borrowed form felt so exposed and yet so confident in his near-nudity. “So, I’ve got a dilemma. I want to move on and yet I’m pretty much exhausted my mana supplies—the essence of the soul. Say I even got into the trouble and I have to evacuate for whatever reason. What could I do in this situation?”

Gerald waited a quick second before continuing, “If you don’t know, that’s fine. This technique’s quite advanced. Not even some of our more veteran community members have even mastered it. Yours truly, however,” Gerald paused to place a hand on his chest, making sure to lightly tweak a nipple, “is well-versed enough in the arts to enlighten you.”

It wasn’t a secret nor difficult to figure out the theoretical part, but it was a challenge to divert the flow of energy instead of letting it be lost to entropy. It was similar to having a rush of anger and trying to convert the energy of that anger to something productive. In other words, it was turning anger to passion, turning sadness to compassion, and turning joy to kindness. The emotion behind it was just as important, if not more so, than the actual intention. 

‘Easier said than done,’ Gerald thought. ‘Honestly, I’d have to do a one-on-one with all of these new possessors for them to even get proficient at it. However, just imparting the knowledge would be enough… for now, at least.’

“Now, I have invited my host’s friend to come over soon. Before he arrives, I’m going to start masturbating my host’s body and preparing my mana.” One of the ways that mana flowed was through bodily fluids, with semen being one of the most potent ones. The emotions surrounding a climax allows a large flow of magic to surge through and even be present in the semen that one shoots at that moment of peak pleasure. “I won’t use my own mana,” summarized Gerald, “but instead use this young man’s mana from his own climax to possess his friend, Mike.”

Gerald was about to continue, but bit his lower lip as he heard the faintest knock from the front door. Then, Mike’s voice called out to be let in.

Grinning, Gerald placed a finger to his lips and winked at the camera. “Let the show begin.” It wasn’t difficult to begin jacking off in this youth’s body. Even stroke felt like a lightning strike and even gasp was just fuel to Gerald’s fiery lust--now reborn in this young vessel… for the time.

“C-C’mon in,” Gerald forced Jerry to say. He had left the apartment’s front door unlocked on purpose. With any luck, Mike would get curious and explore the lustful noises straight to Jerry’s room. “Door’s unlocked.” Everything was falling into place. Gerald had seen a few pictures of Mike. He was a cute ginger with a good body that used to play hockey in high school. Though his sports days were behind him, Mike still regularly went to the gym to keep a nice form. “Mmm…!” The thought of taking over another young hunk, one with fiery curly hair that was so much like his own during his teenage years, almost made Gerald cum on the spot.

“Hurry up…!” Gerald hissed. Just how much more did his thick cock need to finally cum. It was such a tease--to be on the verge of cumming but not getting there quite yet. “You stupid fucking himbo, fucking cum already!” Although he was on the verge of running out of time, Gerald couldn’t help but find the verbal abuse arousing as well. “Cum for me, boy. Lemme feel that stallion cock of yours burst all over your hairless, himbo body…”

“Jerry? That you? What’re you doing…?” Gerald could hear Mike’s approaching footfalls, and that only made the whole situation more erotic. Before losing his body, Mike would see his best friend cum all over himself like a shameless exhibitionist. And then, Gerald would do the same thing to Mike. Forget the class or keeping the peace, Gerald could only think of hopping between men and turning each of them into cum-obsessed cocksuckers.

“Hrrngh! Oh god…!” 

Yes… it was approaching. All Gerald needed to really turn this body on as he cranked the cock was a bit of foreplay. His core was beginning to tense, and he could feel himself rush past the point of no return.

Right at the precise moment, the door opened. “Jerry, what the fuck?!” Mike cried out as he saw his best friend beating his meat without a lick of shame.

Grining, Gerald forced Jerry to shout, “I’m fucking cumming…!” as torrents of cum shot high into the air in Mike’s direction.

‘Now, give me your body, boy.’

Riding that climatic wave, Gerald used the large pool mana that Jerry’s young body was shooting to propel his soul forward. Even though all of his own energy was spent, he felt rejuvenated, as though he was 20 years younger, as Jerry came. However, just like a normal wave crashing into the sea, it would not last forever. The energy could not be stored, only spent in that very moment; but that small burst in power was all Gerald needed as he dove into Mike’s body.

“Oomph!” Mike huffed as the force of Gerald diving into his body was enough to knock him off balance. He fell backwards and hit the ground, body convulsing as an invisible, unknowable force began to take him over. “Wh-What the fuck…?!” was all he could say as a cold and numb sensation spread from the tips of his fingers and toes into his core. “H-Help… ohh… please don’t…” Mike reached a trembling arm towards the doorknob, his fingers twitching as they tried to find anything to grab onto.

By the time Mike’s fingers gripped the brass knob, Gerald was already in control. “Mmm… delicious.” Something that Gerald noticed from certain bodies was that they somehow had some kind of spiritual ‘flavor.’ Mike reminded him of strawberries in a shortcake somehow. He licked his lips and chuckled at the light bristle of Mike’s bushy and manly beard. “Trying to be a real man, boy?”

Gerald forced Mike to sit up and then lie on his stomach. “Just a young man trying to be a big boy,” he chuckled as he positioned Mike’s ass high in the air, wiggling his hips the whole time. “But then a real man like Gerald took over my body. All with my best friend’s spunk as a springboard. God, what kinda friend--what kinda man--am I for letting that happen?”

A horrible idea suddenly crossed Gerald’s mind. Crawling back into Jerry’s room, Gerald opened Mike’s mouth and began to suck the remaining cum off of Jerry’s still twitching cock. “God, Mike, you’re so virile. I’m so glad you’re this cumslut’s friend,” said Gerald. Then he realized that he was still supposed to be explaining a lesson. 

Grabbing the camera, Gerald focused it on Mike’s face and began to speak. “Well, did you see that? I was all out of mana, but masturbating with a man’s other body, I was able to use his energy to possess this hunk of meat.” To illustrate his point, Gerald stripped most of Mike’s clothes until he was down to his boxer briefs. “See? And--” he stopped as he heard the front door open.

“Jerry? You home? What’d I tell you about leaving the front door unlocked?”

Jerry’s father. A tall and broad-shouldered man that, from what Gerald could tell from Jerry’s memory, wasn’t particularly fond of Mike due to his… ‘lifestyle.’ Was it due to something repressed? Mike certainly seemed to think so, but Gerald couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. Taking a look around and seeing the scene before him, Gerald began to internally panic--twisting Mike’s generally nonchalant expression into a stressed grimace.

‘Shit. His son’s unconscious, covered in cum,  and his best friend’s stripped down to his underwear.  If I saw this scene I’d think Mike was trying to date-rape my son! Don’t think I’ll be able to simply laugh off this little excursion. But… the only way to get out of this would be…’

Gerald had never attempted a double possession, with or without an explosive orgasm catapult. Was it a good thing that the camera was still recording? He wasn’t sure anymore. To be frank, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Loud, boisterous footfalls continued to ring in his ears.

Even in times of danger, Gerald knew he could rely on his libido to get him out. Throwing Mike’s underwear away, no longer caring about maintaining any sense of professionalism, Gerald got to work. Using what was left of Jerry’s cum as makeshift lube, he began to explore Mike’s tasty body with horned-up haste.

“The hell’s that, Jerry? Got a girl over?” Jerry’s father called out again. Gerald couldn’t help but giggle in-betweens his moans. If only he knew.

Mike’s gruff voice contrasted so wonderfully with his high-pitched and needy groans. His back arched and his toes curled as Gerald continued to beat his dick. The other hand freely explored the nice pelt of orange hair that coated Mike’s body.

‘What I wouldn’t give to just have a day with this guy,’ thought Gerald. A few tweeks of the nipples and he could already feel an orgasm building up. Just a few more minute and vigorous strokes and he’d be home free. “C’mon, cum for me…! Just a bit more.”

Jerry’s door flew open for the second time that day, and this time Jerry’s father roared in horror at the scene before him. “MIKE! What the fuck are you doing?! Jerry?!”

‘An audience,’ Gerald thought, smirking at the older man. ‘And not a bad looker either.’

“Hey, daddy-o,” Gerald forced Mike to say. He thrust into his grip, gyrating his hips as though to show off what his body could do to Jerry’s father. “Like the show? Have a seat, I can do so much for you if you want. I don’t mind some audience participation.” To emphasize his own point, Gerald raised a hand with a bit of pre-cum and slowly licked it off--savoring the sweet flavor.

Jerry’s father, mouth slightly agape and expression somewhere between horror and arousal, just stared at Gerald abusing Mike’s body. “Y-You’re sick,” he finally said, eyes glued to Mike’s swinging cock as it twitched. “What did you do to Jerry…?”

“Same thing I’m gonna do to you, daddy!” Gerald cried out in glee as Mike’s abused cock shot the first few rounds of semen. He bit his bottom lip, moans just barely muffled, as Mike’s hips naturally thrust with each shot. As the orgasm reached its end, Mike’s body began to tremble and grow limp as Gerald shot himself out. He rushed through the air and quickly dove right into Jerry’s father through his large chest.

“Hurugh! Ohh, what the fuck…?!” Unlike Mike, Jerry’s father remained standing even after Gerald dive bombed into his chest. However, despite his stronger will, he was unable to stop the tidal wave that crashed over his body. His broad arms gripped the door frame for support as his knees bent from the pressure. 

The invasive presence washed over him, filling him up slowly. It wasn’t unlike the first time his ex-wife had pegged him. The fear that came from being filled for the first time was matched only by the pleasure that followed. Just the thought of that night made his cargo shorts tighten. He knew that he should’ve been afraid and even outraged, but his body betrayed him in favor of the invasive presence. “M-More, please fuck me more…!” he whispered as his grip on the door frame tightened. Sweat dripped from his body as his soul let the tides carry him to a blissful and erotic rest.

“And that class,” Gerald forced his host to say, “is how you use your host to your advantage. Now, this is a more advanced technique, so don’t worry if you find it tricky at first.” Bill, Jerry’s father, was far more comfortable to Gerald than Jerry or Mike. The beefy look and authoritative voice also helped Gerald really get into the persona of a professor. It was like putting on a custom before getting into character. “But, as you can see from my improvised lesson plan, it’s possible to even chain multiple possessions in just one day! Really beats having to wait for the refractory period to end, huh?” He chuckled in Bill’s deep baritone, hands on his stomach as he felt Bill’s stolen body jiggle and quake with life. This was more like it.

And with the lesson done, Gerald now had plenty of time on his own to get familiar with Bill. Maybe Jerry and Mike would like to get involved as well…

[goldenraeofsun]

Baskerville

Dick vaults the last flight of stairs to the Batcave and sprints down the platform to the infirmary area. “Damian!” 

“Master Dick,” Alfred tsks as Dick skids to a halt outside the curtained area. “Please keep your voice down. Master Damian is resting.”

“I just heard,” Dick pants as he peers around Alfred to see through a gap in the curtains. “Did he say who did it?”

“Not exactly –” Alfred starts before Steph’s voice interrupts, her voice curt, “Jason.”

Dick steps around Alfred, ignoring his put-upon sigh, and slips by Damian’s bedside to stand next to Steph, barefaced, her eyes cold, as she stands next to the small figure hooked up to far too many tubes and covered in far too many bandages.

“Oh, Dames,” Dick murmurs as he reaches over to hold two of Damian’s fingers, the only visible part of him not covered in gauze. He bites his lip as he catalogs the TBI, broken left ulna, five bullet wounds his other limbs, probably fractured if not broken ribs, and split lip.

He turns to Steph. “You were patrolling together?”

Steph nods once, the movement too sharp. Her flinty gaze doesn’t waver from Damian’s face. “The Narrows. Apparently we got too close to Jason’s turf for his liking.”

Dick frowns. The edge of the gauze covering Damain’s hand chafes against his thumb, and he has to consciously stop himself from worrying it. “That doesn’t sound like him.”

“This is exactly like him,” Steph snarls under her breath. “Tim told me about Jason’s attack at the Tower after he came back. A concussion, fractured jaw, broken clavicle, a fucking bootprint of a bruise on his back from where Jason kicked him into a stone statue. Lacerations all over from being thrown around like a ragdoll by a guy with half a foot and eighty pounds on him.”

Dick’s shoulders tense, involuntarily bristling at Steph’s actuation. “He has changed.”

“Clearly, he hasn’t.”

Dick shakes his head. “That was years ago. Talia messed with his head, convinced him that Tim took his place.”

“So Tim got that epic beatdown because Jason didn’t check his sources?” Steph hisses, incensed. Her eyes burn with a rage Dick hasn’t seen in a while - he has to stop himself from taking a step back. “And what could possibly be his reason to mess with Robin this time around? The kid would rather stab himself with his katana than pick up a gun and patrol Crime Alley.”

“I have no idea,” Dick says honestly. “And you’re sure it was Jason? It wasn’t… a copycat? A frame job?”

Steph’s mouth twists. “A copycat wearing Jason’s helmet, in Jason’s territory, that moved exactly like Jason?” She looks up at Dick for the first time since he arrived. “I may be blonde, but I’m not that blonde, Dick.” Jaw clenched, she averts her gaze again and starts to pace.

Dick sighs. Too many conflicting emotions are bombarding beneath his ribcage, too many questions left unanswered.

“If he walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, shoots armor piercing rounds like a duck…” Steph continues as she pivots back towards Dick and Damian, her footsteps unnaturally loud in the Cave. 

“But, he’s been good,” Dick says quietly, half to himself, half to Steph. “Sure, Jason has his issues with us, but he covered for me when I had to deal with the demon cult in San Francisco last week.”

“Because covering for you meant taking down the Yakuza’s growing foothold in Bludhaven,” Steph says impatiently before she takes off again. “He wiped them out in two nights and spent the rest of the time signing you up for every porn magazine still in circulation and stealing your wingdings to melt into bullets.”

Dick’s eyes widen. “How did you know that?”

She stops dead, scoffing, “Please, like Bruce is the only person who has your place bugged.”

“You bugged my –”

“Not me,” Steph cuts him off, making a face like Dick is an idiot. “Tim.”

Dick just sighs. He’ll have to do another sweep of his apartment soon if he has to start looking for Tim’s tech in addition to Bruce’s.

“It was Jason,” Steph mutters as she turns back to Damian, lying so still. “I have no idea why, but he did this. He did this to Robin.”

Dick turns back to Damian’s still form and gives his fingers a light squeeze, his heart impossibly heavy. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Steph.”

“If you need an extra pair of hands to take him down,” she says as she unclasps her cape and pulls aside the curtain separating them from the rest of the Cave, “you know who to call. I’m going to go hit stuff for a while.”

* * *

Nightwing is talking with Arkham’s chief of security when his com bursts to life. Spoiler’s voice screeches, “Back up, I need back up! Anyone there? Hello?”

Nightwing blinks, all attention focused on Spoiler. He holds up a finger to Ms. Yenn and taps his com. “Where are you?”

“The Bowery!”

Nightwing’s blood goes cold. With Arkham security measures and the destruction of the bridge during the breakout last night, it’ll take him at least fifteen minutes to get back to Gotham’s mainland and yet another twenty to get all the way to the east side. Red Robin might actually get to her faster; but he’s lurking somewhere in the Diamond District at this time of night, twenty minutes to the south of the Bowery.

“What’s the threat?”

A click of another line joining the frequency. 

Spoiler pants, “Jason!”

“Jason?” Red Robin repeats, the faintest whistle of air in the background.

Nightwing would bet the last of his wingding stash that Red Robin’s already on his way to Spoiler’s location. “Hang on, Spoiler, we’re heading to you.”

He turns back to Yenn, “I’m sorry, ma’am, I have to cut this short –”

“I can’t outrun him, guys,” Spoiler pants. She yelps, and dread pools in Nightwing’s stomach. "He's too fast. Like, really fast."

In a rush, Nightwing says, “Here are our recommendations for repairs.” He all but throws the drive at Yenn. “I’ll check back in next week if you need anything from us –”

“Fuck!” 

“Have a good night now!” He barrels through the doors of Arkham and sprints for the docks where he moored his boat. 

“Why the hell are you doing this?” Spoiler demands, breathless but determined.

Red Robin’s voice comes in, “Hold on, I’m ten minutes out.”

But in bat-time, ten minutes might as well be an hour, and by the way Spoiler doesn’t respond, she knows it too. 

Nightwing asks, “And you’re sure it’s Jason?” 

“She’s not stupid,” Red Robin responds instead, his voice tense. “If she says it’s Jason, it’s Jason.”

“Right, right,” Nightwing says over the slap of Gotham Bay’s choppy waters against the side of his boat. “I –”

“Has Robin woken up yet?” Red Robin asks. “To get his story?”

Nightwing's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “He woke up, but he wasn’t lucid.”

The sounds of three impacts in rapid succession travel down the line. Spoiler grunts in pain, and Nightwing guns the engine.

“ETA, Red Robin?” Nightwing asks.

“Eight minutes,” Red Robin reports, his voice strained. “I ran like five red lights already and nearly killed a guy on a segway, but that’s his fault for driving a goddamn segway.”

Nightwing kills the engine as he approaches the marina. With his pulse thundering in his ears, he rides the tragically slow current to the edge of the dock. He throws out the bow and stern lines and ties them up in knots that would make Bruce ground him for a week for sloppiness, back in his Robin days.

As he’s racing to his parked bike, Spoiler screams.

An ominous series of thumps come through over the comms.

“Steph, hold on!” Red Robin shouts.

Nightwing flies down the street, heading eastward. 

Spoiler moans. “What the fucking hell is wrong with you?” she gasps, coughing wetly.

This whole time, Spoiler’s opponent hasn’t said a word, which raises every single one of Dick’s red flags. If Jason had one kryptonite, it was his big, fat mouth. Like all former Robins, quips and kicks came to him naturally. And Jason might’ve ditched the roundhouses for Sig Sauers, but he can never shut his trap when the opportunity presents itself.

“Five minutes!” Red Robin calls over a flurry of honks and yells from roaring through another red light.

Spoiler doesn’t respond, but the gunshot comes in loud and clear, followed by the heart-stoppingly familiar burst of static. Her comm has been crushed.

“Tell me what’s happening, Red Robin,” Nightwing demands.

“Four minutes,” Tim says breathlessly.

The next four minutes pass in a blur of lights and pedestrians. The static rings in Nightwing’s ears, deafening in the silence over the comm line. He weaves in between the cars, through the smallest of gaps to shave off fractions of seconds.

Red Robin next checks in, and Nightwing almost misses the next turn, shifting his weight just in time, making it just in time.

“She’s here. She’s alive,” Red Robin pants, his relief palpable. “Just barely. Pulse thready. I’m getting her out of here.”

Nightwing exhales a slow breath, trying to calm himself. Disaster mostly averted, but a disaster that should have never happened in the first place.

He needs to get a handle on this, before anyone else gets hurt.

“Any visual on her attacker?”

Red Robin doesn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he says, after an extremely judgemental silence, “No sign of Jason.”

Two minutes after Red Robin whisked Spoiler away, Nightwing pulls up to her last location at the edge of the Bowery, a wide open space of concrete and weeds underneath the overpass. Scuff marks, drops of blood leading to a larger pool, hallmarks of a fight decorate the eastern edge of the lot. The scene makes his stomach churn, but he finds no evidence left by her attacker. After a fruitless search, he heads back to the Cave. 

He stays beside Damian for hours, trying his best to calm him down when he opens his eyes to see Steph on the bed next to him, unconscious and hooked up to all their backup monitors.

