The Possession Meme

[themotherfuckinmemesheep]

The Possession Meme

The world beyond - some people linger far longer than they should. Perhaps you've gone to the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps you were stupid enough to invoke ritual. Maybe you decided to let someone else muck about your brain and now find yourself with someone -- or something -- sharing your body.

Bust out RNG and go crazy

 

Triggers possible below the cut. Enjoy!

WHAT:

1: DEMONIC; yeah, something from the bowels of hell is currently shacking up in your body. This is not a good thing. It probably has an ulterior motive. Worse, you may be aware of every terrible, horrible thing it's doing in the name of it's unholy master.

2: ANGELIC; angels need vessels to do certain works, this is usually less possession and more partnership, but it could be a long term thing you can't escape. Either way, angels may not be the most welcome of partners-- especially if they're angels of the lord's wrath, or death...

3: SPIRIT; perhaps you invoked Unknown Power or maybe a Loa rides you now as it's servant, asking you to honor it and gain it's bounty. Either way, it's pulling your strings as often as you are.

4: GHOST; possessed by the long dead means that you probably believe that you're that person, that their force of personality has overcome your own and now, they must mete our some revenge or perhaps, see some long forgotten work finished. Hope it's benign...

5: TECHNOLOGIC; it's not a ghost, no! You've somehow become overwritten by an AI, or perhaps you volunteered to have another personality put into your body as a means of control computers, or maybe you've becoming the ghost in the machine through a freak accident with no flesh of your own, but instead, wires and cables and the internet at your mental command.

6: WILDCARD; angels, animal spirits, elemental spirits, and other types not covered here, or figure osmething out on your own.


WHY:


1: LOVE; maybe it craves it, maybe it wants to see it live, maybe you're supposed to guide two lovers to be together-- but LOVE drives this spirit.

2: LUST; the obligatory smut prompt. The spirit craves the flesh, and all it's pleasures. Who can blame it, really?

3: HATE; this is an angry spirit - an unchecked demon or a psychopathic spirit, or a spirit who demands blood for the blood gods! Either way, you're going to be causing harm, seeking a vent for all this pent up hate.

4: GRIEF; this creature is full of sorrow; a ghost may simply want forgiveness for past sins, while a demon may wish to drive a man to suicide by ruining his life. Either way, sorrow is at the root of it's problems.

5: WORK; it's not finished! Whether it's a temple or a great piece of art, a final work is undone. Will the demon ride you until the last artifact is found and it's dread master come to earth? Or will the AI run your weak flesh to exhaustion trying to save the world?

6: JOY; it's free, it's free! Now, to dance, frolic and sing! To make merry and to bring joy! Maybe the angel that rides you exists to bring good works to mankind and create miracles? Maybe a benign spirit simply wants to make people happy has partnered with you and shared it's gifts and secrets. Either way, it's not so bad having this particular bodily roommate.

7: MISCHIEF; Peeves the Poltergeist tips his hat to your ride! They like to make trouble. Maybe a lost child that died before its' time now rides your skin and uses your body to create pranks and silliness. Maybe the loa demand that people lighten the fuck up. Who can say. They're hard to understand, those spirits.



8: IT'S COMPLICATED: some spirits are a pain in the ass, and it's hard to tell what they want. It's a wildcard option. Go for it.

 

 

 

Comments

[eyeofamiracle]

[Haou's voice is loud in the silence, but to Jim's ears, the sound is far away - an almost foreboding call in the distance. His mind is struggling to race, to grasp the face of the name he just remembered. It flickers with words: a serious gaze, voice expressing a concern for his well-being, a strong hand on his shoulder, a voice of reason. Only when he reaches too far does the fog drift over it, shrouding it away from Jim's prying inner gaze.

Fingers pressing harder against his chest bring him back, Jim unable to blink against the burning strain of Haou's gaze still capturing his own, unable to look away even with the dull thudding of his mind throbbing. He nods without his own order when Haou pronounces the name correctly, and his hand on top of Haou's own shifts, fingertips seeking groves against the edges of his palm, grasping it lightly. Whatever the man was doing, whatever was happening, this was...healing them.

The fear burns against his palm, against the cold of the back of Haou's hand. Jim forces himself to ignore it. For once...

For once, gold doesn't scare him.]


You were looking for him?

[And Jim wants to know why, needs to know why, this sudden realization sparking his desire to protect, his urge to defend. This man, that warrior of fire, O'Brien - he is Jim's friend. Judai's friend. He saved Judai once before, when Jim didn't. The fog is shifting, a steady sway as Haou presses closer with that cold hand. His hand over Haou's falls away, to rest calmly at his side. The pain of the venom is lessening, the bite healing over at the icy touch, and Jim's already addicted to this feeling. But he can feel the poison stir with this realization, a furious clamp against Jim's chest as if demanding to stay. And the pain causes his heart to pound louder, and Jim's vision to start to blur as gold falls away, and his mind is starting to fall into the black, and - ]


[A cold mouth is against his own.

