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#this holds a part of my soul

demigod-of-the-agni · 3 months

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FF7 REBIRTH SPOILERS ft A THEORY OF MINE

"Emptiness"

I may be reading too deep into this but bear with me. Sephiroth doing his damned best to reinforce that Cloud is nothing, that everything he feels his fake, that he's a puppet pulled along by Sephiroth's strings with no real purpose of his own. "Your tears are empty" is a line that really stands out to me, because Sephiroth insinuates that Cloud isn't a person and has no true substance as an individual. He's a shell.

Then much later, in the dream-esque Sleeping Forest, Aerith wants to spend one of their final moments focusing on Cloud, focusing on "finding the real [him]". Then Cloud hands Holy to Aerith, and she gifts him the clear materia in return, presumably having taken up Holy before she leaves. Aerith theorised earlier in the game that Holy was probably powered by her memories and dreams, and having lost them to the Whispers, to fate, has rendered the materia useless.

Basically, Cloud aptly describes not-Holy with, "It looks empty".

An empty man holding onto an empty materia.

I don't know, man. The thing about being given an empty thing after being told and tortured with the idea that you yourself are an empty thing is getting to me.

Part 3 is most likely going to deal with the fallout of Cloud's broken psyche and piecing him back together to "find the real [him]". I'm theorising not-Holy is only restored once Cloud has finally figured out who he is and what he wants to do.

Because materia isn't just the crystallisation of mako and the Lifestream. It's the physical representation of hopes and dreams and desires. The Black Materia was created to deliver the Gi from their unending existence. The White Materia ensures the prayers of the planet are answered.

And now not-Holy belongs to Cloud, so that whatever he finds in himself will fuel not-Holy and provide it with new purpose, maybe even allow him to finally heal after over two decades of suffering, because as Aerith said, "it's about saving the world — and you"

That is all

#ff7 rebirth spoilers #HOLLERING UNTIL I GET GIVEN FF7R PART 3 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#WHAT DO YOU MEAN I HAVE TO WAIT FOR YEARS #GENUINELY SO DISTRAUGHT OVER THIS GAME. FUCK #“maybe aerith doesn't die!!! maybe cloud saves her!!!!” oh sweet summer child past agni we got something even MORE CONFUSING #this has been on my mind all night. couldn't stop thinking about this. and also the fact that cloud needs cognitive reconstruction surgery #YEAH SO MATERIA JUST BEING THE SOLIDIFICATION OF NOT JUST MAKO AND THE LIFESTREAM #BUT ALSO THE DESIRES OF THE SOUL #YOU ARE HOLDING THE PUREST ASPECTS OF YOURSELF IN YOUR OWN HANDS #YEAH. ANYONE ELSE THINK ABOUT THAT #im going to cry about this forever now. and think about clerith...... fairwell #cloud strife #aerith gainsborough #ff7 rebirth #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy 7 rebirth

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iamthecomet · 11 months

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Hold the Flame

Fandom: Ghost (The Band) Rating: Explicit Pairing: Dewdrop/Rain Featuring: Rain going into heat. Top Dew. Bottom Rain. Rimming. Anal Sex. Dew eating Rain alive. Finger sucking. They're so very into each other. Desperate Rain. Dew taking care of someone for once. Shower hand jobs. Frottage. Multiple orgasms. Filth. Word Count: 6.7k.

Rain goes into heat unexpectedly. Dew helps him out--of course.

Dew’s lithe fingers are sliding over his chest, dragging over painfully hard nipples and up to his throat. Rain leans back against him on instinct and Dew inhales sharply. Rain rolls his hips into his bass on instinct, seeking pleasure as Dew’s fingers curl around his throat and dig in. Dew’s fingers tighten a little more than usual, digging into Rain’s pulse, closer to real. Rain’s head spins, his cock kicks hard in his pants. He tries to keep quiet. Tries to bury his moan, but it slips out. And there is no way Dew doesn’t hear it. One more roll of his hips and Rain thinks he might actually cum on stage—right here—in front of everyone. Read it on AO3.

#comet writes #Hold the Flame #Dewdrop Ghoul #Rain Ghoul #Raindrop #Dew/Rain #Dewdrop/Rain #Rain/Dewdrop #Rain/Dew #Ghost fic #Ghost fanfiction #Ghost fanfic #I've been trying to write this heat fic #for fucking MONTHS #I swear I had to give it part of my soul to get it done

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bunnieswithknives · 1 year

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As an avid D&D player and DM, I love this magic system you've created so much- bc it means that necromancy exists like it does in D&D, but because David is David (TM), he just goes "yeah, but yk what would make this better? Puppets." and just is flying by the seat of his pants trying to create a fusion of DIY crafts and reanimation. he even could be inadvertendly creating an entirely new form of magic while messing around with the Book and his puppetry, but no one will ever know bc he just wants to play around with his little flesh puppets instead of, idk, sitting down and writing an actual grimoire/codex on it and i love him so much for that <3

Really tho!! This is the closest anyone has ever come come to actual reanimation in this universe, not just souless zombies or possessed lamps, real breathing creatures with the souls of people and working innards to back it up! And he's not even writing it down!