They have to sedate him again. 

Once both are stable and resting under Alfred’s careful eye, Dick sneaks out. If Tim caught wind of Dick’s plan, he’d never let him go through with it. But Dick couldn’t take the chance that Tim would spook Jason and Dick would be back at square one. Jason and Tim got along like two feral cats with distinct territories – fine at a distance, but chaos in close quarters.

No, he can’t afford to have Tim as backup. He’ll handle Jason on his own.

* * *

Jason watches himself wash his hands in his cramped safehouse bathroom. Silently, he seethes. Stephanie Brown’s crimson red blood turns the water pink and swirls down the drain. His head raises to the stained mirror above the sink.

“Don’t be so glum,” comes out of his mouth. His eyes stare back at him, dark and fathomless. His face smiles, too wide, baring too many teeth.

A broad, gleeful smile. 

“A little louder, lambchop. I think you may have a collapsed lung.”

The crowbar swings again.

He struggles. The ropes dig into his wrists and ankles. No give at all. He’s completely helpless.

“I left her alive, didn’t I?” comes out of his mouth next, and Jason throws himself against the invisible confines of his own head, trying to wrest back control of his body, swearing a blue streak that would make Alfred wash his mouth out with soap.

His reflection does not move an inch. “Now,” it tuts, “that’s not a very nice thing to say about my mother. Yours was hardly a saint.” It turns to dry Jason’s hands on the threadbare maroon towel hanging opposite the toilet. “Child neglect, drug abuse, not to mention her weak constitution. Is that something people say anymore? ‘Weak constitution’? I can never keep up with the lingo. But your head is filled with such fascinating vocabulary.”

It leaves the bathroom, and Jason loses sight of his reflection. He’s just a pair of eyes, unable to so much as twitch his pinky finger.

“Boring,” it declares as it picks up a first edition of The Hound of the Baskervilles on the end table by Jason’s couch. It lets the book fall to the floor, ignoring Jason’s wordless scream of rage. Left there, it will crack the fucking spine and, well, it was a gift from Bruce.

Jason fucks with everything else in Bruce’s life, but not their first editions. Some things are sacred, even from beyond the grave.

The first year he and Bruce were on semi-decent terms, Jason came back to his safehouse after a quiet patrol on his birthday – and Jason has thoughts about Bruce’s interference with his patrol too – to find a new book nestled among the other beaten up Penguin Classics and shitty sci fi novels he takes on boring stakeouts. There was no slip of paper with a happy birthday note on the inside, but words have never been Bruce’s forte. 

But it was their thing, so it had to be Bruce. 

No movie was too campy to watch with Dick. No cold case was too cold to tackle with Tim. And no martial arts technique was too obscure to teach Damian. 

But with Jason, no first edition was ever too rare to track down and give to his second Robin.

Jason howls as he watches his steel-toed boot kick The Hound of the Baskervilles under the coffee table. A few pages come loose and flutter back to the ground. Not a sound escapes his mouth.

“My bad,” it says in a sing-song voice that makes Jason’s blood boil. “No matter. Conan was a real fraud, let me tell you  –”

It pauses at the sound of a tap-tap-tap on the window.

At the sight of the blue finger stripes, Jason’s stomach sinks. Fuck no, Dick can’t be here. He is playing right into its hands –

But Jason just beats at the invisible bars of his cage as his body marches to stand in front of the window. His face morphs into a feigned expression of confusion as Dick meets his gaze through the glass. Get away, he screams, but, what comes out is, “Dickface, you got a problem using my front door like everyone else?”

“This is faster,” Dick grunts as he neatly disables Jason’s security measures and slides inside, graceful as one of Damian’s cats. “Plus, I’m not here for a social call.”

“So what do I owe the visit, then?” it asks, crossing its arms over its chest and raising an eyebrow.

Dick sighs. “Someone has been attacking… us,” he says slowly, studying Jason’s face carefully for his reaction.

It drops the defensive stance. “Who? Are the kids okay?” it asks.

Jason fumes. It’s not me! he shouts, but the demon gives nothing away. 

“Damian and Stephanie, so far,” Dick says, his lips pursing. “Someone got the drop on them. They who knew what he was doing. They evaded all cameras and left no evidence.”

The guilt, always lurking in the back of Jason’s mind, rolls over him like a freight train. He did that. Those attacks were his fault. 

The gremlin, flat on the ground, his hand twisted the wrong way from his broken arm, three bullet grazes leaking blood, and two bullet holes gushing with it. Five in total.

Blondie, slumped over, a halo of red surrounding her bright hair. Cracked ribs and a twisted ankle. A bullet in her thigh, left shoulder, calf, and, of course, that near miss at her temple. Head wounds always bled like a bitch. Four shots in total.

Clues for Dick to find.

Every time the demon would propose a plan of attack, alone in his apartment with just Jason for company, he would try to think of something else, anything else, but it was like asking someone not to think of a pink elephant. His mind would betray him, his real thoughts would drift to the surface, and the demon would gleefully snatch them from his consciousness and improve its plan with Jason's contribution.

Jason knew the kid, knew what they taught him in the League, and knew what Bruce was teaching him now.

He shudders, but of course none of this shows on his face.

Stephanie was harder, since Jason didn’t have as much of a history with her, and she started her vigilante career self-taught, outside of Bruce’s influence. But, Jason has several years of Bat training and League tutelage on her, not to mention a hundred pounds of muscle, so it got her in the end.

Tim – Jason dreads what the demon has in store for Tim Drake. 

“Have the gremlin or blondie said who did it?” the demon asks, raking a hand through Jason’s hair as if lost in thought.

As Dick struggles to answer, Jason tries to wrest control of anything, his pinky finger, his right knee, his left eyebrow. He lashes out at his confines, silently howling his rage.

“They both say you did it,” Dick says quietly.

It actually reels back a step – You’re overselling it, you bastard – and puts on some stupid, wounded look on his face that Jason would slap off, if he could. But, judging by Dick’s hurt expression, he’s falling for the act, hook, line, and sinker. 

Fuck you, Dick.

If Jason went around randomly attacking Bats, he’d own up to it like a man. He took on Batman himself when he was fresh out of the League, fueled by angst and spite. And when Bruce tracked him down, did Jason play coy and say, Oh, no Bruce you got the wrong dead kid you adopted and then kicked to the curb ? No, Jason did his big reveal, they had an epic fight, and he went on with his plans. Zero subterfuge, no underhanded manipulation – that was Bruce’s game, not Jason’s.

“It wasn’t me,” it answers Dick in a disturbingly convincing voice. No more than a whisper with a hint of warning.

Dick glances around, his gaze catching on one of the stray The Hound of the Baskervilles pages. “Sherlock Holmes?” he asks as he scans the text, his brow furrowing.

“What? I may not have graduated high school, but I know how to read,” it says, its tone pointed.

Dick holds up his page-free hand in a gesture of no-harm. “I didn’t think detective stories were your thing. But I should’ve known,” he says with a light chuckle that makes Jason want to throttle him because how can he be laughing now, at all times, “Brit Lit wins out over everything else, right?”

Jason feels his mouth stretch into an easy smile. “Right,” it says with his voice.

Fuck you twice over, Dick. 

Jason loved detective stories as a kid; all Robins did. They were raised by the World’s Greatest Detective; Sherlock Holmes was practically required reading, and Conan Doyle was definitely more fun than the old GCPD case reports that Bruce set as weekly assignments. Jason could tell the difference between deductive and inductive reasoning before he put on the scaly panties.

“Do you have any tracking data that recorded your location earlier tonight and last Friday?” Dick asks.

If Jason had a jaw he could use, it would have dropped open in surprise. Dick didn’t swallow the demon’s story whole.

But as the demon does something with Jason’s face, Dick rushes to say, “Damian and Steph will want proof.”

Jason would swear at the top of his voice if he could. He should’ve known. 

“They don’t know you like I do,” Dick says – pleads, really.

Christ, the guy’s pathetic.

“Well, you can’t have it,” the demon says, with a fair approximation of Jason’s quick temper. “I already have enough Bats up in my business. I don’t need little birdies on my tail when you play pin the tail on Jason because Robin took one too many blows to the head and started seeing things.”

“But–”

“Get out,” it says over Dick’s objections.

“Jay–” Something on the demon’s face makes Dick cut himself off. He carefully sets the page down on the coffee table. “Fine, I’m going. Just, look out for yourself, okay?” He meets Jason’s eyes. “I know you didn’t do this, Little Wing.” 

I didn’t.

“Get out, before I make you,” the demon says before it all but shoves Dick back out the window and slams it down behind him.

As they both watch Dick swing away, it says, “Now, let the real fun begin.”

* * *

Tim is almost too easy to track down. Despite the clear and present danger, Timmy keeps the same patrol routes he always does, with the added bonus of Big Brother watching in the wings, no doubt trying to catch the real perpetrator in the act.

Obviously, the demon couldn’t have that, so it hires a few brainless goons to blow up a yacht party on Penguin’s second-biggest boat at the same time as it places a fake 911 call about a convenience store robbery. Even if Dick figures out it’s a ploy to separate them, he will still feel compelled to stay and help search and rescue in Gotham Bay.

Jason watches with a churning feeling as Nightwing heads south and Red Robin goes north. The demon actually rubs its hands together like a two-bit spaghetti western villain about to tie a damsel to a set of train tracks.

It hops over the rooftops, supernaturally fast and agile. It keeps Red Robin at a distance, careful not to set off his well-honed sixth sense of being watched. It wouldn’t do to have Tim calling in Dick too early and ruining the big surprise.

The demon catches up with him after fifteen minutes. 

At his absolute fastest, it will take Nightwing half an hour to reach them, which is more than enough time.

“So I’m next on the list, huh?” Tim says, his voice dry as he turns around at the sound of Jason’s boots thumping down on the roof behind him. Quick as lightning, Tim snaps out his collapsible bo staff.

The demon, predictably, doesn’t say a word. It does, however, set off a miniature EMP to fry all of Tim’s fancy gadgets.

Tim raises a hand to his comm. “I want you to know, I was right,” he says. “It is Jason.”

It watches with sick satisfaction as Tim realizes his comm is dead. No help is coming. 

“What the hell did you do that for?” Tim asks as he nonchalantly twirls his staff, but Jason can read his nerves in the tense set of his shoulders – loose, Bruce always told them to stay loose – and the way he keeps his focus on Jason, not once scanning his peripherals.

“You rely on your toys too much, Timmy,” it says, taking a step closer. “So I thought I’d teach you a lesson. You need it, from what I’ve seen. You have none of Nightwing’s fluidity. Half of my brawn. A quarter of the gremlin’s training.” It reaches up and takes off Jason’s helmet, so Tim can see his bare face. “If I had to find a comparison, I’d say you’re most on level with Blondie, and she was, what, Robin for 73 days?”

Internally, Jason winces. He’d never say all that to Tim.

He’d think it, sure.

Because, from his experience, Tim isn’t a fighter on the same caliber as him and Dick and probably Damian once the little hellion goes through puberty. Tim fights smarter, relies more on his gadgets and environment than they do. He’s a relatively easier Robin to beat in close quarters, but he’s almost impossible at a distance. 

In the nonexistent-privacy of his own head, Jason’s admitted dozens of times over the past week that the kid is good and shouldn’t be underestimated. 

Tim takes the criticism with a completely blank expression. “Are you going to babble at me all night or are you actually going to do something? Because I gotta say,” he twirls his staff, daring Jason to attack while his weapon is occupied, “I’m feeling a bit left out you’re not giving me the silent treatment like you did –”

The demon lunges.

Tim dances out of the way in a dodge he definitely learned from Dick, and the fight is on.

Like with Steph and Damian, Jason tries to shut it out, but he can’t close his eyes; he can’t look away. And the demon takes all of his split-second judgments and hurls them at Tim in a merciless barrage.

A vicious punch to his kidney. “C’mon, you’re dropping your elbow, Timbo.”

A high kick to his face. “Oh, you almost blocked that in time!”

A one-two combo that sends Tim staggering back, blood dripping from his split lip, one hand cradling his cracked ribs. “Is that all you got?”

Tim smiles, crimson lacing over his teeth. “I’m just getting started.” He shifts his weight to his back foot, preparing to strike. 

The demon leans to the left for a feint –

Tim leaps backwards off the roof.

Shocked, the demon and Jason hear the poom of Tim’s grapple firing before the demon lets out a yell and follows.

Tim sprints across the increasingly decrepit Burnley townhouses, hurtling over planters full of dead bushes and overflowing piles of garbage. A stray beer bottle nearly trips him up, but he catches himself just in time. He leaps for the next building over and easily clears the ten feet of distance. 

He glances behind him, the whites of his lenses reflecting the orange street lamps. With a low curse, he throws a birdarang over his shoulder and keeps running.

The demon ducks, a feral smile curling its lip.

Tim goes too short on his next jump. His midsection slams into the edge of the roof, and he audibly gasps in pain. His gloved fingers scrabble for purchase on the crumbling concrete, and he levers himself over just as the demon takes off from the next building over. Tim sucks in a deep breath as he takes off again, weaving between rusted lawn chairs and pots full of weeds and brown dirt.

Jason and the demon overtake Tim at the next building. With a snarl, the demon yanks on Tim’s cape, sending him crashing to the ground. 

“Neat trick,” it says as it pulls out Jason’s gun from its holster. “But as fun as our little chase scene was, game’s over now, birdbrain.”

Flat on his back, Tim throws another birdarang, trying to knock the gun out of his hand. It lodges between his knuckles, and Jason internally winces at the sight, but the demon ignores it. Doesn’t even bother removing it before he fires two shots, one at each of Tim’s legs, aiming for the gaps in the armor. A third buries itself in Tim’s arm.

Tim screams as the bullets go in and through. 

“Come on, I didn’t even hit any bones,” it says in an almost bored voice as it stands over Tim, one firm, steel-toed boot on his cape, keeping him pinned like a butterfly to a corkboard. “Walk it off.” It smirks down at Tim as it plucks the birdarang out of his hand and tosses it over his shoulder. “If you can.”

Tim just glares, the corners of his mouth pinched with pain. At least he doesn’t try to get up and embarrass himself.

“Oh, right,” it says drolly, as it crouches by Tim’s side and roughly cuts him out of his outersuit, leaving it to soak up the steadily growing pool of blood around them. Redundancy is Bruce’s middle name, so the demon won’t take any chances with trackers powered by body heat or friction. It slices down the laces of Tim’s boots and pries them off.

Once Tim’s just in his black undersuit and barefoot, it hauls Tim over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and, ignoring Tim’s grunt of agony and increasingly pale face, jumps off the roof. It heads to Jason’s nearest safehouse, now three blocks away since Tim led it on that not-so-merry chase deeper into Burnley.

“Why are you taking me,” Tim groans. “You left Steph and Damian where you put them down.”

“You’re just special, Timberly,” it says as it clears another roof, landing with a heavy thump that makes Tim groan. And because it can’t let that backhanded compliment just hang there, it adds, “Bet that’s the first time anyone’s told you that, huh?”

Tim lets out a series of awful little whimpers as demon’s stomps down each of the fire escape stairs outside his safehouse. Jason catches sight of his reflection around in a third floor window, and his back is absolutely coated with blood from Tim’s bullet-ridden legs. His jacket glistens with it.

Not good.

Clang!

He startles at the sound of metal on metal, and the demon turns his head to watch one of his glocks clatter through the slats to the alley floor. 

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play with guns?” it asks, ducking its head to get a good look at Tim, hanging upside down.

Tim just smirks and drops Jason’s other gun from where he palmed it. Down into the alley below it goes.

“You’re going to pay for that,” the demon growls. 

Tim says nothing, and Jason pushes down his worry. The snark is always the first to appear and last to disappear once a Robin puts on the cape. He tries to turn his head back to check on Tim, to make sure he’s still alive, but the demon doesn’t let him budge an inch. 

It just hikes Tim higher and opens the window to his safehouse. It drops Tim on the circular area rug in the living room. Tim coughs as he rolls onto his side, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. “Sit tight, Timmy. I’ve got to make a call.”

“Good fucking luck,” Tim spits.

Jason would sigh in relief if he could.

The demon stops, turns to squint down at Tim in the dark living room. “What the hell are you talking about?”

But Tim just rolls over again and closes his eyes, his breathing too fast and too shallow.

“Now,” it pulls Jason’s phone out of his pocket, “What should we tell big bro, hm?”

The lights switch on.

The demon whirls in place as Dick pushes off the far wall, his expression furious. “You could tell me what the hell you were thinking, going after my family.”

For a beat, they just stare at each other.

Tim groans into the silence, “Quit the dramatics, Dick.”

Face stricken, Dick darts forward and starts to drag Tim closer.

“Woah, hey, not so fast,” the demon purrs as it reaches for Tim.

But Dick is faster; he yanks Tim out of the demon’s reach. Tim cries out as the carpet gives way to wooden floor. “Sorry, sorry,” Dick murmurs as he crouches down to run his fingers through Tim’s sweaty hair. He isn’t even looking at Jason.

Jason can’t believe it. He can count about a hundred ways Dick is leaving both of them open to attack. This goes beyond stupid.

Evidently the demon agrees with him: “What are you doing?”

Dick ignores the question. Doesn’t even glance up. “Brace yourself,” he says to Tim, “One…” he hefts Tim into his arms way before he gets to three. His mouth tightens as Tim’s eyes fly open and his face contorts in pain.

And then Dick turns his back on the demon.

“Where are you going?” It circles around to block their exit – 

Jason blinks as his forehead rams into an invisible wall. The demon reels back, almost tripping over its own feet. It darts a hand out, grunting as its knuckles meet solid air.

“I’m going to get Tim to Alfred downstairs,” Dick says. He turns his head, so Jason can see the hard glint to his eye, “And then I’m going to get you out of my brother.”

Struck dumb, the demon doesn’t say another word as Dick disappears with Tim out the door.

What the fuck just happened?

Dick… knows?

* * *

Alone in Jason’s safehouse, the demon feels around its invisible cage, muttering to itself. 

Not so fun when it happens to you, is it? Jason thinks savagely

The confines closely follow the border of the area rug, and when the demon peels it back, Jason marvels at the intricate runes carved in the wood underneath that definitely weren’t there the last time he was in this safehouse.

“How did he…” it drifts off, gnashing Jason’s teeth.

“You just couldn’t resist needling Jason, could you?” Dick says, and the demon looks up to find him leaning against the front door frame, arms crossed over his chest, his face impassive. “You did the same thing in San Francisco.” He shuts the door behind him. “It wasn’t enough to mess with the cultists that dredged you up from hell in the first place, you had to make your host’s life miserable too, even though she was just an innocent bystander.”

The demon straightens. “What can I say,” it starts, dropping the act. It stands preternaturally still. “The eternally devoted are just so boring, you know? Complete subservience wears off so soon.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Dick deadpans. He pulls a slim, leather-bound book out of nowhere. “Now, shut up. I have to concentrate. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus omnis satanica potestas –”

Suck it, Jason crows to the demon. Dickie’s gonna kick your ass back to hell.

“Wait,” the demon shouts over the exorcism, “I can help you!”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Dick says tonelessly without looking up. “Omnis incursio, infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica –”

“Power? Money? Love? You could have it all!”

If Jason had a mouth, he would laugh loudly. As if Dick doesn’t have exactly as much power, money, and love as he wants. He runs multiple superhero teams, and he’s the son of Bruce Wayne. Nightwing is about as beloved as heroes go, save maybe Superman or Wonder Woman.