Jim doesn't panic, even though he feels that he should. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't feel angry, or disgusted, or confused - he can't react that way, as if the cold is shutting him down just so he only feels. His arms stay calm at his side, his hands unclenched. The hand where his neck meets shoulder is a pressure of cold, his skin burning at the sharpness of the icy sensation. His mouth is still but firm under Haou's own, showing the barest hint of pressing back, and Jim's eye falls shut when he feels Haou breathe, chilly air against and in his mouth.

The poison starts to bubble, boil, and then it bursts.

Haou's words: I came here to look for him, O'Brien's voice, numerous others, his own calls for Judai, bright lights, distant shadows, the calls of monsters, a cry of distress, the calls of the waves against the harbor, the distant swirl of the wind around them, the dull thud of the poison starting to fade away, the chill Jim's encased in, his hand somehow gripping Judai's Haou's blazer, the heart-lurching touch of Haou's mouth on his - everything blurs.

They break apart.]


I was looking for O'Brien. And you. Here.

[He doesn't blink, not even now. The connection is still there, the threat that the poison could rebuild and defend against this and go rampant, and Jim can't chance that. He still can't look away. He probably couldn't if he tried.]

He told me to help you.

[sternitfortem]

[ When they break contact, his breath hitches once. Twice. Then he exhales.

A stream of foul black smoke emerges, like breath crystallizing on a cold day, or secondhand tobacco smoke, once already run through the lungs. It tastes hot and sick, the way a fever feels in the blood - but it dissipates once it leaves his mouth, lost in the air, robbed of its power to poison either of them.

(A poison must be drawn out.)

He coughs once, twice, until he can feel his lungs are empty of it, clean again. That was - yes. Drawn from the other man, like bleeding a wound. He remembers O'Brien now; he said the soldier's name. ]


To help - me?

[ When he refers to himself, this time he does not use waga. He uses ore. (For some reason, it feels more right that way.) ]

To...


[ And suddenly he pulls Jim down again - Jim, why does he know that, he knows it now, because he knows - him? - into another kiss, if you could call it a kiss. Tastes heat, fever-heat and maybe something else, something real.

The moment lasts a minor lifetime, an eternity, before they break apart again. He falls to his knees, coughing, choking on the darkness he took in, gagging; he presses a hand to his mouth and the darkness leaks between his fingers, half smoke and half something that drips to the ground before dissipating, eating holes in it like acid. Like a man pulled to shore after nearly drowning, he purges his lungs of the malignance, coughing until his throat ached and his shoulders shook.


He looks up, vision doubling, trebling, re-resolving. ]

...Jim?

[ His voice is hoarse. His eyes still burn gold. But there is recognition in them now. ]

[eyeofamiracle]

[Jim's breath is cold as it fills his lungs, and then it burns as it drifts up his throat, and then it's chilly once again as it slips from his lips. For a second, everything blurs, a semblance of focus only returning as Haou's hoarse and short-lived coughing echoes in his ears, causing concern to bubble in the pit of his stomach. And that fact alone is concerning on so many more levels, ones Jim can't afford to peek into right now. It isn't safe, not yet, not now, not when he's being watched, not when he isn't alone.

At the man's words, Jim nods at the same time he recalls O'Brien's request, hazy but comforting to hear in his head, the voice one of a trusted companion. However, Jim can't help but be taken aback internally at the change of speech - it was a simple change, probably being able to be overlooked by Jim if he wasn't so in tune to the man in front of him right now. But no, now it sparks familiarity, that perhaps Judai was slipping through the cracks that poison had filled. And then that same familiarity echoes, allowing Jim's conscious, now unstained, to flicker through the hazy memories he had lost, and his stomach drops in fear at all he recalls.

But Jim can't contemplate on it any further for he is suddenly being kissed once again.

Again, he doesn't allow himself to struggle, slipping into the action with an ease he hadn't known he was in possession of. His hand finds its way to Haou's shoulder and rests there - a gesture with no meaning, or perhaps a action that meant something Jim couldn't explain. The heat is close to painful, a sudden searing burn in his chest, in his throat, his lungs faltering as they trade air. Haou's mouth on his isn't cold, but warm, a stern pressure, and when they break apart and the pressure is gone, Jim watches the man fall and doesn't allow himself to breathe.