#dhmis #two of us AU #im going to lay out some of my reanimation hc #Once someone's body has died their body is no longer able to hold a soul #they can't repossess it nor can anything else. its broke #even if you somehow reanimated the corpse it would still be soulless #The other kind of 'reanimation' is putting someones soul into an object (jewlery; technology; favorite objects; ect)#forcing the soul to possess something #the problem being that souls cant possess anything indefinitely #without a meat shield they'll just get weaker and weaker until they fade away entirely then your back to square 1 #souls NEED meat to latch onto #What David's done is combined these methods #Using parts from their dead body to make a brand new and compatible one #The main reason why this hasn't really been tried before is that transmutation magic is *very* complicated #especially involving living things #The book he has is a very advanced transmutation book. the sort that should NOT be available to the general public #I dont think David even realizes how much of a FIND that thing is. literally invaluable #idk if my worldbuilding makes sense but ramble over

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obsob · 8 months

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does you watch the animes?

i use to when i was younger but i am now extremely picky abt art style and i find a lot of them . quite boring akdbkdks i am much more likely to read manga which i have not done in a while! but favourite anime / manga is natsume yuujinchou :3

#barks #i hve such a strong memory of watching soul eater in 1/4 parts on youtube.....#i use 2 love free! and ngl. still slaps. holds a place in my heart!!!!!#manga is . better i thinky . the art is always more dynamic and tasty :3

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hum--hallelujah · 8 months

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you rise in your heart when you're breathing - 1.5k words, Jet and Poison hurt/comfort

Things can get foggy in the desert.

Jet Star can't remember parts of his own life. Things are a blur to him, facts and conjecture blended together until he doesn't know which way is up. He thinks it's a trauma, mental, thing more than a trauma, physical, thing. It started after the accident that took his eye. Like the chemical burns fried his brain along with one of his eyes. He tossed and turned mostly unconscious for most of a week after it happened. Sometimes he doesn't know what of that was dreams and what's real memories.

He knows he was born in the city. His parents were named Maria and Arthur. They were doctors. He has some of their books, stowed away when he ran for the Zones, still, dirtied and fingerstained. This is why Jet Star is the medic of the Four. He grew up around these things. No amount of blood can faze him, even pouring from his best friends.

He sometimes can't remember the events leading up to his departure from Battery City. He knows his parents are dead. He left after they died. He can't remember how they died. They weren't replaced, like Party and Kobra's mother was. Jet isn't ever sure if he came home to bodies on the floor or to an empty apartment. The versions are mixed up in his brain.

This is part of why Party is de facto leader of their crew. Jet cannot trust himself anymore. He has to remind himself who he is when he wakes up in the morning. Has to stare in the mirror and work hard to recall why he only has one eye, why the skin of the right side of his face is mottled and puckered and the eyelid melted shut. Sometimes he wakes up lying on his good side and panics before he remembers, thinking he's gone blind in the night.

Maybe it's a mercy that he can't remember that his parents died because of his deception, or the moment the Trans-Am's engine came to its detonating point. Maybe it's a mercy that he can't remember the pain he's accidentally caused himself and others. He never means it, but it always happens. This is why he can't trust himself with leadership.

And Party Poison is a good leader. All charisma and color, with a mind as sharp as the decadent glint in his eyes when he finds the missing piece of a plan. They've made it this far because Party has brought them here. Jet thinks that Party is beautiful. He'd once thought he was wickedly smart, able to wean himself off of City prescription pills at the small age of ten and plot his own escape at eleven. Then he met Party Poison.

Jet can't remember how they met. There's not even a piece of that left in the patchwork of his own brain. In his memory, it goes from one day he was on his own, a Zonerunner, lonesome smuggler just himself and his car, and then the next there was so much more color. Party's always been on the smaller side. A couple years younger than Jet, but he's larger than life. It's always been like this. One day Jet was alone and the next Party was there, with a little brother hissing and spitting before he learned to make space for words.

They'd never have been friends without fate. Poison isn't the kind of person to make friends anyways. Not with someone who can never stay. Sometimes Jet believes in the Phoenix Witch. He has to, when there's no other way they could have found each other.

Some days are particularly bad. Accumulation of trauma, stress, and exhaustion take their toll. Jet has to sit on his bed, staring at the floor, for several minutes just to remember why he's this tired. They'd saved those girls, though. Barely teenagers, bound and gagged in the back of a neutral's rig. Not a Zonerunner. No one who claims that title would smuggle kids for that kind of trade. The last thing Jet remembers is dropping the kids off with Gertie. They'll be safe there. He thinks Poison drove them home.

He blinks, trying to clear the blurry feeling from his eyes. ...Eye. He presses the heel of his hand into the good one, soaks in the familiar darkness. It catches him off guard sometimes. He feels unfamiliar to himself. A stranger in his own body, like the him that had two eyes has just been transplanted into the body of a him that only has one. When did he get an eyepatch? Who painted the lopsided glitter-glue star on it?