There’s nothing a demon could offer Dick Grayson that he couldn’t make happen himself. 

Well, maybe –

“Your parents,” the demon announces, and Jason lets out a wordless scream of rage. Of course the fucker picked up on that.

Dick speeds up as wind starts to whip up around them. “Ergo draco maledicte et omnis legio diabolica adjuramus te –”

“I could bring them back for you.”

Dick’s brow furrows, and he swallows once before restarting, “ Cessa decipere humanas creaturas, eisque aeternae Perditionis venenum propinare –”

“They’d live long, happy lives,” the demon adds.

Dick pauses. 

Oh, fuck.

Worst of all, Jason can’t blame Dick in the slightest. Objectively, he knows John and Mary Grayson were good people, and he is not. Jason is doing good work, sure, but he wouldn’t call himself a good person. 

Moreover, Dick definitely has thoughts on Jason’s definition of “good work” and exactly how much killing that requires.

His saintly parents for the low, low price of one possessed, morally compromised brother? That’s hardly a choice.

The demon goads, “They’d see all you’ve accomplished, all the lives you’ve saved, all the disasters you’ve averted.”

Jason really does not like that faraway look in Dick’s eye. 

It continues, “They would be so proud, and you’d have your family back.”

Dick’s fingers tighten on pages. He looks up, his eyes flashing. “My family is right here, and I already know my parents are proud of me.” He shakes his head ruefully. “Jason, hold on. Constantine said you’re in for a pretty bumpy ride. Vade, Satana, inventor et magister omnis fallaciae, hostis humanae salutis –”

The demon yells, and the wind picks up, whipping at his hair, tugging and pulling at his clothes. Pins and needles break out all over his body. And Jason can’t even enjoy having physical sensation back before it turns to white-hot pokers, like fire licking at every inch of his skin.

He can’t even tell who is screaming any more. He has no idea if Dick is still speaking at all. All he knows is the pain.

He falls to his knees, choking and spluttering over bitter, rancid air. Down on all fours, he retches with whole body heaves. The fire spreads down his throat. It burns like acid to the very pit of his stomach. He gags, and tears spring to his eyes as something black and tarry slithers out of his mouth and splats onto the carpet.

“ – audi nos!”

Jason watches, horrified, as the thing bubbles down into nothing. Panting for breath and shivering all over, he scrambles back, off the carpet until his back hits the wall beneath the window.

Silence rings in his ears.

“Jason?” Dick drops into a squat until he’s at Jason’s level even though he’s still all the way across the room by the door. “Are you back with me?”

Jason nods, the movement too quick and too jerky, but Dick just sags back against the door in relief. 

“Thank god,” he mutters as he lets the book drop to the floor. He runs a weary hand down his face.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. 

Dick speaks first. “I’m so sorry, Jay.”

Jason blinks. “For what?” He’s the one who beat the majority of their family to bloody pieces over the past week. His fists gave Damian a concussion, dislocated Stephanie’s shoulder, and cracked Tim’s ribs. His mind gave away all their weaknesses, starting with Dick: his family.

“For not getting the monster back in San Francisco,” Dick says, staring at Jason’s ceiling. “I just pissed it off enough to follow me back here.”

“Oh,” is all Jason can say.

Dick just shakes his head, his throat working as he swallows. “I’m sorry,” he repeats.

Jason’s skin crawls at the undeserved apology. He scrambles for a new subject instead. “I’m just trying to figure out when you knew it wasn’t me.”

Dick’s gaze flicks to the dark bookshelf in the corner of the room. It’s smaller than the one in his primary safehouse, but still stacked with well worn paperbacks and a few hardback short story anthologies. “It messed with your first edition.”

“One loose page was enough to clue you in?” he raises his eyebrows. “What kind of Sherlock Holmes shit are you on?”

Dick shrugs. “All signs pointed to you, but you were insisting it wasn’t you.” He exhales a loud breath. “It wasn’t adding up. If you had a grudge against any of us, you’d own up to it. Creatively and loudly, if I know you at all. Ergo, it was you but wasn’t you at the same time. Does that make sense?”

Jason snorts. “No.”

“So, less Sherlock Holmes and more brother intuition,” Dick says with a tired smile.

Jason can’t help pressing, “You really didn’t buy its innocence act for a second? The other option, that I was going after the kids, that’s gotta be your worst nightmare.”

“I’m an optimist,” Dick says flatly, “not an idiot. There’s a difference.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s always trust but verify with you.”

Jason shakes his head. “ Doveryay, no proveryay? Really?”

“доверяй, но проверяй” Dick repeats, the slavic syllables rolling off his tongue with a native-sounding fluency that makes Jason’s stomach clench with envy. He’s fluent too, but he will never sound like that. Dick adds, “With your history, can you blame me?”

“I guess not,” Jason says as he curls his fingers into fists.

“But this wasn’t you,” Dick says as he gets to his feet and silently walks towards Jason. “Everyone knows that, now.” He reaches down, offering Jason his hand to help him up.

Jason doesn’t take it. “It was my hands,” he mutters, “my guns.”

“But it wasn’t you,” Dick says, more firmly this time. His hand doesn’t waver. “I know you, Jay. You’ve changed. You wouldn’t attack us out of the blue.”

Jason just grunts.

Dick waggles his fingers in Jason’s face. “Come back to the Cave with me. I’m gonna pass out any minute now, and Alfred needs an assistant to help with Tim, Steph, and Damian. I don’t know what’s in the water over there, but they’re all awful at resting up.”

“Pot, kettle, Dickface.”

“Hey,” Dick holds his other hand up, “I never said anything about me.” He thrusts his offered hand closer and nearly takes out Jason’s eye. “Not getting any younger here.”

Jason scowls up at him, leaning slightly to the left to avoid Dick’s overly enthusiastic invitation. “I bet the last thing the kids want to see is my face.”

“Actually, Tim wants a record of what it’s like to get possessed, so if it ever happens to him, he knows how to beat it,” Dick says with a warm smile. “When he wakes up, he’ll be pestering you nonstop for a complete recount. And I might’ve let slip to Steph that you watch Black Sails since she’s in a pirate phase, of all things.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Dick agrees. “And as for Damian, well, he’ll want to pick over your fight in nauseating detail to know how to beat you next time.”

Jason sighs loudly. “You’re not leaving here without me, are you?”

“Nope,” Dick says cheerfully.

Jason swats Dick’s hand out of the way and gets to his feet. “If you’re wrong, you’re next on my shitlist, got it?”

Dick shudders exaggeratedly as Jason opens the window to leave. “Oh, I’m so scared.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Jason says warningly. “You’re the last Robin left, the way I see it.”

Dick throws him an odd look before he climbs through to the fire escape. “No, I’m not.”

Jason takes the steps down three at a time. “What, did Bruce pick up another black haired twerp while I wasn’t looking?”

“No,” Dick says slowly as he follows. 

“Then what the hell are you talking about?”

“You, Jay. I’m talking about you,” Dick says, deliberately slowly like the demon might’ve taken more than a few braincells when it vacated Jason’s body. “I’m not the last Robin; we are.”

Jason turns away, his face heating. He jumps the rest of the way to the alley floor, scowling as Dick backflips his way down. “C’mon,” he mutters, “Alfred’s never gonna take a break if we’re not there.”

[captainmalewriter]

Legend of the White Fox

Long ago, there was a time in humanity’s history where love had no labels. People were free to love whoever their hearts desired. It was arguably a happier time where love knew no gender. But alas, those peaceful times were short lived. There were a few who opposed free love, and went to violent extremes to restrict human sexuality. It was a massacre that showed the dark side of humanity on full display. The fresh snow in one of the affected regions captured all of the blood shed that night, creating an ugly mixture of reds and whites. Among the victims of the genocide was a man by the name of Iaro. Iaro was love personified for his love for life knew no bounds. Iaro had an animal companion that lived alongside him. It was a white fox by the name of Nivalis. Nivalis had a beautiful coat of fur that resembled the first snows of winter. It is said that in his final moments, as he held his lover for the final time, he issued a command to Nivalis:

Live on, Nivalis! Go forth and protect the innocent lovers from the hateful hands of our oppressors! Show them that we will not die no matter what violent means they may take!!

While Iaro died with the rest of his people, Nivalis fled. It is said that Iaro’s wish granted Nivalis the power to live on as a benevolent spirit to protect the pure hearted in times of need. This is the Legend of the White Fox!!

***

Alec was gasping for breath as he ran through the streets of the big city. The cold night air made controlling his breathing hard. But despite his growing exhaustion, all he could focus on was the sound of police sirens right behind him. The blaring sirens motivated him to run as fast as he physically could. He turned into a narrow alleyway and took a moment to rest.

“Shit man… this wasn’t supposed to happen…” Alec thought to himself as he tried catching his breath. Going from kissing the man of his dreams to running away from the police all within 10 minutes made his head spin.

It was supposed to be the perfect night. Alec had been looking forward to a date with his crush Ivan for weeks now. He thought he would never find a love that would bring him genuine joy, especially after growing up in the streets by himself after getting kicked out for being gay. But for a brief moment, while the two men kissed under a streetlight, Alec almost believed he had found the fairytale romance he had always dreamed of. But then the dream came crashing down when a nearby bigot began shouting slurs and other obscenities at the couple. Words quickly turned into fists as the angry man would not stop harassing them. Fortunately, Alec was able to subdue his attacker with a nearby iron pipe. Unfortunately, the police officer who happened to be passing by only saw Alec hitting a man square in the jaw with a weapon. Although Ivan tried to explain that Alec did it in self defense, the cop took the bigot’s side anyway. Alec knew he was fighting a losing battle and fled from the scene, leaving Ivan behind.

"WE KNOW YOU'RE THERE!"

Alec heard one of the police officers shouting. They caught up to him quicker than he expected. Alec drew in one more quick breath and began running again.

"RESISTING ARREST WILL ONLY MAKE IT WORSE FOR YOU!!"

Alec ignored everything else and focused his mind on running through the labyrinth of alleyways. But while Alec was able to evade the cops for a good while, he was running out of steam. He slowed down to a jog, and then to a brisk walk as his sides started to cramp. He then kneeled over at the end of a moonlit alley, exhausted and in pain. His heartbeat was racing as he heard the officers closing in on him. Alec's eyes began watering up as he lifted his face to the starry night sky and whispered a prayer.

He basked in the light of the full moon, and as he did so, he thought he saw what looked like a white fox sitting on a nearby rooftop. Alec made eye contact with the fox, causing his once dark brown eyes to shine a brilliant hazel. But then he blinked, and the fox seemingly disappeared.

During the split second Alec saw the fox, he felt his panicked mind calm down as a cool wave rolled throughout his body. The cool soothed his agitated body. Alec closed his eyes and took deep breaths to steady himself again.

Meanwhile, while Alec was recovering, three policemen were about to corner him. They were only one short walk away from his location. The police men readied their weapons for a quick arrest, but just before they could turn the corner, a white fox had jumped out and ran past them with lightning speed. The fox had caught them off guard, so much so that they failed to notice the giant cloud of sparkling mist that was following the furry animal. 

The sparkling mist surrounded the police men within seconds. It was thick and obscured the officers’ vision. They tried to air it out by waving their arms but it was no use. The mist only grew larger until it began entering the policemen through their mouths. Loud gasps filled the air as each police man was getting filled to the brim with mist. Their eyes rolled to the back of their heads and their bodies began to compulse and bloat with each inhale of mist they took. The mist had overtaken their bodies once they inhaled it all. The mist made moving their bodies difficult. The best they could do now was shiver violently due to how full their bodies had become. But after nearly a full minute of shivering, each police officer began to moan obscenely loud. The mist was exiting their bodies through their dicks, causing each man to orgasm during the process. Wet spots began to form in their uniforms as each man shot out his load. The mist had drained the men dry of cum by the time it evaporated. The police men then collapsed onto the floor in the fetal position, desperate to warm up their bodies after the cold mist had invaded their bodies.

Alec had fully recovered by the time the mist had subdued the cops. He sat there for a long while, mentally preparing himself to get arrested. But when he noticed that wasn't happening, he peeked his head around the corner and gasped when he saw the three officers on the ground. He could hear their teeth chattering even from far away. Alec had no idea what could have happened to them, but he took his opportunity and ran off.

He made it home scot free that night. Alec’s heart was still racing just thinking about how he somehow got away from the police. He sat in his bed as he processed everything he experienced. Alec then took out his phone and sent an apology text to Ivan for leaving him behind. He hit send, and saw it was nearly 2AM. Seeing the time made the physical exhaustion hit him like a truck. Even though he had numerous questions about what had happened, he was too tired to go looking for answers. He got ready for bed and knocked out asleep.

Though unfortunately for Alec, while falling asleep was easy, staying asleep was a challenge. Alec felt his body temperature rapidly change throughout the night. Swinging between blistering hot and mind-numbingly cold kept Alec awake. As a result, Alec thought he was catching a cold and took some medicine to help alleviate his symptoms. But all the drugs did was contribute to the fever dreams Alec had in the short bursts of sleep he did get.

Alec kept dreaming that he was somewhere in the middle of some snowy landscape somewhere in the mountains. The sky was grey as snow fell steadily to the ground. It was during this snowy dream that Alec kept getting visions of some muscular man flexing right in front of him.

He had a clear, front row view of the man. Alec could hardly believe what he was seeing in his dreams. He watched in admiration as the man continued showing off his toned body. The man was young, muscular, clean-shaven, and handsome. To say he was hot was an understatement! Alec was having the time of his life in his dreams.

But, despite how easy the man was on his eyes, Alec couldn't shake off a nagging feeling he was getting in the back of his head. Something about the dream was undeniably off. He acknowledged how hot the man was, but Alec couldn't help but notice that he had never seen the man before in his life. No matter how hard Alec searched through his memories, he couldn't think of a single person who evenly remotely resembled the man. Yet, despite that, here the man was in his dreams. Somehow, Alec's mind was able to conjure a very detailed vision of this jock in his dreams.

"Who are you...?"

Alec thought to himself. He noticed that the man stopped flexing when he had that thought. It was as if the man had heard him ask that question. The man turned to face him and smirked. He then approached him with a smooth step to his walk.

"Welcome to the Snowscape, Alec. My name is Iaro," the man spoke in a foreign language. Alec could hear subtle undertones of Spanish mixed in Iaro's language. But despite his unfamiliarity with the dialect, Alec could understand the man perfectly as though he were already fluent.

"Don't worry, my brother, you're safe here in the cold. My friend Nivalis heard your cry for help, and because you live with a pure heart, she decided to bring you here to this sanctuary. Where I can grant you strength..."

The snow falling around them began getting heavier. The wind picked up too. Alec had to really focus to catch what Iaro was saying now. But it was no use, Alec could barely hear him.

Iaro paused when he noticed the disconnect. He gave a soft smile. It was a kind smile, one that put Alec at ease when he saw it. Iaro then proceeded to take off his robes. Alec was shocked that he would do that in the middle of a snow storm. He quickly averted his eyes before he saw him in the nude. The snow was getting heavier and heavier. The last thing Alec saw was Iaro's nude form, along with the words:

I will make you in my image, my brother, so long as you're ready...

Alec's vision went to white, and he blacked out.

***

Alec woke up the next morning confused and cold. Blisteringly cold. He never particularly enjoyed the cold. That was why he had all the windows shut tight and several cheap space heaters spread out throughout his apartment during the winter time. But despite his best efforts, he was still freezing. He curled up into a ball underneath several blankets. His teeth were chattering as he tried to warm up. Thankfully he started to feel the warmth after several minutes of being buried underneath his heavy blankets.

As he laid in bed, Alec thought back to the dream he was having. The dream was locked firmly into his memory. He could still vividly remember how realistic the snowfall felt on his skin too. It was as if he had teleported to some snowy mountaintop in his sleep! Even the man- someone who Alec had never met before, felt so lifelike.

"Iaro... Nivalis..." Alec whispered their names to himself. Now that he had a calm state of mind, something about their names felt oddly familiar.

"Iaro... Nivalis... Iaro... Nivalis..."

The more Alec said their names, the more he couldn't deny that he heard that combination of names somewhere before. With curiosity piqued, Alec rose from his bed with a blanket thrown over his shoulders. He walked over to his nightstand and took his phone off its charger. Ivan had responded, and he reassured Alec that everything was alright. The police had taken him in for questioning but it was brief and he got home without any physical injuries. Alec sighed with relief. He sent a quick reply with a heart emoji, then proceeded to open an internet browser tab while throwing himself back into bed.

He typed the two names into the search tab and hit enter. It took him some searching but he eventually found something about them. Apparently, Iaro and Nivalis were part of an old Latino folklore tale about a white fox. Alec read an archived version of the story, and soon felt his dormant memories of his late abuelita spring back to life. She was an incredibly talented storyteller by nature, and Alec loved hearing her stories by the fireside as a kid. Those were the good days...

Alec shook his head and returned to the present moment. He laid back in bed and let out a sigh of amazement. Alec could remember wanting his abuelita's stories to come true as a kid. But as he grew older and more jaded, his childish belief in the extraordinary died out. To think he would actually meet one of the folklore characters seemed like a fantasy come true. It filled Alec with glee just thinking about it.

As Alec took it all in, he remembered Iaro's last words before he woke up. He rolled over in bed, thinking about what Iaro could've meant. Alec had no idea what Iaro had in store for him, but whatever it was, Alec was sure he was ready for it.

In the days that followed, Alec tried his best to revisit the Snowscape he had dreamed about that night. But the Snowscape turned out to be more elusive than Alec thought. Several days passed by with no results. Alec was even becoming mentally fatigued due to oversleeping! But despite his failures, Alec was determined not to give up.

Upon rereading the Legend of the White Fox for the umpteenth time, an idea finally struck him. After reflecting on everything that he had seen and experienced since first spotting a white fox under the moonlight, Alec deduced that snow would be key in returning to the Snowscape. Alec hurried in checking the weather report, but was quickly met with disappointment when he saw that there was zero chance of snow for the foreseeable future. But even without snowfall, it was going to be extremely cold for the next few nights.

With that knowledge in mind, Alec prepared himself for bedtime that night. He turned off all of his space heaters, removed all of his blankets from his bed, opened all the windows, and stripped down naked. As Alec stood by his bed bare ass naked, he wondered if he was really going to risk hypothermia for a mythical figure he barely knew. In that moment of doubt, Iaro's words rang in his head again. With his determination renewed, Alec laid down in bed and braced himself for a very cold night. Within minutes he was shivering like crazy, but he forced himself to go to sleep through sheer willpower. It took him a long time to fall asleep under such harsh conditions, but he eventually did it. He went to sleep, and was immediately greeted by Iaro in his dreams.

"Welcome back, Comrade. I was worried we weren't going to see you again."

Iaro smiled as he approached Alec, who was laying down on the snow, now only dressed in a thin white robe. Alec returned his smile, and tried to get up to properly greet him. But he hadn't realized how heavy his body had become. Every time he tried to get up, he found he couldn't even lift an arm or a leg up from the snow. He struggled and struggled until he felt a soft hand gently caress his cheek.

"Don't worry, my friend, everything will be alright. Take a deep breath and relax your body. Surrender yourself to the snow all around us."

Alec swallowed his breath and did as Iaro had instructed him. Even though he could hardly move his body, Alec couldn't help but feel at ease. He watched as countless snowflakes fell down and landed on his exposed skin. He could feel their cool seep into his skin as they melted on him. Even though it was cold, Alec suddenly didn't mind it. It was as if Snowscape was his long lost second home, and he had just returned.