Haou convulses and coughs, struggles, and Jim's eye widens in concern - again, a flicker of something deep-set and revolting, or perhaps arguing against it, stirs in his gut. The sudden image of dark, inky smoke slipping through fingers causes Jim to wretch and cough once, twice, as if his own body was checking to see if he was rid of the strange inky substance. The sound of Haou's hoarse coughing, rough and husky as a man fighting off death, is almost endless until silence seeps in with Haou's harsh breathing, all of it followed by a broken whisper of Jim's name.

His stomach clenches, and his throat burns as if filled with acid, and Jim lowers himself to the floor in front of Haou. Hands fall to trembling shoulders, and Jim nods once, twice, and manages to not breathe that sigh of relief straining against his lips when he takes note of the look in Haou's eyes. Sighing, he speaks despite his throat still burning, the action echoing to his numb body, adjusting to the lack of that vile malignance that had plagued them.]

I'm here.

[His voice is quiet, a pause in between words as if faltering. He doesn't trust himself to say much else.]

[sternitfortem]

[ He remembers.

He remembers coming here to find O'Brien, dueling Saiou, the fall from the skyscraper responsible for his bruises and bad shoulder. He remembers that this is Domino City. He remembers Darkness, Trueman, Honest and Yusuke Fujiwara. He remembers four weeks spent trying to relearn how to live after spending three or four months learning how to just barely survive. He remembers -

Juudai.

His name is Yuki Juudai.


And just like that, everything else comes slamming into his head: memories, identity, realization of what's happening, Darkness isn't inside him anymore, and - and Yubel - Yubel, who had been completely smothered by Darkness before they could keep it out of their mind - everything is chaos inside his head at once.

He realizes the only two things that kept him conscious enough to come back to this point were: Jim, and the fact that he had unconsciously fallen into the use of his power to stay awake. Because he hadn't remembered why he avoids it at all costs. (It's too close, too close to the edge of that abyss he'd fallen into back then, too close to the edge of oblivion.)

He looks up, and has to look away again. Seeing this intensely is too much - colors too vivid, edges too sharp, everything too charged with realness and meaning, like he can look at anything and understand it too much. Juudai doesn't like this power. But right now they are in Darkness's backyard, and if he lets go of it, he runs the risk of falling into Darkness's hands again. (Hands? Does it have hands?)

Juudai reaches out, and grasps Jim by the arm. His other hand, he raises to his eyes, rubs his temples. ]

I. I'm okay, Jim. It's okay.

[ He looks up and he knows his eyes haven't changed because he can see it in Jim's face - fear-concern-fear-confusion-fear-relief-distrust-fear - it stands out in his eyes, twitches at his mouth, writes itself across his face. It's not like knowing what Jim is thinking. That not what this is. (But it's close. Close enough for horseshoes.) ]

/is sorry for the lateness of this tag

[eyeofamiracle]

[Thoughts. Jim, despite his aloofness and almost carefree nature, was always a thinker. He loved working thoughts through his mind, ideas and images and tasks and words - it was a simple joy to think, to reflect, a meditative process he just fell into when he found a moment of respite to rest or a moment to act. Sometimes they are barely contained, him shouting them out in surprise and excitement. Sometimes they would overrun and overflow, and he would end up pressing his palm to his temple, trying to chase away a incoming headache. Sometimes, most times, he would just thinks in solace, silent and still.

But sometimes, he doesn't want to think at all.]


[So, he doesn't.

He doesn't think as his fingers shift against the red cloth of the Osiris blazer. His hands on Haou's (Judai, Judai, it's Judai now) Judai's shoulders feel heavy. Sore fingers, numb palms. He can still feel the thick lethargy from the poison, but the burning sensation that claimed his throat is now finally fading - but he still feels on edge, as if walking on a tightrope, only demise below if he fell. It's chaotic and he won't lie and not say it isn't scary, but it's almost good. It's a weight that can hold him down if only to make sure Judai was really okay now, to make sure it was really him.

{O'Brien had once said he shouldn't be so careless with sacrifice. Jim had just smiled in response.}

Judai's hand on his arm makes him look down, Jim not realizing when he had looked up towards the clouds. He can't see the male's eyes, a tense hand covering the color from the world, but Jim manages to see a tell-tale glimpse of gold, and that lurching, that fear he denies but doesn't, that anger - it shows. It shows, and he can't hide it. He doesn't even know if he should anymore, not after what happened, not now.

...Oh. He's thinking now.]


You're okay.

[He copies aloud after a moment, not as a question but a statement. It feels bold to say that, almost spiteful, and it shows in Jim's expression - he's cautious but concerned, but confused and worried, and his hands are still heavy on Judai's shoulders. He won't let go until Judai makes him, or until he knows when he should.]

You're okay, mate.

[He whispers again, quietly. He doesn't wonder if he can grasp the depth of that statement, though.]