If he thought hard enough about it he could sort out the answers. The Girl. The Girl painted the star on his eyepatch. He spent an hour looking for it and receiving faux-innocent denials of knowledge from everyone else until she brought the little piece of leather out from behind her back and proudly handed it to him. But everything feels fuzzy and dull, uncertain. He sits with his head in his hands, willing himself to leave his room and join the others even though he might hesitate over names he's known for years. He can't do it. It's too blurry and tiring.

There's a knock at the door. He doesn't answer it, but it clicks open anyways. It's Poison. It's always going to be Poison.

"Ah, shit," says the well-known voice. "Bad day, huh?"

He nods, head still in his hands. "Fuck, Poison," he whispers, and feels Party step forward and crouch down in front of him. He opens his eyes. Eye. Drops his hands between his knees. Party could take them if he wanted. He probably won't. "Who am I?"

"That bad, sweetheart?" Party asks, voice surprisingly quiet for a person who's never once turned down a volume knob.

"It's just... fuzzy. Blurry. I know, but do I really?"

Poison looks up at him, and then unexpectedly reaches out, takes one of his hands. The other one raises to rest at the side of his head, halfway in his hair. "You're my Star," Poison tells him. And maybe that's all he really needed.

Jet nods his head sideways, bumping Party's hand. Poison isn't very touchy. It's always a choice. "You know, I still don't know how I met you," he murmurs.

Poison laughs, a soft, lyrical sound. Jet loves when Party is loose like this, sweet like sugar. It doesn't happen often. Most times, Party Poison is a flashbang, a firework. Wild and free, louder than the bombs they set off and brighter than the sun. This... is the sunrise, soft against Jet's skin.

"Sandstorm your fifth or sixth year outta Batt," Poison says, like it's the hundredth time he's told this story. Maybe it is. It probably is. Jet watches as Party's face turns misty with memories that Jet's missing. It's sad, in a way. Jet wishes he knew this. "You had the 'Am already, parked her to wait out the storm. I was at Tommy's, tryna make it back to the Kid before it hit but I didn't make it. I couldn't barely breathe by then. You saw me somehow," Party pauses, head tilted to look side-eyed at Jet.

"Your hair," Jet says softly, and reaches out to catch a strand of fiery red between his fingers.

Party smiles. "'S what you always said."

Jet hums. "What then?" He asks.

"By the time I'd hacked all the sand outta my lungs you were in the backseat thumping my back, helped me get my breathing back. Never planned to be friends with a smuggler," Party says, and shrugs. "Musta been fate." A wry smile that lights up the room. Jet puts all his focus on that smile. "Kobra freaked when we went back for him," Party continues. "Thought you'd nabbed me, tried fighting you off. Took him a while to warm up to you. Remember that?"

Jet nods. Kobra had been wary of him for a long time when the three of them first joined up. It wasn't until shortly before Ghoul joined their crew of three that Kobra started to consider him a friend. Jet's always considered Kobra a little brother. "Yeah, I remember," he says.

Party is quiet for a few seconds. Jet can hear them both breathing. "You okay, Jettie?"

Jet sighs. "Fuck, Party. I miss knowing all this." He doesn't know when he started forgetting. He just knows it happened. Sometimes he can claw his way back, but sometimes the more he fights it the worse it gets. He needs someone, sometimes, to lead him out of it. And that's Party, bright blazing beacon through the desert. Jet thinks he'll always find his way to Poison. Or Poison will always find him.

"Don't," Poison says, standing, still holding Jet's hand. "I got it for ya. C'mon." Jet follows, snagging his eyepatch on the way out of his room.

Kobra and Ghoul are up and clattering haphazardly around the front of the Diner as they recount and act out how a clap went down, eliciting shrill giggles from the Girl. Ghoul sees them first and stops playfighting, tilting his head in a silent question that asks, is stuff okay? Kobra freezes with his hands still formed into finger-guns, then shoots a lopsided grin and a chin-up nod their direction. "Yo, Jet."

Jet smiles back. The Girl scrambles off of the countertop where she's been seated and slams into his legs full-force with her arms wrapped around him. Party drops his hand. It's brighter out here and burns off some of the fuzziness around Jet's mind.

That's the real reason Jet isn't in charge of this operation, and never could be. It isn't an operation, it's a family. And Poison can always lead them out of the fog, into the light.

#gosh this reads as so shippy but I actually didn't intend it that way #maybe I just want a friend to hold my face in their hands and remind me I matter to them... 🥺#if kobra and ghoul are ''part-time soul age full-time problem'' then jet and party are soulmates; full-stop.#she writes!#danger days #ttlotfk #danger days: the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #jet star #party poison #jetpoison*

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grownups-are-the-real-monsters · 5 months

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"For a guy like him, the rule of thumb is just SSDD, and so fucking what. You grew up, became a man, had to adjust to taking less than you hoped for; you discovered the dream-machine had a big OUT OF ORDER sign on it." - Pete Moore, 'Dreamcatcher' by Stephen King

#pete is so dear to me #so close to my heart #a part of the group of King characters who make up my very soul #stephen king #dreamcatcher #pete moore #timothy olyphant #text post #quotes #quotes that I hold in my heart

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