"Good," Iaro smiled. "Now we can begin. I will grant you power; it will protect you in times of danger. But power like this cannot be granted to just anyone..." Iaro leaned down to Alec's ear and whispered. "Do you swear to live an honest life and be kind to others, regardless of how much power you receive? To continue living with a heart as pure as the first snows of winter?"

A cold chill ran down Alec's spine as Iaro whispered into his ear. He gulped, then nodded his head vigorously.

"Excellent! Though with a heart like yours, this is hardly a surprise."

Iaro then stood back up and took a step away from Alec. As he did so, chunks of snow began to swirl up. They swirled and whirled until they formed three human-like figures. Iaro took a deep breath and exhaled his frosty breath in their direction, causing the snowmen to transform into policemen- the same police that had chased Alec down some time ago. The mere sight of them caused Alec's heartbeat to rise.

"These are the bigoted police men that hunted you down before Nivalis subdued them, yes? Don't worry, these men are only mirages I conjured up with ice and snow. They cannot hurt you here, but they will give to you all of their combined masculine energy. It may hurt a bit, but you'll be a new man by the time it's done. Are you ready?"

Alec nodded. Iaro then waved his hand at the three men, and they proceeded to gather around Alec. Alec watched from the ground as the three men towered over him. A gasp escaped his mouth as he watched the three men strip down from their police uniforms and into the nude. The men then began a circle jerk, with each man stroking their cock until they were fully erect.

Each man had a different dick, but in Alec's eyes, they were all beautiful. One man had a long, clean shaven dick with veins running all around the shaft. Another man had a shorter dick, but what it lacked it in length it more than made up for in girth. That cock was a heavy hitter, and it perfectly matched the bull of a police man it was attached to. The third man had a fairly average dick in terms of size, but it was the other details that turned Alec on. That dick had a heavy set of low hanging balls that dangled as its owner jerked off. It also had a thick bush of curly, black hair with a pink dick head that completed the look. And, as if that wasn't enough, Alec could smell the potent musk of each man's junk as they circle jerked in front of him. Alec took a deep whiff of their dank manhood, and he could feel himself getting warmer inside from how aroused he had become.

After several minutes, the three men picked up the speed of their jerking off. Deep toned grunts and groans filled the air as they did so. Alec noticed one of the men's dicks was starting to twitch, and he was soon followed by the other two men. Alec had no idea how he was supposed to receive whatever power Iaro was talking about, but if it meant he was about to receive a couple of loads, he was more than happy to oblige. Alec was more than ready to get cummed on, only to get caught off guard when that didn't happen.

The three men stood there groaning as they all climaxed at the same time. But instead of shooting out their loads of liquid spunk, they shot out their loads in the form of milky white mist. It was the same kind of glittering mist that had subdued the real police men back then. Their cocks were pulsating and their nut sacks were bouncing ferociously as more and more of the mist came pouring out of their throbbing members. Alec was shocked at the sight, though he was still unable to move. All he could do was watch from where he laid.

All of the mist congealed into one massive cloud of cum. It was the size of a walrus! But that didn't stop the cloud from entering its target. The white mist swirled round and round as it began its descent into Alec's body. The mist forced Alec's mouth to stay wide open while it filled him up, transforming his body as it did so. But even though the cloud was starting to shrink because it was possessing Alec, the three men never stopped stroking their still rock hard cocks. They were determined to keep going until their balls were completely drained.

As for Alec, the changes started with his chest. He could feel his body physically changing to accommodate all the magical mist inside of him. His pectoral muscles were tearing and recovering rapidly until he had a nice set of bulging, beefy pecs to call his own. A cold wave rolled throughout his chest to help ease the transformation pain. The cool made his sensitive nipples tingle, causing Alec to moan loudly. By the time the mist was done, Alec had obscenely huge tits that would put any man or woman to shame.

Alec gagged as the cloud of mist continued to fill up his body. He could taste the three men's tangy cum in his mouth while the mist was pouring itself down his throat. It was slightly overwhelming, but the sweet taste of cum kept Alec begging for more.

Once the mist filled out his chest, it continued moving throughout his body. Next, came Alec's arms. Alec could feel the cold reach his fingertips as the mist slithered down his limbs. His arms steadily grew in size while also staying toned in muscle definition. The veins started bulging out too, adding to the bodybuilder look the mist was giving Alec. Soon enough, Alec had cannons for arms with biceps the size of melons and with broad shoulders to complete the look.

The mist then moved through and down Alec's torso. Alec had to suppress a laugh as he felt the cold move past his midsection. The mist froze any body fat he had in the stomach region. His abs popped out one by one until he had a perfect set of washboard abs. But the body transformation didn't stop there either. The mist went further down Alec's body, shrinking his hip size as it did so. It also gave him an incredibly chiseled V line too. By the time the mist was done, Alec's torso looked like it belonged to a Greek god.

The mist slithered down to the bottom half of his body. By this point, Alec had his eyes closed shut while the mist continued possessing his body. He was moaning like crazy! So much so that he didn't even notice that the mirage of the three men had disappeared and that he had swallowed up their cum cloud in one intensely erotic slurp and swallow. The next phase of the body transformation happened rather quickly because of this. Alec felt waves of cold roll all over his body. The mist was filling him up to his limits. It filled into every crevice Alec had remaining in his body. He grew a bubble butt that was defined with muscle. His beefy thighs could crush watermelons. His engorged cock and balls could impregnate an entire village with just one load of his cum. Even Alec's feet grew in size until he had size 13 feet! All the muscle mass Alec's body had taken on thanks to the mist caused him to burst through the fabric of the white robe, leaving his new muscular body to bask in the glow of the twinkling snow and the sweat of a full body transformation.

Alec laid there in the snow, gasping for breath. He threw his arms to the back of his arms. He was so tired, he didn't even noticed he could finally move.

Iaro grinned at the sight of the newly transformed Alec. He walked up to him, and Alec managed to lift his head to look him in the eye.

"I've used my magic to grant you a powerful transformation. I've given you every ounce of masculinity your attackers possessed to make you in my image, my brother. You now possess my muscular body as well as an affinity for all things cold. But remember, although my magic will protect you, you must never let your pure heart grow dark."

"Huh... What..." Alec said in huffs. His mind was too busy regaining composure to fully comprehend what Iaro told him.

But instead of repeating himself, Iaro simply smiled. He then kneeled down to Alec and placed both hands on his face. Iaro then pulled him in and planted a wet kiss firmly on his lips. The kiss caught Alec off guard, but once he realized what was happening, he kissed Iaro back. It was a moment of pure bliss for Alec to finally be just as muscular as the jock he was kissing. But as Alec savored every moment of their kiss, his vision went to white and he blacked out again.

***

Alec woke up groggy and tired in bed. His whole body was sore and his mind was reeling. He rubbed his heavy eyes and let out a heavy yawn as he rolled over in bed. As he did so, Alec couldn't help but notice he felt a lot heavier than he was used to. He had also forgotten he went to bed fully naked and only remembered when he felt his soft dick flop against his bedsheets. Alec felt a cool breeze blow into his bedroom and pass by his nude body.

"Fuck man, it's so fucking cold..." Alec whispered to himself. But as he heard his own words, he quickly sat up in bed and realized he wasn't actually cold. In fact, the cold breeze had somehow invigorated him.

"What the fuck... HOLY SHIT!!" Alec shouted at the top of his lungs as he looked down at his new incredibly toned body. He looked as if he had been going to the gym his entire life!

"Shit man... I'm so fucking big now...!! God bless Iaro and the cold..."

As Alec ran his hands all over his new torso, really savoring every angle and edge of his new physique, the memories of his latest dream began trickling in.

The more Alec caressed himself, the more vivid his memory of the dream became. He remembered everything; the clear view he had of the three men circle jerking on top of him, the visceral feelings he had while the mist transformed him from the inside out, and the kiss he shared with Iaro that was filled with the most homoerotic love he had ever experienced.

A wet spot made from precum formed on Alec's bedsheets. He had unconsciously started thrusting his hips into the bed while remembering his insanely erotic transformation dream.

"Fuck me man..."

Alec flipped over to his back. His hardened cock was leaking precum like a faucet. He whistled at the sight of his new 8 inch member. He purred with his baritone voice as he grabbed his dick with a firm grip and gave it a few pumps.

"Nrgh... fuckkkk.....!!"

A mix of hot and cold began to flush over Alec. His new body was still getting used to the newfound strength and magic it had been endowed with. It made jerking off even more pleasurable as his body was still extra sensitive after being transformed! But even though Alec had a lot of gratitude for his new physique, he couldn't deny that he had a favorite part of his new body. His pecs.

He cupped one of the heavy slabs of meat on his chest and gave it a few jiggles. He then continued massaging them with his free hand while still keeping a steady pace to his strokes. He took his time feeling the muscles in his pectorals.

They were big. They were heavy. They were bulging. They were firm when flexed. They were jiggly when at rest. They were the perfect man pillows.

But, most importantly, they were all his.

Alec had always loved big pecs, but to be able to possess a pair of daddy donkers of his own was sending him over the edge. He gave the nipples a pinch. That little bit of pain sent a wave of warm pleasure to spread throughout his pecs, causing him to let out guttural moans as he continued loving his new body.

"Oohhh man..! Ohh fuckk!! FUUUUCK!!!"

After several minutes of self-love, Alec could feel himself getting close. He removed his hand from his chest and moved it to his dick. He was using both hands now to stroke his throbbing cock. Alec was gasping for breath as he felt himself getting close to cumming. Alec wanted to make his first nut in his new body the best he's ever had.

He picked up the speed of his strokes while flexing as many muscles in his body as he could. His balls were slapping against his thighs and bed while his pecs were bouncing like mad. Alec's face was flushed red and his body was getting drenched in sweat as he felt himself letting go to the ecstasy-like pleasure building up. He only lasted a couple of minutes more before he couldn't hold on anymore. Cum came flooding out of him like a geyser. His loads reached impressive heights! Alec could only moan in between bated breaths as he watched himself shoot cum all over. Load after load of warm, sticky seed came out. He was drenched in a mixture of cum and sweat by the time he was finally finished. He lifted his arm behind his head and caught a whiff of his sweaty pit. Alec was surprised he had worked up such a sweat just jerking off, but he loved his new manly musk and took it all in.

...After taking some time to calm down, Alec got out of bed and cleaned up. He took an absurdly long shower, though most of that time was spent admiring the goods. Even after processing everything he had experienced, Alec could still hardly believe it was all real! He kept grabbing and flexing his pecs just to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. But surely enough, it was all still very much real!

Alec walked back into his bedroom and sat down. Although he had been blessed with a new body, he had no idea what to do with it.

He sat there for a while. His phone chirped, and Alec reached over to reach it.

"Oh shit."

Alec read the text from Ivan. He had been so caught up with the Legend of the White Fox that he had been neglecting the man of his dreams for several days with little to no explanation. Alec wasted no time in drafting an apology text to Ivan. He promised Ivan that if he came over to his apartment, then he would explain everything in full detail but why he went MIA. After several revisions, Alec hit send and prayed that he could still salvage what he had going with Ivan.

As he waited with his head in his hands, he heard a distinct meow coming from his window. Alec turned his head to the source of the noise. He was surprised to see a white cat sitting at his windowsill. It had the most luxurious coat of white fur Alec had ever seen on any animal!

The cat hopped down from the window and walked towards him. It rubbed itself against Alec's leg, and Alec could hear its loud purring while showering him with feline affection. Alec bent down to pick up the cat, and as he held the beautiful cat in his hands, he couldn't help but focus on the gold collar on its neck. The collar had a single letter inscribed on it. An 'N.'

"Oh my God, it's you! Nivalis!!"

Alec gave the purring Nivalis a hug. He showered Nivalis with affection and thanked her nonstop for blessing him.

Afterward, Nivalis hopped out of Alec's arms and walked back to the window. She jumped on the windowsill, looked back at Alec, and meowed. She also began wagging her tail vigorously. Alec recognized Nivalis was trying to say something and joined her at the window.

Nivalis walked out onto the outer edge of the apartment building while Alec peered out of his window. Alec looked all around, scanning the area until his eyes spotted a disturbing sight. He spotted a lesbian couple cowering in fear as some bigot with an anti-pride sign was creeping up on them. They were cornered with nowhere left to run.

Getting angry at what he saw, Alec took in a deep breath. He inhaled with all of his chest, then exhaled. His breath was frosty. Alec watched in amazement as his frosty breath disappeared into the air. Alec turned back to the ongoing crime scene, and watched as the bigot dropped their sign as they began rubbing their arms. The bigot was curling up into the ball, shivering. The lesbian couple saw their chance and ran like hell before the bigot could warm up.

"Wow... That's so fucking cool, did I do that?" Alec turned his head to where Nivalis was sitting, but the white cat was already gone.

As Alec searched for Nivalis, a doorbell coming from his front door caught Alec's attention.

"Alec? Are you home? It's me, Ivan. If you're ready to talk I'm ready to listen, but if you don't open this door in 3 minutes I'm leaving!!"

Alec took one final look around trying to find Nivalis, but it was no use. He couldn't spot the mythical cat anywhere. Instead, he felt a cool breeze pass by. Alec took in the cold and smiled. He knew Nivalis and Iaro would still be around, watching over him.

He then hurried to his front door. Alec was excited to tell Ivan everything he had experienced, and he had a feeling that Ivan would find his new powers 'pretty cool' (and in more ways than one too).

[snakebites-and-ink]

Whumptober 4: “you’re still alive in my head” + 21: spirit possession

CW: Captivity, ghost caretaker

“We need to get out. This is going to kill you.”

Like it killed me went unsaid. They both knew it was true, but there was no point in reliving that right now.

“But…” Whumpee hesitated. However afraid they were of staying here, they held a greater fear for how Whumper would respond to an escape attempt.

“I’ve been watching for an opportunity, remember? This is our best one yet.”

“Okay,” Whumpee said decisively, steeling their nerves. “You’ll come with me right?”

“Of course. I’m always with you,” Caretaker promised.

“Good. I…really don’t want to lose you.”

“I’m already dead, Whumpee.”

Whumpee flinched at the blunt reminder. “You’re still alive in my head,” they whispered, quickly checking for any signs of Whumper before moving into the hallway. “Or something close enough, at least. Still here. Still conscious.”

“I guess that’s true,” Caretaker answered.

For a few moments, neither spoke. The only sound was Whumpee’s heartbeat pulsing in their ears, loud and fast with fear.

“What are we going to do after this, Whumpee? I can’t go back to my life without a body, and you’ll look insane if you keep talking to a voice in your head.”

“Let’s worry about actually getting out first.”

“Fair enough.”

They rounded the last corner. No Whumper.

Freedom was within reach.

[aprocessionofthoughts]

Possession

whumptober4 day 21- spirit possession fandom -dp dc tw- none summary- Tim just wants to solve this case

masterlist ao3 part 7 of MM

Tim frowned at the batcomputer. This was the third time this month where the perpetrator of a theft remembered nothing. While normally, Tim would think they were lying, these were average normal people. They would have no reason to steal this kind of high tech stuff or have the ability to lie about it so effectively afterwards. 

He reviewed the camera footage again. It wasn’t much help, as soon as the perpetrator stepped into view of the camera the footage became grainy and glitchy.

Wait a second. Tim rewound the footage and played it frame by frame. There. For only a moment, the thief looked towards the cameras. There was a red glow emitted from the thief's eyes. Tim frowned. It could just be an effect of the glitchy footage, but… He pulled up the footage from the other two robberies. One of them didn’t ever show the thief’s eyes, but the second one did for just a moment. They also had glowy red eyes.

Tim leaned back in the batchair. It couldn’t be a coincidence that two of the three thefts were committed by thieves whose eyes glowed red. 

Tim reviewed the data they’d collected on the thieves. None of them showed signs of metahuman abilities, and there was no connection between the thieves either. The only thing they knew was that the thefts were each committed by a technician working at the robbed companies. 

Tim tapped his finger against the keyboard. Could it be a third party? Someone controlling the thieves? And if they were, how? Was it technology like the Mad Hatter, or was it some kind of meta ability? And what were they after? It was three separate companies that were affected, each having a top secret project stolen. Tim still needed to finish hacking the companies to see what exactly had been stolen. Was it just a competitor wanting to get ahead? Or did they need all the components to create something else?

So, he needed to figure out what was stolen, why it was stolen, and who was behind the robberies if it wasn’t the ones caught on camera. He tapped on the edge of his keyboard and reached for his coffee.

“Nuh uh.” someone said, grabbing his coffee. Tim turned to glare at Dick. 

“Give it back.”

“No can do, Timbo, you already had coffee today.”

Tim froze. There was no way Dick knew about the coffee machine Tim had hidden in his room.

“No, I didn’t.” he crossed his arms. He wouldn’t give anything away.

Dick leaned on the edge of the desk taking a sip of Tim’s coffee before scowling at the bitterness. “Come on, Tim. I saw you at that little coffee shop you like.”

What? Tim had been in the cave all day.  “Dick, I’ve been here all day. You can check the footage.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “As if you couldn’t alter the footage.”

Tim frowned because that was true.

“Yes. But I didn’t go to Deathpresso. You know Alfred banned me.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. Tim scowled. Finally, Dick rolled his eyes one more time before turning to leave.

“Fine. But I know what I saw. And I saw you buying a death wish coffee. You can’t convince me otherwise.”

Tim scowled after him. He hadn’t gone to the coffee shop today. He’d snuck over there yesterday, but that was beside the point. Tim narrowed his eyes. Dick did seem pretty convinced so either he’d seen someone that looked like Tim, or they had a clone problem. While Tim himself hadn’t been cloned yet, that they knew of, Damian had been cloned several times. And Tim wouldn’t put it past Ra’s to clone him. That man was obsessed.

Ugh. Tim didn’t have time for this. It was probably some random stranger Dick had mistaken for Tim. Besides, if Tim had been cloned by Ra’s the clone wouldn’t waste time going to coffee shops.

Nope.

It was just a random stranger. Tim had other things to worry about right now. He’d look at the coffee shop security camera footage later.

[thomothysdoodles]

oh, Dames..

21: BODY HORROR

Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.” (Apparat feat. Soap & Skin, Goodbye)

[musicmakesyousmart]

Spirit Possession - Self-titled

Profound Lore

2020

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 21: Body Horror

Spirit Possession

2432 Words; Coleverlord, pre-canon

TW for injury, emotional abuse

AO3 ver

Cole drifted.

Dance school had been… Cole still enjoyed dancing, despite the growing distance between him and his father. He did enjoy dancing, he really did—

(“Didn’t you see the way he was staring? He’s totally a creep.” Whispers from other students, having to find his own table at lunch;

“Young man, you need to work harder if you want to keep your scholarship.” The only class he had anything less than an A in was his B in history; the scholarship wasn’t that strict.

“You’re dragging our quartet down.”

“Ugh, why does he have to be here?”

“Professor, I can’t work with my partner. Can I switch?”

“Sorry, all the roles have been filled. Now run along, you’re interrupting rehearsal.”

“Freak.”

“Creep.”

“There’s something wrong with him.”)

It was everything else about school that Cole couldn’t stand. Not that it was anything new; he knew the effect he had on other people, but—

Go west, Vessel.

Yeah. That. So Cole left Marty Oppenheimer’s, threw away the scholarship and left. Nobody had stopped him, either. He considered going home, to the garden he couldn’t stand and the bedroom where the shadows shushed all his worries and the studio he could dance in as much as he wanted when his father wasn’t home—

But the way his father had shipped him out to Marty Oppenheimer’s was clue enough. Cole wasn’t stupid, he knew that the spiders crawling under his skull made other people uneasy. He knew he and his father had grown distant because of that—and because of his mother’s death, which had only upset his father further. Cole hadn’t been stupid enough to believe people would treat him like anything other than a monster since he was nine and sitting in his bedroom, hair still damp from the pond—

So Cole drifted. It said to go west, and Cole was vaguely meandering in that direction, which It hadn’t complained about so the slow pace was probably fine. He passed through some towns on the way, met a few people—

(Always leave by the next sunrise, that was the rule. Linger any longer, and the ants marching under his skin would start to give people fits. Best to keep moving.)

—but he didn’t really settle. Not that he could; It would yell at him to get moving again. So Cole kept moving, kept going even when it got hard—he’d been doing that since he was little, he supposed. He kept going when his mother stopped seeing him as her son, kept going when his friends all drifted away, when his father drifted away. Left Marty Oppenheimer’s at Its urging, and just kept going

and going

and going.

Can’t be a good son, can’t be a dancer. Is there anything I can be?

You are my Vessel, and that is all you will need to be.

Cole snorted, bringing the hammer down to strike the nail. The sun was high in the sky, and the fence before him needed to be fixed. He liked working with his hands; there was something so satisfying about the physical labor. It helped that he was often rewarded with food. So Cole worked, taking off the old pickets and hammering in the new.

The hours passed, and before long Cole was being called away from the completed fence for dinner. He took his meal out to the front step, away from awkward table conversations and away from people he had yet to unnerve. He ate in silence, termites crawling along under his skin and shadows dancing at his feet.

“You can come eat with the rest of us, you know.” Cole turned back to look at the girl at the door—her name was Rose, he was pretty sure, and she was the daughter of the couple that lived here. “My folks don’t bite.” There was hospitality in her voice, invitation in the way she looked at him.

“I’m fine. Sunset’s nice.” Cole deflected. “Thank you for the meal.” He added.

Rose stared at him. The termites under his skin started biting at his bones, shadows creeping towards the door. Rose frowned, grip on the doorframe tightening before she retreated back into the house without a word.

Cole turned back to his meal. All the isopods in his brain all curled up, and his shoulders hunched slightly. He set his plate down where they could find it.

He was gone by the time it was dark.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole drifted.

Mountain towns were interesting. His hometown wasn’t really near any big mountains, though he’d seen them on the occasional school field trip or family outing. His mother had loved the mountains; she and his father used to jokingly argue about moving to her hometown out in the mountains. They couldn’t have those arguments anymore, though, and Cole was no longer around to hear them anyway.

Cole was staring up at a particularly large mountain, now, the peak so high it touched the clouds. His mother used to tell him so many stories about mountains…

“I bet I could climb that.” Cole commented. His mother used to go rock climbing all the time before he was born, and after—though she had never been able to take him with her. The wasps under his skin agreed—and hadn’t It said something about “power over the earth” or something like that, once? It wasn’t like Cole would die if he fucked up and fell—

Vessel.

Cole had learned a lot about living off the land since leaving Marty Oppenheimer’s. So he’d probably be fine.

Vessel, do not climb that mountain.

“Why not?” Cole was already starting up the foothills, jogging along the incline towards a rock face that looked a little more climbable than the others.

There is something among those mountains.

Cole paused. He’d… never felt the spiders pulling back, before. “Are you… scared?” The thought was almost laughable; the shadow in his brain never got scared. The shadow in his brain did the scaring, not the other way around. “I thought you were the Great Calamity that Stalks the Night and Turns All Hearts to Rot.” He added, pulling up one of the more pretentious names It liked to use.

It is not… that.

Somehow, the shadow sounded shifty. Usually it was more direct with Cole.

It is simply something powerful. I fear for your safety, Vessel.

Cole’s eyes narrowed as he grabbed the first handhold he saw. “I thought you said I had nothing to fear.” but you. He hauled himself up onto a small cliff, where there was an incline he could climb more easily. The wasps in his chest buzzed angrily, but Cole pushed past it and kept going. After a moment, the shadows at the corners of his vision thinned, the spider settling back into Its corner. Cole kept climbing, half-forgotten memories of his mother’s stories filtering through his head.

When he was six, she’d taken him to a place full of special rock climbing walls with those colored handholds. He could hardly remember it, now, the memory lost to a haze of cobwebs, like every other memory of the time his mother still loved him. He didn’t try to chase the memory—he wouldn’t put it past the shadow to try and bury it harder. It had never liked Cole’s mother—and she hadn’t liked It, either. Cole had been a casualty of the crossfire.

Cole was pretty high up, now, having scrambled up a more sheer rock face with surprising speed. He actually wasn’t sure how he’d gotten so far without falling—though he could certainly feel the burn in his muscles as he pushed himself higher, higher, higher—

Vessel.

“Oh, what now?” Cole groaned. He got that he was beholden to the shadow, he understood that—but what was so wrong with climbing a mountain? It wasn’t like a dragon was just going to show up out of nowhere—It would have said something if that was the case.

House centipede legs scrabbled against his spine.

If you won’t listen to my words, then—

A spider crawling on his brain, tugging at threads—

Cole’s hand opened of its own accord, palm pushing against the stone to

throw

his body back

away

from the

rock

so that he was free falling, limbs locked up by so many coiling worms. The world spun slowly around him, the mountain rising up at incredible speed as Cole went down, down, down—

The impact knocked the air from his lungs with a sickening crunch. Pain slammed him like a wall of tiny needles, crackling his spine and snapping bones. Cole wheezed, feeling so much like a smear of human paste upon the ground. The world was spinning—was he getting dizzy? It was hard to breathe.

Get up.

Cole whined, as much as his aching chest would allow. He sounded—and felt—like a popped balloon slowly deflating. Not that the shadow cared how Cole felt.

Get up.

“Cuh.” Ohhhhh, Cole’s head hurt. His everything hurt. “Can’t.” How was he supposed to move? He’d just fallen several stories off a mountain!

Get up.

Cole couldn’t move his legs, his shoulders were agony—he couldn’t do it! He knew It knew that, so why—

Get. Up.

I can’t! What was Cole supposed to do? It had thrown him off a mountain! His vision blurred, and didn’t unblur—was he dying? The world was still spinning. His head hurt.

Get up!

Shadows crowded Cole’s vision. Violet light erupted from somewhere in his chest, so many ants marching around under his skin and laying down new threads—

A scream ripped from Cole’s throat as his broken bones started to knit themselves back together, legs and arms realigning in seconds. His chest heaved, seeming to split open for a moment before he could suddenly breathe again. Violet threads raced through his flesh hot enough to burn, knitting it all back together and forcing Cole up until he was standing on knees that threatened to buckle at any second.

Cole felt like he should probably be mad. But he mostly felt shaky and uncertain. Worms dug into his stomach, squirming up his chest at the spider’s direction.

You couldn’t get up on your own.

“Yeah.” Cole grit out. “I noticed.” He stumbled forwards, hands shaking. His bag swung at his side—his bag. Cole nearly tore it open, checking—okay, yeah, he’d need to replace more than half of this. That was what he got for landing on it, he supposed.

I can and will put you back together, Vessel. No matter how broken you get.

“Then why are you scared?” Why would the shadow be so bothered by something in the mountains if it could just put Cole back together?

It is not easy.

That… might have been the first weakness It had ever admitted to.

But the lesson was not so you could act recklessly, Vessel.

Well, then it wasn’t exactly a good lesson, because that the first thing he got from it. The spider in his brain bit down, tiny fangs digging in under his skull.

It was a demonstration. You could not get up on your own.

A frame is nothing without the picture behind it.

You are nothing without me, Vessel.

You would do well to remember that.

+=+=+=+=+

Cole drifted.

He drifted mostly westward, but he was still in the mountains, so he couldn’t go straight west. The shadow had been… not exactly quiet, since throwing him off the mountain, but It hadn’t bothered him as much. It had even brought back that old lullaby It used to comfort Cole when he was little. It wasn’t really an apology, but—

Well, it wasn’t like Cole could be mad at It, anyway. He was getting better at this rock climbing thing—it was honestly pretty fun! It was like a dance, him and the mountain moving in tandem to lift him higher and higher.

…he missed dancing. He missed watching his parents dance late at night.

Cole missed a lot of things he could never have again, really.

Cole was really high up, today—he’d gone straight for the peak of this mountain, and had just breached the clouds. The shadow had grumbled, but otherwise let him go, probably sensing the same weird pull that Cole felt.

With a grunt, Cole pulled himself up and over the edge to rest on the very summit—

There was an old man at the top of the mountain.

And old man… drinking tea. “Hello there.”

The spider skittered as far back as it could go, the shadows disappearing entirely. No ants squirmed under Cole’s skin, no worms in his stomach or wasps in his chest, no isopods crawling along his bones. It was all still there, but—It was clearly trying to hide. Which…

This is what It had been afraid of? This old man?

“Um.” Cole greeted, not entirely sure what to say. “How did you—”

That is a dragon, Vessel. Tread carefully.

The old man—dragon—hummed. “Maybe that is a question for me to ask.” He said. “But first: why do you climb the mountain?”

“Because I wanted to.” Because I’ll come out okay even if I fall. “It’s like a dance,” The words were spilling from Cole’s lips, “Me and the mountain, working together. And I like dancing, but I couldn’t stay at that school and continue to learn when everybody hated me—” He swallowed. “I guess I just wanted an escape. From everyone.” He couldn’t say that he wanted to be alone, because he was never truly alone. But he wasn’t lying about wanting space from other people—what was the point in hanging around them anyway, if the shadow was just going to freak them out?

The dragon-who-looked-like-an-old-man nodded. “It is easy to feel discouraged when we are alienated by our peers.” He agreed. “If you knew that they would like you, would you go back?”

“They wouldn’t.” Cole grumbled. “And I can’t go back.”

“I see.” The old-man-maybe-dragon nodded. “You are someone who keeps moving forwards, then.”

Cole felt just a little bit too seen. “Is that good or bad?” He asked, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Shadows crept around his feet.

“Yes… and no.” The old dragon answered, which wasn’t an answer at all. “Being able to move forwards is an admirable thing,” he explained, “but sometimes one must look back at where they’ve come from. You cannot appreciate the mountain’s height without looking to the valleys below.”

“O…kay?” Ugh, this wasn’t making any sense, and the spiders under his skull were getting agitated. “Why did you climb the mountain, then?”

The old-man-who-didn’t-look-like-a-dragon smiled into his teacup. “Why, to meet you, Cole.”

[whump-my-dear-watson]

peter + eddie sharing symbiote trauma

WHUMPTOBER 2024 NO. 21 "SPIRIT POSSESSION"

[hywenhei]

BODY HORROR: Tattoo Gun | Spirit Possession | “Let the bedsheet soak up the tears.”

A Whumpee with a cursed tattoo that slowly eats away at their body. They feel a sharp pain in their arm one day and oh, was their tattoo meant to give off a creepy glowing effect? It definitely was now, at least, and did the original design have that many vines on it? Whumpee was probably just seeing things; maybe if they left it alone for a while, it would fix itself on its own... right?

Whumpee struggles with nightmares after their traumatic experiences, and one of their main fear responses is crying. One night, Caretaker wakes up to stifled sobbing noises and sees Whumpee turned away from them, face pressed into their pillow, tears soaking their cheek and the bedsheets.

Whumpee, please fight them off, I know you can!" "Whumpee can't hear you right now, Caretaker; they're trapped in the deepest recesses of their mind. You're stuck with me now."

A Whumpee who's usually very snappy and sarcastic with the group, often coming off as a bit mean, gets possessed by a ghost/demon. The spirit possessing them acts so much friendlier and cheerful than Whumpee used to that their friends don't want to question the sudden personality change, just enjoy it for as long as they can. When the truth about the situation comes out, Whumpee's friends will have a lot of explaining to do.

Bonus points if only one of Whumpee's friends notice the personality change and actually misses the old Whumpee's witty remarks and refreshing defiance. They're determined to bring Whumpee back to their normal self instead of this doppelgänger.

i really love using italics lol (⁠●⁠♡⁠∀⁠♡⁠) see you tomorrow for day 22!!

[squirrelwithatophat]

Boinking Fade Spirits: A Very Important Meta

Continuing in the vein of fantasizing out loud about what I want to see in Dragon Age: Dreadwolf, I think it would be great if the game would allow players to romance and/or sleep with a Fade spirit. Below I’ll elaborate on what we know about Fade spirit sexuality, both as a review and as a way to demonstrate that a Fade spirit romance would be consistent with prior lore.

Cole/Compassion 

We know it’s possible for a Fade spirit to fall in (romantic/sexual) love because that is one potential outcome of Cole/Compassion’s character arc in Dragon Age: Inquisition.  If the player’s influence leads Cole to become more human during Subjected to His Will (his companion quest), he eventually pursues a romance with the minstrel/bard Maryden in the Trespasser DLC, set two years after the end of the main story. We're introduced to the relationship during a heartwarming scene during the companion catch-up conversations, transcribed below:

Maryden: Oh, Cole, good day! I didn’t see you there.

Cole: But I saw you, as lovely as your songs.

(Cole gives her a kiss on the cheek)

Inquisitor: ("I'm happy for you") I’m pleased for both of you.

Maryden: The world has ample pain, Inquisitor. The kindness found in Cole is rare indeed.

Cole: Her songs bring happiness to those who hear… and I can make her happy in return.

It’s implied that the attraction has turned physical during a banter in Trespasser (emphasis mine):

Cole: Some of the stones here are pretty. I should get one for Maryden.  

Dorian: You’ve got a lady friend? Really?      

Iron Bull: You and the bard, huh?

Cole: I am human now.

Iron Bull: Good for you, kid! Let me know if you need any tips.

Dorian: No, no, that’s fine. You’re a real boy now. Would’ve lost gold on it being a girl, but that’s probably just me.

Cole: She’s kind, and her voice helps people. And her bodice smells good.  Wait, I shouldn’t have said that. Forget! Oh, that doesn’t work anymore. Forget?

Granted, by this time Cole isn’t a “pure” or “true” Fade spirit (for lack of a better term), given that the romance only begins if Cole has turned more human over time (otherwise, spirit-Cole likes Maryden as a person and helps her out but has no romantic interest in her; in fact, he even facilitates a romance between Maryden and another human, Krem, during Trespasser). It is, however, evidence that Fade spirits can come to develop romantic feelings for humans (or rather mortals), at least under certain circumstances.  

But what about sex with Fade spirits?

Cole for one is confirmed to be a virgin as of the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition (although, again, we see no evidence of any romance until two years later in Trespasser) by the desire demon (or self-proclaimed “choice spirit”) Imshael in the confrontation in Suledin’s Keep (Emprise du Lion) during the quest Call Me Imshael.  When offered a deal, if the Inquisitor asks for “virgins,” the following exchange occurs:

Inquisitor: I’d like to be showered with virgins.

Imshael: I should really stop offering virgins.  Everyone always chooses them, and I can never find any.

(If Cole is in the party):

Imshael: Oh wait, there’s one.  Eeh... you probably don’t want him.

On the other hand, Imshael the desire demon is suggesting that the Inquisitor wouldn’t be interested in Cole, but not that Cole wouldn’t potentially be interested in sleeping with the Inquisitor.  Interesting, isn’t it?

Desire Demons

It does appear to at least be possible to have sex with a Fade spirit.  In Dragon Age: Origins, a male mage Warden can enter the Fade and have sex with a Desire demon (a type of Fade spirit) in exchange for allowing the demon to continue possessing Connor Guerrin during The Arl of Redcliffe arc.  

Unfortunately, the outcome for poor Connor is less than ideal; according to the epilogue slides, making any deal with the demon whatsoever will result in Connor remaining possessed and then disappearing forever.  Some people might frown on selling a child’s soul in exchange for a chance to get laid, especially if you also murder his mom in a blood ritual in the process, but I believe this is a case in which the fandom needs to calm down and simply agree to disagree.

Desire demons are also shown enchanting people into acting out romantic or sexual fantasies without full possession. In the Broken Circle arc of DAO, the Warden encounters an unnamed Desire demon who has the Templar Drass under her spell in the Templar Quarters of Kinloch Hold. Apparently she has bewitched him with the fantasy/delusion that she is his wife and that they are going about normal and rather domestic activities, including tucking "the children" in bed. The codex entry Desire and Need reveals that Knight-Commander Greagoir had previously berated Drass for failing to live up to "the devotional requirements of training," presumably indicating that the latter might have been more interested in eventually settling down and starting a family than on being a religious fanatic on guard duty spiraling into dementia from being forced to huff magic rock dust. It's later made clear that Templars are in fact allowed to have sex and even marry, given that the Templar Wesley marries Aveline Vallen in Lothering (DA2) and that former Knight-Commander Cullen explicitly states in DAI that sex was permitted for Templars in Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall. However, the sort of domestic life that Drass dreamed of may not have been a viable option, since Templars are supposed to live in Circle towers and Chantries while the spouses and (non-mage) children of Templars do not appear to receive accommodations in either.

A similar instance of a Desire demon, this one named Allure, bewitching people into acting out fantasies occurs in the Repentance (Act 2) quest of DA2, although this time it involves explicitly sexual content. Here we see Lord Harimann, characterized by his childhood friend Sebastian as otherwise being a "prude," evidently preparing to engage in very kinky sex with an unnamed elven woman in lingerie. More specifically, they're standing half-nude around a bed, a whipping post, “manacles” to use for bondage, and an Iron Maiden, as the woman loudly urges him to apply "the feather" even “lower,” and Harimann chuckles, "Now, you be the naughty apprentice, and I’ll be the Templar torturer." His last shout is, “Today, I am more than a man! Come! Felicitate me!” Born-again "Choir Boy" and sole unfuckable/volcel romance option Sebastian Vael is naturally aghast, exclaiming, “I beg your pardon, Hawke. I did not mean to expose you to such things,” as if Hawke and Isabela don’t already do these things literally every single day after returning home from the Hanged Man.

The motive behind why Desire demons bewitch people in this manner short of full possession is laid out by the Desire demon in Broken Circle (DAO):

Desire Demon: I saw his loneliness and longing for a family that loved him. No one else would have known his heart. He did not know it himself.

Warden: You've made him into your slave.

Desire Demon: I fulfill his dreams... I grant him all his desires. Is he my slave, or am I his? We are partners. I give him what no one else can, and through him, I experience what it is to be mortal.

Warden: Well, he deserves to be free from you. To find his own happiness.

Sten: Freedom cannot be given. The templar must choose it for himself. If you help this man, what does he learn? Nothing.

Desire Demon: Our thoughts and spirits are melded. If one perishes, so does the other. Though much of my strength is spent maintaining this link, I am his wife, and his children; he will defend me to the death if need be. I want nothing from you. I have what I need. All I ask is that you leave us alone.

So, to sum up, we have in-game examples of Desire demons having sex with mages in the Fade, enchanting people into acting out sexual and romantic fantasies, and flirting with visitors to the Fade (seen with Isabela during Night Terrors in DA2; referenced by Dorian in DAI). Not to mention their stripper-esque getups and repeated breast-fondling. Desire demons are thus clearly canon sexual/romance options.

As far as sex with non-demonic Fade spirits goes, however, we’re in murkier territory.  

Wynne/Faith 

In DAO, one of our potential companions, Wynne, is of course possessed by a spirit of Faith.  Wynne makes multiple references to having slept around in the past (with both mages and Templars, ultimately being impregnated by one of the latter, heavily implied to be Greagoir) and even indicates that she has continued to be sexually active into middle age (“It would not be the first time I woke to a younger man in my bed”), but there’s no reference in the game to having enjoyed sex and/or romance post-possession — although to be fair, the possession is a rather recent occurrence, the party is in the midst of trying to stop the end of the world, and she is technically undead. (Full disclosure: I haven’t read all of Asunder yet, so let me know if you are aware of any information about Wynne’s sex life while possessed).  It may also be worth noting that despite being repeatedly compared to a “grandmother,” she’s actually only 49 years old as of DAO.

Zevran for one seems into it.  Not only does he flirt with her (though perhaps only in jest), but he seems to find the spirit possession a little too exciting for Wynne’s taste.

Zevran: ... but what does it feel like being possessed by a spirit?

Wynne: Why does this interest you so?

Zevran: I simply wish to get to know those that I travel with. Is that wrong of me?

Wynne: No, of course it isn't. Well... let me see. It is hard to describe. It is comforting... I... I feel safe, loved.

Zevran: Comforted, loved, yes...

Wynne: It is like being held close, cradled... the bond is so complete that I am unable to extricate myself, nor do I wish to. Wait... why do you have that look on your face?

Zevran: Mmm, I... I am simply imagining it. Continue, please.

Wynne: And there is a constant warmth, that spreads outwards from the very center of my being, infusing my body with--

Zevran: Ooh...

Wynne: Andraste's grace, what are you thinking about now? No, I don't want to know. I feel dirty. Do not speak to me.

Zevran also flirts with Wynne without reference to the possession, which reinforces the idea that he’s into it. (And remember, despite being repeatedly called an “old woman” and compared to a “grandmother,” Wynne is only 49 years old. Definitely within MILF territory).

Zevran: But it is a marvelous bosom. I have seen women half your age who have not held up half so well. Perhaps it is a magical bosom?

Wynne: Stop... talking about my bosom.

…

Zevran: There have been many bosoms in my past, though only few as fine as yours.

Wynne: Enough. I am ending this conversation.

…

Wynne: Zevran, I am old enough to be your grandmother.

Zevran: You say that like it's a bad thing.

Wynne: And what would you do with me if you had me, hmm? This is a game you play, nothing more.

Zevran: Ha, you are a cynical woman, Wynne. Cynical and powerful. It drives me mad with desire.

Kristoff/Justice

In Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening, one of our companions is a spirit of Justice involuntarily possessing the corpse of a human Grey Warden named Kristoff.  Justice soon reveals that he has partial access to Kristoff’s memories but not any of Kristoff’s emotions.

Shortly after defeating the Baroness, during the conversation potentially leading to recruiting him into the party:

Justice: It seems I cannot return to the Fade. I am trapped here in the body of this “Grey Warden”? There are memories within this poor man’s mind, they are… they are difficult to see. But... he was a Grey Warden? He was... slain by the darkspawn, the one called The First?

Warden: The darkspawn are who the Grey Wardens fight. 

Justice: And that was your pursuit when you were tricked into the Fade, yes, I understand now.

Justice: It seems I am at a loss. I know nothing of this world, and have only a few memories of this Grey Warden to draw from. I do not wish to die. What shall I do, mortal?

This is relevant to the later discussions regarding Kristoff’s wife Aura.  Justice indicates he doesn’t personally feel Kristoff’s love for Aura but instead longs for such an experience of his own.  Yet this longing in itself is enough to trigger discomfort and questions about his identity as a (non-demonic) Fade spirit.

During the discussion following the quest Justice for Kristoff, after meeting Aura in the Amaranthine Chantry:

Justice: I have been thinking of Aura, the mortal woman who was wife to Kristoff. I continue to envy their love. But envy is what a demon feels, a desire for something it cannot have.

Warden: You aren’t taking it from them. There’s a difference. 

Justice: I… I think I understand. You coexist with both great darkness and great beauty. It must be confusing. Yet now I find myself wishing to be more. It is enlightening. Thank you for bringing me to this world.

This may have been part of the explanation for Justice’s deep attachment to seeking, well, “Justice for Kristoff.”  His overriding goal is to kill the Mother to punish her for ordering the murder of Kristoff (not that this stops him from openly eyeing Anders the entire time), and his willingness to excuse actions by the Warden that he considers morally objectionable (e.g., agreeing to murder a cop for money, burning down Amaranthine, allying with their former kidnapper) is motivated by a belief that working with the Warden is necessary to achieve that objective.  If the Warden tells him that he isn’t Kristoff and should just “let it go,” Justice explicitly says, “I cannot” (with this dialogue option netting -3 in Disapproval).  It’s true that Justice takes a deep interest in Kristoff’s life in general (even collecting personal property to reminisce over), but he specifically cites Kristoff’s wife as a primary point of interest.  He explicitly says he wants to experience love and romance and sees Kristoff and Aura as an ideal example.  

(The Warden’s potential response of “You aren’t taking it from them” and “There’s a difference” also calls to mind Nathaniel’s ultimately successful argument in favor of possessing a living body: “Perhaps together, you can do what they cannot do alone. If you gave instead of taking, I would consider you no demon.”)

In general, Justice seems ignorant of and/or confused about sexuality and expresses annoyance at Oghren's dirty jokes and OG Anders’s habit of making a pass at every woman he meets.

When Oghren tries to probe Justice about reproductive functions and Kristoff’s memories of married life, Justice seems to not understand the sexual innuendo nor the significance of sexuality to marriage (or at least to most marriages that do not end in divorce).  

Oghren: Now that you have a physical body, what do you plan to do with it?

Justice: Serve justice, as I always have.

Oghren: I know what I'd do if I suddenly became a complete man.

Justice: You are alluding to something. I know not what.

Oghren: You can't be that stupid.

Justice: We have work to do.

Oghren: And... er... everything works? Everything's intact? All the plumbing?

Justice: You are alluding to something. I know not what.

Oghren: Oh, come on!

Oghren: You have memories, right? Kristoff's memories.

Justice: Yes.

Oghren: And Kristoff was married? You have memories of that, yes?

Justice: Yes.

Oghren: Aha! So you must know what I'm talking about!

Justice: Must I?

Oghren: Come on! Kristoff must have buttered the southern pony in his day.

Justice: I do not believe Kristoff has ever seen a southern pony, let alone buttered it. What does that even mean?

Oghren: (Sigh) Nothing. It means nothing.

Moreover, Justice denies experiencing any physical needs or desires while possessing Kristoff’s corpse and finds Oghren’s refusal to shut up about sex and excretion rather irritating.

Justice: You speak often of bodily functions.

Oghren: (Grunts) Not half as often as they happen.

Justice: But why this preoccupation? I have a mortal body, yet it provides me no such amusement.

Oghren: You have a dead mortal body. Try a living one sometime, and then we'll talk.

Justice: Possess a living host? I would never!

Oghren: Tough break. Enjoy the corpse love.

While he doesn’t report anything resembling sexual desire, Justice does seem to pine over lyrium, which emits a song that appears especially attractive to spirits.  So at this time he has retained his Spirit-related interests without fully acquiring human ones. His lack of awareness of sexuality leads to interesting implications for when he does possess a living body. As Oghren points out, Justice currently has “a dead mortal body,” and things could very well be different if and when he chooses to inhabit “a living one.”

But if we’re being honest, most of the people reading this are only really here for Anders, so let’s not beat around the bush.

Anders/Justice

Prior to his possession by Justice, Anders seems to have gotten around.  A lot, actually.  Despite the heavy restrictions on romantic and sexual relationships in the Circle, and despite being forcibly separated from his first long-term lover (whom he dreamt of saving for decades prior to the latter’s demise in the Tranquility quest), Anders was apparently an active participant in Kinloch Hold’s surreptitious hookup culture. In real-life contexts in which open romance is prohibited, after all, it’s a lot easier to get away with no-strings-attached casual sex than with maintaining long-term relationships, and this ultimately tends to undermine and destabilize such bonds. Consistent with this, if romanced in DA2, Anders will say, “When I was in the Circle, love was only a game. It gave the templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose. No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love. This is the rule I will most cherish breaking.” Despite World of Thedas vol. 2 confirming that he and Karl Thekla “shared a deep love,” Anders remains reluctant to admit that he was ever in love (at least prior to the romance with Hawke) — although this probably stems more from the pain of losing him (twice, in fact).

During Awakening, Anders flirts with or otherwise expresses interest in virtually every woman he meets (sometimes rather inappropriately, as seen in his whistling at Velanna in the video above), including the Warden. He’s heavily implied to have been in a romantic/sexual relationship with his so-called “friend” in Amaranthine, Namaya (an city elven “mundane”/non-mage), given that she seems to resent him despite going out of her way to help him over a year after they last met and that she’ll grumble to a female Warden not to let him “sweet talk” her. In their Act 1 banter in DA2, Isabela and Anders will reveal that they had hooked up in The Pearl (Denerim’s brothel) during one of his escape attempts, apparently using magic for kink.

Anders: I keep thinking I know you from somewhere...

Isabela: You're Fereldan, right? Ever spend time at the Pearl?

Anders: That's it!

Anders: You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right? What was her name?

Isabela: The Lay Warden?

Anders: That's right! I think you were there the night I—

Isabela: Oh! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice...

Considering that initially he indicates that she looks familiar but can’t pinpoint where and how they met, that they had even had sex, and so forth, it sounds like such sexual encounters (with mundane women during escapes, potentially using “that electricity thing”) would have to have been fairly frequent and perhaps occurring a long time ago. And despite the common claim that he was/appeared totally straight until the second game, his high-approval dialogue with a male Warden is highly suggestive (“the picture of virile heroism”) — and this isn’t even getting into the “gay earring” and other queer-coding (which seems to have been intentional on the part of his original writer). As I mentioned above, Justice seems rather put off by Anders’s sexual antics, at least at this point in time. On the other hand, there are a few hints that Anders retains an interest in kink even post-possession (e.g., his apparently surprised/curious reaction to Merrill's interest in "dirty spells"). Most notoriously, if romanced by the time of Mark of the Assassin, he reveals a fantasy that is straight-up Nightmare Fuel, incorporating his worst fears (i.e., forcible Tranquility) and sadomasochistic elements:

Anders: Here I always figured you'd be the one coming to spring me from someone's dungeon. I had it all planned. I'd be in the Gallows, templars all around, holding the brand for the Rite of Tranquility. Then you'd burst in and break my chains. And then it would be all about the best way to show my gratitude.

Hawke: Did it have anything to do with finding another use for those chains?

Tallis: Not to come between you two or anything, but you didn't actually rescue us. I did.

Anders: I could be grateful to you too.

And he's into the idea of a threesome with Tallis ten seconds after learning she approves of mages like him having their mouths sewn shut.

Overall, though, Justice-Anders in DA2 has a noticeably more negative attitude towards sex (or at least casual/promiscuous sex) than did OG Anders in Awakening, but the reason for this is unclear. This change could be due to the influence of Justice, an understandable reaction to the number of STI cases he has treated in his clinic since coming to Kirkwall (of the local brothel, he complains, "I treat a lot of these customers in my clinic"), a reflection of increased religiosity (given that Anders likewise seems to go from skeptical and irreverent in Awakening to devoutly Andrastian, albeit of a heretical variety, in DA2), a reflection of aging or increasing depression... or it could simply mean nothing at all and be entirely attributable to a change in writer (from David Gaider to Jennifer Hepler) between games. Who knows?

In any case, in DA2, Anders repeatedly insists from the very beginning that when Justice possessed him, they merged into a new entity with shared thoughts and feelings (as opposed to Anders simply acquiring a moralistic voice in his head).

For example, at the end of Anders’s recruitment quest (Tranquility, Act 1):

Hawke: So, you have this spirit of justice living in your head?

Anders: It's not like that. He's gone now. He's part of me. It's not like we can... have a conversation. I feel his thoughts as my own. Not even the greatest scholar could tell you where I end and he begins.

(I recommend checking out the possession metas by @carabas both for the Justice-Anders merger and the general DA lore on spirit possession, including a collection of relevant quotes).

This is reinforced by the Tranquility (Act 1) quest log reading: “Anders was revealed to be a spirit of Justice, [sic] and killed his friend Karl. He provided copies of the Grey Warden maps of the Deep Roads around Kirkwall and is available to join the expedition if desired.” That is, the Anders we meet in the second game is in fact a spirit of Justice, not merely a human man with an extra passenger. Justice has become Anders much as Compassion has become Cole, although the latter’s identification is considered rather unusual in that, in Solas’s words, “You have not even possessed a body” (Subjected to His Will, DAI).

Sort of, anyways.

During the romance scene in Hawke’s mansion, Anders notoriously says (in his very first lines), “Justice does not approve of my obsession with you. He believes you're a distraction. It is one of the few things on which he and I disagree.”

Why this (allegedly) rare conflict? It’s heavily implied that Anders is in love with Hawke from their first meeting regardless of what happens next (e.g., “For three years [since having first met], you've haunted my sleep. I wake aching for you”; the Rivalry points not simply for rejecting his advances but for not flirting with him immediately; the later jealousy banter if he hadn’t explicitly been rejected in Acts 1 or 2); and if Hawke is a Friend, Anders outright exclaims, “Even Justice bows to you for the faith you have shown us” (Justice, Act 3) — suggesting that Justice does in fact like and/or approve of a supportive (at least as much as the game allows one to be) pro-mage Hawke. The word “even,” however, implies that Justice was inclined towards being hostile or suspicious of Hawke, at least initially.

Perhaps the phrase “obsession with you” is key. If romanced, Anders says that over the years he has spent a lot of time thinking about Hawke (see the above quote as well as a similar one, “For three years, I have lain awake every night, aching for you. I'm still terrified I'll wake up”), and Hawke does appear to hold a troubling amount of influence over him (e.g., convincing him to help kill or turn in mages in stark opposition to his and Justice’s morals and political goals, to venture into the Deep Roads repeatedly despite his claustrophobia and insistence that he never wants to return, and so forth), although much the same could be said of the other companions, who rarely do any more than briefly complain before complying with whatever Hawke asks. Prior to possessing Anders, Justice’s familiarity with love, sex, and romance had been limited to some “difficult to see” and emotionally-detached mental images of Kristoff’s marriage — again, without the direct experience of Kristoff’s feelings connected to them — and the affection of long-married couples tends to lack the intensity, absorption, and instability often associated with eager young people embarking on new love affairs.

It may also be worth noting that these lines about Justice’s disapproval comes not during the initial love confession and kiss but just prior to having sex (at a prearranged time and place) and in the immediate aftermath of a traumatic incident involving Justice taking over by force and lashing out blindly. In mages, it also seems that high emotional excitement can lead to a minor “leakage” of magic or temporary loss of control (perhaps an example of the Power Incontinence trope?), which may be especially frightening to them after the loss of control during Dissent (Act 2), which immediately precedes the romance. After all, Dorian sometimes accidentally shoots fire when shooting his shot (according to Iron Bull, at any rate), and Dorian's probably the chillest dude in the entire series.

Furthermore, as a spirit terrified of the prospect of demonic corruption, he’s inclined to see both desire (e.g., telling Anders that demons “have been perverted by their desires”) and envy (e.g., “envy is what a demon feels, a desire for something it cannot have”) as inherently demonic and corrupting, and it would be surprising if such an attitude didn’t create tension around sex and romance.

There’s a repeated insistence that Justice isn’t participating in the romance/sex, although this could be a case of Perhaps the Lady Doth Protest Too Much.

In the Hawke mansion, initiating the romance (Act 2):

Hawke: (“He's still in there... right?”) So, he's kind of... an unwilling participant in our threesome?

Anders: Don’t call it that.

In the Hawke mansion, rejecting Anders prior to sex (Act 2):

Hawke: Maybe we should wait until the voices in your head are in agreement.

Anders: I understand.

Meeting Isabela at the Hanged Man after initiating the Anders romance (Act 2):

Isabela: You, Anders... and Justice. That must be exciting! As they say, two's company, but three is better.

Hawke: (“Not with Justice”) I don’t think whoever made that claim had a Fade spirit in mind.

Isabela: No? You don't like his spear of righteousness then?

(Alternate):

Hawke: (“I like Anders”) I enjoy being with Anders. And that's all I'm going to say about it.

Isabela: We know about Anders.

Isabela: What about Justice? Does he not get involved? Or perhaps he thinks you're too good of a person and isn't willing to smite you? That would be a shame, wouldn't it? Everyone deserves a good smiting, now and then. I could use one right this minute.

(On a side note, considering that Isabela and Anders have had sex in the past, if they hooked up again post-possession, she would have an excellent opportunity to compare and contrast. I’m just sayin.’ It’s also interesting that both Zevran and Isabela have expressed potential interest in sex/intimacy with someone possessed by a Fade spirit. If two experienced sexual connoisseurs like Zevran and Isabela both agree that some novel sex activity would be good fun, I believe we can be fairly confident that it is at the very least worth trying).

Yet not only does Anders elsewhere repeatedly insist that Justice is always present (e.g., "It's always me. Justice and I are one," "He's part of me," "We are the same," etc.) and that the two share thoughts and feelings, but he makes the following amusing comment if rejected in favor of Merrill during the romance scene in Hawke's mansion: “Be careful. As innocent as she seems, she is still a blood mage. She is just less honest about there being a third party in your bed.”

Remember, his recurrent accusations are not that Merrill is currently possessed by a demon but that she's liable to eventually become possessed and/or is (perhaps unwittingly) doing the demon's bidding, which is considerably less intimate than the supernatural entity in question living in one's body and directly controlling one's thoughts and actions. Merrill even uses the word "platonic" to draw a distinction between her "relationship" with Audacity and Anders's "relationship" with Justice (Act 2 banter, post-Dissent, if Ella dies):

Anders: It's not a good feeling, you know… Being an abomination. I just got a taste of your future.

Merrill: I'm not that foolish. Our relationship is, um, strictly platonic.

So (at least when feeling cranky), he admits that Justice is a "third party in [their] bed" — occupying some role in their romantic/sexual relationship — even if he rejects the term "threesome." Again, recall that he simply cringes and urges Hawke not to "call it that" rather than actually rejecting the label as inaccurate per se.

So is Justice actually an "unwilling participant" in their "threesome?"

Maybe, but I doubt it.

Perhaps at risk of stating the obvious, Justice plays an increasingly dominant role in the Anders-Justice merger, and by the endgame at least, it appears that Anders may not even be capable of defying Justice’s wishes for any sustained period of time — and the relationship with Hawke lasts at least three years. It’s clear that Justice and Anders are in conflict at least some of the time, and there are at least brief moments in which one can seize full control and do something the other does not want. In the discussion after Tranquility (Act 1), Anders claims that the two usually blend together but that when he/they become sufficiently emotionally distressed, Justice can take over and lash out as “Vengeance,” episodes during which Anders has no awareness and/or no memory. The amnesia appears to be one-sided, though Anders wonders aloud if Justice has a similar experience so far as feeling controlled goes. If killed in the Fade during Night Terrors (Act 2) — whether Hawke fights him due to a misunderstanding or because Hawke genuinely tries to get Feynriel possessed by a demon — Anders worries that he could be emotionally harming Justice by making choices that the latter doesn't agree with (or at least doesn't explicitly give his blessing to), given that they are sharing the same body (Anders in the Fade, Act 2):

Hawke: (“You two never talk anymore”) Do you need someone to mediate between the voices in your head?

Anders: Hmm. There's an idea.

Hawke: (“You need to control him”) It's sounding more and more like he's the one in charge.

Anders: I've stayed out of the Fade since we merged. I don't like being a passenger in my own skin. I suppose Justice feels like that every day. Shackled to my body and every decision I make. No wonder it's become a prison for him.

However, at least as time goes on, Hawke's potential complaint that it's "sounding more and more like [Justice is] the one in charge" even outside of the Fade seems more accurate. Perhaps most obviously, in the few instances where Anders and Justice can actually be seen vying for control in the moment (e.g., upon initially encountering Ser Alrik during Dissent in Act 2; when confronted by a Rival Hawke at the end of the Justice quest in Act 3; and during Act 3 banter with Varric, when Varric complains that Justice won't let "Anders come out and play"), Justice ends up winning. On a more subtle and tragic level, Anders goes from personal aspirations and longing for relationships in Awakening to denigrating all this as “selfish” by Act 1 of DA2, wondering out loud “how much is left” of him without Justice in Act 2, and finally insisting “there is nothing else inside me” by Act 3. If he’s in a Rivalry relationship with Hawke, by the end of his personal quest in Act 3, Anders complains of blackouts and memory loss (during periods in which Justice seizes control forcibly), despairs that “he’s too strong,” and finally says, “It's like the longer we go, the less of me there is.” It should be noted here however that the Friendship route and the Rivalry route represent two different character paths, so far as Anders’s relationship with Justice is concerned. While Anders and Justice are more in tune and tend to see themselves more as one being on the Friendship route (where Hawke is supportive), the Rivalry route entails Hawke instigating or exacerbating conflict between them by persuading Anders to defy Justice’s purpose (by siding against the mages), diversion from which has a corrupting influence on spirits. Regardless, with Justice increasingly in the driver's seat, by the endgame they have shifted to prioritizing the mage rebellion over a romantic relationship with Hawke. To quote the romance-specific dialogue from the aftermath of the Justice (Act 3) quest:

Anders: I love you. I wish that meant I would never hurt you. You are the most important thing in my life. But some things matter more than my life, more than either of us. I'm sorry.

(First Option):

Hawke: (“Love is important”) You're wrong. There is nothing more important than love!

Anders: I told you I would break your heart. Just know it breaks mine to do it.

(Alternate):

Hawke: (“You’re right”) This is war. We cannot be weakened by our feelings.

Anders: I knew you would understand.

(As an aside, it's a little mysterious why Anders doesn't simply reveal his plan to a Hawke who makes statements championing "war" and "overthrowing the Templars" and the like after happily supporting him with his "suspicious" requests, except on a meta-narrative level - that is, the authors wanted to preserve the surprise on the part of the player).

It's worth noting that Anders expresses surprise if Hawke doesn't literally stab him in the back during The Last Straw (Act 3), and he handles both being killed and being dumped with remarkable equanimity here (despite getting offended if being killed in the Fade or dumped immediately after sex in Act 2), suggesting that he had already made peace with these possibilities. Unlike the other two infamous Endgame Plot Twist Apostates, however, Anders does not disappear or attempt to terminate the relationship in the end — if anything, he’s positively thrilled if Hawke remains at his side. To quote the romance dialogue from just before the final battle with Meredith:

Anders: I should have trusted you. Even with all we've shared, I never thought you'd spare my life. If we live through this... you know I'll be hunted. No one in Kirkwall will offer me mercy. But... if you would join me, I'd rather be on the run with you than safe with anyone else.

Hawke: Then we will be fugitives together.

Anders: We will fight for a world where our children can be born mages and free. Ten years, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart. May the Maker bring us victory. Or everything else is meaningless.

So despite everything, Anders is still in love with Hawke and hopes to pursue the romance, albeit from now on as an Outlaw Couple spreading the revolution across Thedas (which Hawke reports they have been doing in their DAI cameo, if Anders was romanced and supported and the mages defended). And in the end, his vision of what justice and mage freedom mean isn't about punishing all evildoers, about mages being represented in government or governing themselves, about equal rights under the law, or anything else that abstract -- rather, it's about the freedom to love and form families.

Prior to their merge, Justice talked abstractly and militantly about "oppression" and the need to "strike a blow against your oppressors" and "free those who remain oppressed," while Anders declared that individual-level freedom really meant the option to retire to a private life (phrased jokingly as "a pretty girl, a decent meal, and the right to shoot lightning at fools"). Yet under the Friendship path in the second game, when Anders declares they have finally fully fused together, the ultimate end goal is that future generations can enjoy such loving relationships. Constructions such as "our children" and later generations of "someone like me" and "someone like you" (emphasis mine) represent a fusion of the personal and the collective, a substitution of vicarious fulfillment for personal happiness. After all, he had sacrificed his individuality and personal aspirations years before he prepared for any physical martyrdom. Yet "our children" has a more literal meaning as well. Did Anders, or perhaps Hawke, finally rub off on Justice?

Flemeth/Mythal

The last major spirit-human pairing featured in the games is that between Flemeth, the "Witch of the Wilds," and Mythal, the elven goddess of justice and childbirth. Flemeth is revealed to be carrying a "piece" of Mythal's soul/spirit in DAI, and describes the possession as follows in The Final Piece:

Flemeth: Once I was but a woman, crying out in the lonely darkness for justice. And she came to me, a wisp of an ancient being, and she granted me all I wanted and more. I have carried Mythal through the ages ever since, seeking the justice denied to her.

Inquisitor: Then… you carry Mythal inside you?

Flemeth: She is a part of me, no more separate than your heart from your chest.

The divinity of the elven gods is disputed by members of the pantheon themselves, namely Fen'Harel ("The Dread Wolf") in Trespasser and Flemeth/Mythal here. The pre-Trespasser dialogue even suggests that "Mythal" may be a Fade spirit.

For example, the Warden and Morrigan can speculate about whether Flemeth is some kind of abomination in DAO.

In DA2, Anders/Justice (an "abomination" himself) is confused as to the nature of Flemeth when encountering her on Sundermount during Long Way Home (Act 1).

Anders: What are you? A spirit? An abomination? This is no magic I've ever seen!

Flemeth: And you would know of spirits and abominations.

Anders: I'm a mage. Of course I know of such things.

Flemeth: Of course!

Fenris is also rather confused by her, although he rejects the notion that she could be a spirit or possessed by a spirit.

Fenris: You are no simple witch.

Flemeth: Figured that out yourself, did you?

Fenris: I have seen powerful mages, spirits, and abominations. But you are none of those things. What are you?

Flemeth: Such a curious lad. The chains are broken, but are you truly free?

The Inquisitor can express suspicions that what Flemeth is calling Mythal may have been a demon, and although the wisdom of the Well of Sorrows refutes this explanation, Flemeth does validate their questioning of the claim to godhood:

Inquisitor: That could’ve been a demon, lying to you.

Flemeth: What do the voices tell you? / You hear the voices of the Well, girl. What do they say?

Inquisitor / Morrigan: They say you speak the truth.

Flemeth: But what was Mythal? A legend given name and called a god, or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning... As for me, I have had many names. But you… may call me Flemeth.

Morrigan is also rather suspicious, and Flemeth's response (as per usual) does nothing to clarify the situation:

Morrigan: And you follow her whims? Do you even know what she truly is?

Flemeth: You seek to preserve the powers that were, but to what end? It is because I taught you, girl, because things happened that were never meant to happen. She was betrayed as I was betrayed—as the world was betrayed! Mythal clawed and crawled her way through the ages to me, and I will see her avenged! Alas, so long as the music plays, we dance.

This all sounds very dramatic and even epic until we take a moment to reflect on the much less flattering (and even rather crass) depiction of Flemeth in DAO as well as the broader context.

For one, given that the elves who worshipped Mythal had received no discernible help from her across centuries of enslavement, dispossession, and genocide, it's unclear why Mythal instead chose to bond with a human woman entangled in a soap opera narrative of marital infidelity and domestic violence. (The non-response to the persecution to the elves is hand-waved away with Flemeth's usual evasions and non-sequiturs). DAI confirms that this is indeed Flemeth's backstory and the context in which she became possessed by the entity later identified as Mythal:

Inquisitor: I know the name “Flemeth.” It belongs to an ancient Fereldan legend. It says, long ago, you left your husband for a lover. Your husband then tricked you, killed your lover, and imprisoned you. Then a spirit came to offer you vengeance. Mythal—that’s what you spoke of.

Flemeth: One day, someone will summarize the terrible events of your life so quickly. But, yes, I was that woman. That is how my tale began.

Inquisitor: Flemeth appears in other legends, helping heroes for reasons of her own.

Flemeth: I nudge history, when it’s required. Other times, a shove is needed.

For another, her own daughter characterizes her as emotionally and potentially physically abusive, does not hesitate to believe that she is ready to harm her children and grandchildren, and later cries in despair, "I am many things, but I will not be the mother you were to me."

Flemeth apparently taught Morrigan that love is a weakness. To quote some examples:

Morrigan telling the story of how her mother shattered a mirror to teach her a lesson: "Beauty and love are fleeting and have no meaning. Survival has meaning. Power has meaning. Without those lessons I would not be here today, as difficult as they might have been."

If asked if she loves Flemeth: "What an odd thing to say. Why must ‘love’ enter into the equation? Flemeth taught me everything I needed to learn. How to survive. The meaning of power. The truth of men. If other mothers do not teach these things, then I believe them the lesser."

If romanced: "I have allowed myself to become… too close. This is a weakness."

If romanced, Morrigan exhibits familiarity and even confidence with sex but struggles to understand and cope with love.

Perhaps this ought not be surprising, considering the lessons Morrigan learned from Flemeth, who provided a less than stellar role-model when it comes to relationships with men.

Leliana: They say your mother is Flemeth, a witch of the Korcari Wilds.

Morrigan: They also say that washing your feet in winter makes you catch cold in the head, but we all know that is not true. But sometimes they are right and they are right in this.

Leliana: You know the stories about--

Morrigan: Of course. You think my mother would let me go without telling me all the stories of her youth?

Leliana: My mother told me stories too. She was the one who kindled my love of the old tales and legends.

Morrigan: Hmph. My mother's stories curdled my blood and haunted my dreams. No little girl wants to hear about the Wilder men her mother took to her bed, using them till they were spent, then killing them. No little girl wants to be told that this is also expected of her, once she comes of age.

Leliana: I… uh… I see.

Morrigan: No, you don't. You really don't.

That's right: Flemeth enjoyed bragging to her young daughter of luring "Wilder men" into sex and murdering them as soon as they're worn out... and told Morrigan that sleeping with strange men before murdering them was also "expected of her, once she comes of age." You know, totally normal parent-child dynamics? It also may be noteworthy when considering the reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with Alistair and the Warden to begin with. Namely, Flemeth wanted Morrigan to seduce Alistair and/or a male Warden in order to give birth to a baby with the soul of the Old God Urthemiel, for reasons that she never explains. The Final Piece suggests that Flemeth wanted to extract the now-purified Old God soul from the child, but no explanation is provided, and Morrigan herself is rather mystified by her motives and intentions.

Flemeth's tales of banging random guys in the wilderness before disposing of the bodies is also consistent with Chasind legends of Flemeth's many daughters despite the absence of any known/named men in her life (after the original drama of her abusive husband murdering her lover), although Morrigan considers the possibility of Flemeth simply abducting babies to obtain new "daughters" at least as plausible. Morrigan reports that she cannot recall Flemeth ever having been young, but given her shapeshifting abilities, it's likely that Flemeth can look any way she chooses.

How else can we explain her GILF-tastic transformation from DAO to DA2?

In addition, a major subplot in DAO (Morrigan's companion quest Flemeth's Real Grimoire) revolves around discovering Flemeth's grimoire, which reveals that Flemeth has been raising daughters in order to possess their bodies once grown, thereby evading death. When confronted by the Warden, Flemeth does not deny it, offering her usual evasions. After the Warden either "kills" Flemeth or agrees to lie to Morrigan that Flemeth is dead, they discover among her belongings the Robes of Possession, the description for which reads: "The original intent of these robes is clear: a 'welcome home' present from Flemeth designed to sap Morrigan's will and ease the ancient sorceress's possession of her daughter." Neither does Flemeth give an explicit denial in DAI, although she later tells Morrigan, "A soul is not forced upon the unwilling, Morrigan. You were never in danger from me." What this means is unclear; Morrigan is also mystified, wondering if that means that Flemeth expected her to eventually consent to possession despite everything.

Evangeline/Faith

Towards the end of Dragon Age Asunder (set about halfway between the events of DA2 and DAI), the Spirit of Faith departs Wynne to possess the Templar Evangeline, who ultimately sides with the mages against the Templar Order and enters a romantic relationship with the mage protagonist Rhys. The possession saves Evangeline's life only at the cost of Wynne's, given that spirit possession is the only factor keeping the latter alive after her near-death experience in DAO. In DAI, dialogue with Cole and subsequent War Table missions (Locate Rhys and Evangeline and Deploy Rhys and Evangeline) confirm that Rhys and Evangeline are alive, well, and together (and still presumably in a romantic relationship). Given that Faith had previously spent the past several years in the head of Rhys's mom prior to any potential "threesome" with Rhys (you know, as one half of Rhys's girlfriend?), it's fortunate that Fade spirits apparently have no concept of awkwardness.

Mihris/Imshael

A potentially interesting but book-exclusive case occurs in Mihris, the First of Clan Virnehn (and thus a skilled mage), when she allows the Desire demon (or self-proclaimed "Choice Spirit") Imshael to possess her in The Masked Empire.

Notably, our examples of consensual spirit possession (Wynne/Faith, Evangeline/Faith, Kristoff/Justice, Anders/Justice, Flemeth/Mythal) involve apparent/implied gender matching between spirit and host. However, this is not consistently the case with demonic possession in any part of the series. For example, Marethari is possessed by Audacity ("him"/"his"), for example, while Connor is possessed by the unnamed Desire demon ("she"/"her," "the scary lady").

With the highly salient exception of Desire demons, most of the demons of Dragon Age are coded as male/masculine, being voiced by men and often referred to with "he/him" pronouns when not being denied personhood altogether and called "it/its." In DA2, for example, the pride demon Audacity targets Merrill and Keeper Marethari as potential victims to possess (Merrill reveals that Audacity had been calling out to both of them in their dreams since arriving at Sundermount) and eventually possesses Marethari, despite being referred to with "he/him" pronouns (e.g., "It would have taken powerful magic to break him free of this prison," "You would have been his first victim"). If I recall correctly, the only clear inconsistency in gendering occurs in Night Terrors (Act 2), in which the Pride demon Wryme is gendered male during the quest but subsequently referred to as “she” by Fenris in the follow-up Fenris Night Terrors — although fans usually interpret this as “suggesting Bioware may have originally planned for him to fall prey to the [female/feminine] desire demon instead” (in the words of the quest wiki page).

Again, Imshael chooses as his host a young Dalish woman, despite being presented as male/masculine and referred to with "he/him." This is highlighted in the following passage in Chapter 17:

Celene looked at Mihris in disgust. “Possessed by a demon?" “Spirit,” Mihris corrected, and then caught herself and chuckled. When she spoke again, her voice had deepened to that of the man who’d stood in the circle. “Ah, pity. You’re a bit more cunning than you look. Yes, Empress, I offered young Mihris here a little additional power in exchange for getting to come along.” The thing inside Mihris smiled. “None of which explains why I shouldn’t just kill bold Ser Michel now to fulfill my end of the bargain.” “You will free the elves when you are ready, when it is safe. You offer me a stately dinner,” he said, waving Mihris’s staff idly, “when what I want is the ravening, bare-fisted gluttony of a starving man”

Like with other cases of possession, the spirit/demon seizing control appears to cause vocal changes (usually a deepening of the voice), but here the text specifically states that Imshael's surfacing caused Mihris's voice to "deepen to that of the man," specifically transforming into Imshael's normal (masculine) speaking voice.

Not only is he regarded as a distinct and alien entity by both the text (written from a third-person POV) and the other characters, but unlike Justice with Anders or (to a lesser extent) the unnamed desire demon with Connor, Imshael doesn't appear to ever actually identify as Mihris or speak from her perspective (beyond perhaps hiding his presence, if previous dialogue from a possessed Mihris is interpreted as originating from Imshael). Likewise, in a passage written from Imshael's perspective (World of Thedas vol. 2), Imshael speaks of Mihris rather distantly and from the third-person, presenting her as an autonomous being with whom he made a fair contract and later had his disagreements. Quote: "She seemed quite invested in avenging her clan and killing Ser Michel, even to the point of allowing me to possess her to give her the power to do so. Sadly, it ended up being a waste of time. When her chance came, Mihris flinched from the consequences, and with no interesting choice to keep me bound, I was forced to go my own way" (p. 279). Interestingly, despite the earlier scene in which he directly assumes motor control for a brief moment, his characterization of their merger gives Mihris the overall agency and power in the relationship. After all, she had to "allow" him to "give her the power" she needed to accomplish her goals, and when she rejected "her chance" to do so, he was "forced" to leave.

When returning in DAI, Imshael appears as clearly male/masculine, being voiced by a man and wearing Anders's signature bird suit (perhaps to remind the audience that Anders is the Real Bad Guy who you were supposed to kill). Funnily enough, among his three offers ("choices") presented to the Inquisitor in exchange for avoiding a fight, one is for "Virgins" — a longing for instant gratification with virgin sexual partners being a very stereotypically masculine desire — which could be read as implying either that Imshael himself has stereotypically masculine interests (i.e., in easy sex with young/naive partners) or modes of thinking (assuming that others would share such interests) and/or that he typically makes these offers to men. If the Inquisitor does ask for "Virgins," his subsequent reply ("I should really stop offering virgins.  Everyone always chooses them") indicates that he has made the offer of virgins quite often, suggesting he's just tossing out what he thinks the random person on the street might be interested in.

I for one strongly recommend making some kind of deal with Imshael during the Call Me Imshael (DAI) quest. First, you get some nice loot more or less for free: a Superb Corrupting Rune (if "Virgins" is chosen, in compensation for the lack of virgins); a collection of gems worth 1,532 in gold (if "Riches" is chosen); or the same great items that you would otherwise have to fight him to obtain, namely the shield March of the Everlasting, an Amulet of Renewal, and 3 Spirit Essences (if "Power" is chosen). But most importantly, if spared Imshael will kill Michel de Chevin for you, which is objectively the most wonderful and morally correct outcome. Besides, the only conceivable benefit to letting Michel de Chevin live is getting a crappy low-level Enchanter Staff Schematic (only 55-62-71-73 in terms of DPS) which almost certainly do not need at the completion of the War Table Operation called Assigning Michel de Chevin. There is literally no other way to kill Michael de Chevin other than to make a deal with Imshael — to repeat, you must let Imshael go in order to ensure Michel de Chevin's death — and allowing a literal demon to unwittingly do your dirty work for you is an excellent way to maintain your reputation as the leader of a shady military-religious organization. Moreover, Imshael's escape and subsequent rampage is also mostly Michel de Chevin's fault, so you can blame any hypothetical future destruction on the part of the re-released Imshael on the now-dead Michel de Chevin.

Anyways, returning to gender in Fade Spirits... While spirits and demons are strongly gender-coded (e.g., Valor, Justice, Compassion, Rage, Pride, Sloth, etc. as male/masculine; Faith, Wisdom, Desire as female/feminine), it's unclear to what extent they may be reflecting back the mages and dreamers who encounter them versus actually having stable gender identities.

To take perhaps the most prominent example, prior to merging with Anders, Justice may have had a more fluid sense of gender (or perhaps simply failed to recognize the significance mortals generally accord to an alignment between gender identity and sexual anatomy), given the following banter with Velanna in Awakening:

Velanna: It seems you actually like this world.

Justice: I do. I have had experiences I cannot even begin to explain.

Velanna: A pity that you'll soon fall apart.

Justice: I could find and inhabit another corpse. A female body might offer a different perspective, wouldn't you think?

Velanna: If I die in your presence, you stay away from my body, you hear me?

Justice: Your objection is noted.

So Justice would like to acquire a woman's "perspective" and "experiences" to augment the ones he has come to enjoy about the mortal realm, despite his initial protestations. Here he admits that he does in fact "like this world" and would even be willing to procure another rotting corpse to remain in it. It seems like he may even have been eyeing Velanna as a potential host (about the same time as he was badgering Anders); it's shortly after this hard rejection ("you stay away from my body") that he returns to berating her about killing humans in the Wending Wood, as if siccing possessed trees on colonizers is in any way wrong.

Dragon Age Origins also provides the only clear instance of a bigender or gender fluid character in Witherfang/the Lady of the Forest. As Zathrian later explains, they are in fact the same entity (as opposed to host and spirit?), with Witherfang and the Lady representing two different facets of one spirit's nature. While the Lady is obviously gendered female/feminine by name, pronouns (always being referred to with "she/her"), and physical appearance, Witherfang is specifically stated to be a male wolf (and referred to with "he/him"). They are also given stereotypically feminine and masculine attributes, respectively - the Lady standing for peace and cooperation, Witherfang for violence and blind vengeance, in parallel with the differences between Keeper Lanaya (pacific, multicultural, feminine) and Keeper Zathrian (vengeful, warlike, sort of masculine). Unfortunately for our purposes, though, Witherfang/the Lady are not reported to have engaged in any sexual or romantic relations at any point in their existence in the mortal plane, and the werewolves serving the Lady appear to consider her as a leader or mother figure rather than a potential mate.

Returning to Mihris/Imshael, the pair parts rather soon after initiating their working relationship, so the long-term implications of possession are unclear in her case. Given that across the first two games, characters are depicted banging female/feminine Desire demons and/or banging others with their presence or instigation, it seems deeply unfair that there are no opportunities to peg Imshael despite his evident willingness to trade the sexual favors of others for his life.

Other Spirit Possession Cases: More Information Needed

There are of course a few other cases of (potential) spirit possession, although with these we lack adequate information on the topic at hand:

Sigrid/[Unnamed Spirit]: In the Jaws of Hakkon DLC, we encounter a young Avvar woman named Sigrid, who exiles herself from Stonebear Hold out of a refusal to part with her "teacher" — in this context, a Fade spirit. Traditionally, Avvar mages invite benevolent spirits to possess them as part of their education and training (and potentially continue to cohabit with them indefinitely if they fear they are too weak to withstand demonic assaults), later releasing these "teachers" in a special ritual when no longer needed. The education and training of mages appears to occur across a similar developmental period across Thedas, beginning as soon as magic manifests (according to written lore, usually around puberty, although we see a number of very young children manifesting magic) and typically ending around late adolescence or early adulthood (apparently the 17-20 year age range). In the Circles, if Anders and Kinloch Hold are any indication, it appears that many apprentices (most of them teenagers) are sexually active despite the restrictions imposed by Templars. It's unclear whether and how much sexual activity on the part of Avvar mages-in-training occurs or is culturally permitted, but the cases of Anders/Justice and Flemeth/Mythal strongly suggest that spirit possession in and of itself is not a barrier to sexual activity, so it stands to reason that at least some possessed Avvar mages are putting themselves out there. Sigrid has apparently chosen to remain bonded with her spirit over the long-term as an adult. How might this affect her relationships? Unfortunately, we do not know.

Aldenon/Wisdom: Admittedly, this potential case of spirit possession is rather speculative. Aldenon was a royal advisor and an apostate rebel mage reputed to have a booming voice, extraordinarily powerful magic, an unyielding commitment to his ideals (perhaps at the expense of practicality), and claimed he could see the future using Wisdom's Eye. He apparently had a close and special relationship with King Calenhad.

Ameridan/Unnamed "spirit companion": Also admittedly speculative. Ameridan was the First Inquisitor, as well as an elven mage, and the plot of Jaws of Hakkon revolves heavily around uncovering the truth about him. Interestingly, one of his memories reveals: "My spirit companion believes we can seal the dragon away, even if we cannot kill it. It is less clear whether I can do so without sealing myself in as well... but I have little choice." As @mikkeneko points out in her excellent meta, this “spirit companion" may very well be an internal spirit (meaning possession), given the pronoun usage, the failure of his experienced Templar friend Haron to recognize the presence of any spirit, this being the only reference to a spirit despite it being a trusted "companion", and other factors. Ameridan was in a long-term romantic relationship with an elven Dreamer mage named Telana, a fact which the Chantry attempted to suppress; as Professor Bram Kenric puts it in the codex for Inquisitor Ameridan, "Ameridan was forced to retire due to the still-young Chantry's restrictions requiring celibacy, as he was involved in a relationship with a mysterious 'lady-mage' that the Chantry erased from history." Ameridan addresses her (and their romance) directly in one of his memories: "Telana, my love. I should not have asked you to come with me, though I know you would not have stayed behind. You are a Dreamer, and this dragon the Avvar have tamed carries a demon inside it. I can see how its presence hurts you. You should be at Halamshiral, reminding our people of our alliance with Drakon. Not here, risking death again with me. Still, in the old tongue, your name, Telanadas, means 'nothing is inevitable.' I will remember your name and hope." Solas, Dorian, Cassandra, and Vivienne all reply remarking about how Dreamers are "sensitive to demons" and how the demon must have caused her immense "pain." Dreamers, however, do not appear to have any aversion to non-demonic Fade spirits; Feynriel has no reaction to Justice despite being horrified at demons to the extent of considering Tranquility (which he had previously considered worse than death), and the most prominent Dreamer character, Solas, loves engaging with spirits, calls spirits his close friends, and spends his time seeking them out and trying to understand them. If Ameridan was bonded with a spirit, it may even be the case that it attracted Telana the Dreamer and ultimately drew them closer. Perhaps they initially found each other through the Fade. Unfortunately, we do not have much detail about the relationship, other than that their love was so powerful that Telana sought him out despite the demon and ultimately perished attempting to reach him.

Grandin/Rage: Although Rage is technically a demon, unlike most cases of demonic possession, their relationship seems to be consensual and even symbiotic, as the demon apparently saved Grandin's life from the Jaws of Hakkon and gave him the strength to seek revenge for the deaths of his friends (against the same enemies as the Inquisitor and co. are fighting). When discovered, Grandin/Rage swears to continue to fight in the service of the Inquisition, and unlike other cases of demonic possession, the protagonist has the option of allowing him to go free. They appear to be in agreement, refuse to be parted, and speak in first person plural pronouns. Once his close friend Scout Harding learns of his new condition, though, she essentially considers him gone and his life already over, so even if the demon doesn't go feral and start attacking the incorrect targets it seems unlikely that he will be able to reintegrate into society and enjoy normal relationships while still possessed.

Putting the Pieces Together: What would Fen’Harel do?

In evaluating the possibility of Fade spirit sex, our most important source may be the funky hobo elf that started it all. In Trespasser, of course, Solas reveals that he is actually Fen’Harel (“The Dread Wolf,” the elven trickster god), responsible for the separation of worlds that created the Fade and the Veil standing between it and the mortal world. Over the centuries, his only close relationships (before meeting Lavellan) appear to have been with Fade spirits rather than mortals. So he should know more than anyone about sexuality in the Fade — and he does!

At one point in banter, Blackwall (with Sera's encouragement) even asks Solas point-blank about the possibility of spirit sex:

Blackwall: Sera and I were just talking about you. We need you to settle a question for us.

Solas: (Sighs.) Sera's involved? So this question will be offensive.

Blackwall: Yes, probably. Sorry.

Blackwall: You make friends with spirits in the Fade. So... um, are there any that are more than just friends? If you know what I mean.

Solas: Oh, for... really?!

Blackwall: Look, it's a natural thing to be curious about!

Solas: For a twelve-year-old!

Blackwall: It's a simple yes or no question!

Solas: Nothing about the Fade or spirits is simple, especially not that.

Blackwall: Aha! So you do have experience in these matters!

Solas: I did not say that.

Blackwall: Don't panic. It'll be our little secret.

Solas: Ass.

Blackwall: Now who's twelve?

(Side Note: This officially makes at least 4 major characters who have expressed an interest in sex and/or romance involving spirits - Zevran, Isabela, Sera, Blackwall. Up to 6 total if we count Maryden and Hawke, whose interest/involvement may be conditional on player choices. This should count as explicit validation on the part of Bioware).

In case Blackwell calling him out didn't make it sufficiently clear, Solas just admitted that Fade spirit sex is "especially not" "simple." As in Fade spirit sex is not just real and complicated but relatively more complicated than most things in the Fade. As in much further elaboration is desperately needed.

Furthermore, it may be especially noteworthy in this context that when Solas initiates (let me repeat, initiates) romantic/sexual contact with the Inquisitor, it's in the Fade. He's excited and confident enough not simply to accept another's affection but to actually take the lead, reaching out to grasp Lavellan's hand and pulling her into a kiss in the Fade, even while he becomes embarrassed and seeks to withdraw when once again in the physical world. Yes yes, it could reflect his general preference for and comfort with being in the Fade over the physical world or a nervousness about the reactions of others (given that going incorporeal ensures perfect privacy), but I would much prefer to immediately jump to the conclusion that it means that Solas has a lot of experience getting laid in the Fade and briefly panicked about how much she would read into it and whether she might harbor any prejudice against intercorporeal (???) relationships given traditional Dalish suspicion of contact with spirits.

Conclusion

If you've finally read to the end of this obscenely long post about Fade spirit sexuality, then I don't even know what to say. Uh, thanks for indulging in my unhinged ghost sex fantasies dumped on my blog under the flimsy excuse of writing another Dragon Age meta? To be fair, though, you probably wasted far much less of your life reading this than I spent writing this. As always, linking to porn of any of the spirit/spirit-possessed characters above (er, the adult ones) is strongly encouraged and may increase the likelihood of you becoming my favorite mutual.

In conclusion, I believe we have firm evidence that banging Fade spirits would be interesting, lore-consistent, and overall a valuable addition to the upcoming sequel Dragon Age: Dreadwolf. Bioware cheated us with previous opportunities to fornicate with Fade spirits, and it's only fair that they include an option to get laid with some sort of incorporeal or transcendent being in the future.

[shootingstarwritings]

In-hair-atence

When they pass, some give money, others give land, and even a few are able to part with important mementos or family heirlooms. Me? I give people the honor of becoming my next vessel.

One a peaceful Sunday morning, I awoke with my little boytoy next to me. "Good morning, Hunter," I whispered sweetly as I gave him a tiny peck on his lips. Though the day had only just begun, I could feel my weary bones protest as I stirred.

This body was in its 60s, and I was beginning to reach the end of my rope with it. It had treated me well the past few decades, but it was time to move on.

"Good morning," said Hunter, smiling back. He always tried his hardest to reciprocate the love I showered him with, but we both knew he was merely faking. I had already paid his new luxurious apartment and had him placed in my will. As long as he played the part, his financial future was practically guaranteed. Once I croaked, he was free to spend my fortune however he wished.

That was fine for me as well. I wasn't ready to part with the money I had accrued during the centuries I had been alive. And his youthful, stupid vigor was exactly what I needed after spending so long inside this older body.

"I've got a little gift for you," I told him, chuckling when his eyes lit up as they always did. So predictable, so stupid. Digging into my nightstand, I pulled out a little box barely the size of my hand. "I want to see you wear it," I whispered as I handed it to him.

Hunter didn't pay much attention. He opened the tiny box and pulled out a tiny necklace. "Is this it?" he said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. He probably thought it was something more chic. His mood shifted when he noticed my incredulous look. "I didn't think it'd be so small is all. I love it!" he said, beaming at me with forced enthusiasm. I just smiled back and nodded, encouraging him to put it on.

The fool put i on without hesitation, and his fate was sealed.

As soon as the necklace was around his neck, the spell began to take form. "Huh, what the--?" was all Hunter was able to say before he collapsed on the bed, flat on his back. His body seized up as a tidal wave of magic crashed over the apartment bedroom.

I breathed out a sigh of relief as all sensations failed me. My body, nostalgic yet well-worn out, faded into nothing but dust as my essence was freed once more. Hunter could do nothing but look on in horror as his sugar daddy faded away and a body-stealing specter now hovered above him.

"Enjoy your gift," I whispered before plunging into him. He of course struggled, but his weak and vain soul was no match for my experienced self. I swiftly engulfed his essence into my own, feeling a lifetime of memories in the span of a few seconds, and rapidly expanded into his convulsing body.

"Ahh...! Aurgh... right there!" I gasped as I felt the sensation of filling a new vessel. His youthful vigor, the rug of hair all over him, and his bottomless libido... all of these came together as my hips thrust into the air, releasing a shower of cum all over my new form.

I opened my eyes and took my first breath. I was like a newborn. The world was so intense, so sharp, and so full of possibilities.

"So long, Mr. Grayson," I muttered. My old vessel used to be a dear friend before I stole his body. Now he was gone, and a new life was mine. "And hello to a sexy new me."

And the cycle began anew.

[blueflyingturtleontheway]

Burning passion

whumptober day 21 Spirit possession

Fandom: Elena of Avalor

Characters: Gabriel Nuñez, El Guapo, Rico Villalobos (mentioned)

Words: 723

After rewatching The Curse of El Guapo a million times you can't convince me that Gabe didn't enjoy being possessed to a certain degree. I could go on a whole monologue about it with time stamps from the episode, but instead have this little internal monologue of a kind that I think he could have had going during the first part of the competition.

A foreign laughter filled his ears but it rumbled in his chest. He felt as if he was watching someone else go through the course - looking over someone's arm - or maybe it was simply his memory, from endless hours of training against the obstacles. But his heart was rushing, his blood was pumping and he knew he was there. He was fighting - he was winning - and he felt alive like he hasn't in centuries. The last tree fell under one strike of his sword. He spared a quick glance to the side and of course the hedge wall was untouched except for the path that he had cut out for himself.

His chest swelled with a familiar, burning feeling. Who could be a match for him?

But suddenly there was Rico and he - did he really dare to mock him?!

He ran after him and launched himself at the training dummy while still a good distance from it. He made it with a twirl in the air - of course he made it. His sword raised and fell on the hay sacks and if it swung a bit close to the second track, so what? His opponents were gutted open before the fool even finished the first set.

He landed perfectly - as always - and the stadium erupted. They were all cheering for him. For some reason it made him feel dizzy, but at the same time he knew perfectly well that he deserved it. He deserved all the praise and they were cheering him oh so delightfully!

He had the time to give his admirers what they asked for. What were a few simple push ups for him in the middle of such an easy race? He was good at this - no, he was the best at this.

He started for the next part of the course before Rico could even dream of catching up to him. He jumped and he flew - those short little barriers were supposed to be a problem for him? He barely even touched the rope for the next jump. He added a somersault - he knew his audience was waiting for more showstopping feats from him - and cut the target with one slash of his mighty sword. A perfect landing, as always - as always accompanied by astounded gasps.

He was so close - he could already feel the smell of victory.

Except why was he stopping - why was Rico on the ground? He groaned in pain. He wouldn't just stop so close to the finishing line. Did he not make the jump? It was a good two meters high, he might've gotten seriously injured. Did he need help?

Who cares what he needed? He needed to win. He was going to win.

Just one last obstacle - what if he was injured - he was faster, he was better - it was dangerous - it was a race - he left him behind - he won.

When he crossed the finishing line a roar erupted in his chest and another answered him from the stands. His sword cut through the wooden poles as if they weren't even there. The flags fell to the ground.

Even they were faster than Rico who finally dragged his way to the end of the race. This sweaty, dirty, huffing creature mumbled something at him from where he was bent almost to the ground. He spared him a pitiful smile. It was of course impossible for such a miserable man to ever win, but the fact that he made it to the next round was impressive - moving, almost.

The post was of course as good as his already. He deserved it - he has worked for it - he won it. Everyone could see it - everyone should see it. Why did he have to wait when he finally knew what he was made for - what he came here for?

But, of course, there were procedures. The competition was called for a reason, he wouldn't dare to disregard it. He shouldn't get so ahead of himself. He had to wait for tomorrow -

To show everyone what he already knew. That there was no one better than him for this post. That there was no one better than him.

[imaginal-ai]

"Channeling the Spirits"

[gearbox-doll]

"I'm hungry," said the girl as she shed a tear.

The girl short-as-can-be then disappeared.

Prompt fill for Whumptober days 21 (spirit possession), 12 (starvation), and 13 (team as family).

"I’m hungry."

Her voice sounded loud to her ears, despite being softer than a whisper. Neither she nor her companion spoke aloud often; they didn't need to, after all, and after some time, the silence had become almost comforting. Speaking now felt foreign, as it had for years.

'I know,' came the voice from within her, a warmth settling over her shoulders, 'I know.'

Alluka frowned, shifting back on her hands. "Nanika, I'm hungry." She sniffled. "Really hungry." Her stomach had begun to ache from emptiness… she didn't even know how long ago. She knew the time for her food to come had passed, but she couldn't figure out why it hadn't arrived. She shifted back into her plushies, leaning against them with a whine as she wrapped an arm around her stomach. "Nanika, it hurts!"

'I know,' said Nanika.

Alluka pushed back into her plushies, tears stinging at her eyes as she wrapped her arms around her torso. It hurt so bad, and so deep… like her stomach was eating away at itself. Quiet sobs shook her shoulders as hot tears rolled down her face. She was so cold, too, and it hurt so bad, and she didn't know what to do to fix it.

She remembered vaguely through the haze of pain that stomach acid was corrosive. Was her body really eating itself from the inside out? It felt like it… she pulled her knees up to her chest, leaning her forehead against them as she cried. She didn't want to die now! Not when Killua hadn't come to see her again yet! She hadn't gotten to see her big brother again and properly introduce him to Nanika, she wanted to do that before she died…

"Nanika?" she asked, sniffling, "Am I going to die?"

'No,' Nanika said, and that warm weight was back around Alluka's shoulders, heavier than before. 'You’ll be alright. Let me handle it.'

Alluka opened her mouth to ask her sister what she meant, but found herself instead foggy-minded and drifting like she often did when Nanika took over. She couldn't even complain, the pain fading as she lifted up, away from her body. Nanika looked up at her with a smile, shifting forward once more to sit surrounded by her toys.

Alluka lowered herself until she was kneeling behind her body, and wrapped her arms around Nanika's shoulders, resting her head on top of her sister’s. It was quiet again, now, and darker, but Alluka didn't mind that. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off until Nanika called her back.

-------------

Alts here :3

@rabbitbites

[hoples]

Day 21 - Spirit possession - She knew she should have spread the salt before searching for the critter.