#fwc: ff

[bardic-tales]

Introducing David Michael Moore, the Weathered Protector

Warnings: Grief, parental loss, emotional detachment, cult violence, survivor’s guilt

🌙 Name: David Michael Moore 🔮 Age: 40 👤 Gender: Male 🌌 Fandom: Original World 🌟 Ship: Sarah Moore (deceased wife) 📅 Date of Birth: February 8, 1952 👩 Mother: Maria Moore 👨 Father: Nicholas Moore

👶 Children: Bianca Moore 🎭 Faceclaim: Hugh Jackman

Character Overview

David Moore is a rugged, emotionally distant man shaped by grief and necessity. A former construction worker turned protector, his life took a tragic turn with the murder of his wife, Sarah, by a demonic cult. Since then, David has focused solely on keeping their daughter, Bianca, safe: becoming a man of quiet intensity, self-denial, and enduring resilience. Though his exterior is hardened and practical, his love for his daughter runs deep. However, he struggles to show it, haunted by guilt and emotional repression. His journey is one of survival, sacrifice, and ultimately, learning to reconnect with his own humanity.

He is inspired by John Winchester and Joel Miller from the Last of Us.

🌟 Character's Persona David is a stoic and responsible man, loyal to a fault and shaped by hardship. His strengths lie in his resourcefulness, physical strength, and tactical mind, while his weaknesses stem from emotional repression, grief, and a lack of open communication. His growth lies in slowly realizing that protecting his daughter means more than keeping her physically safe—it means being emotionally present, too.

🎭 Personality Aquarius | ISTJ | Enneagram 8w9

David’s actions are shaped by a deep-rooted sense of duty and a quiet moral code. He is principled, grounded, and not easily swayed by emotion unless it threatens Bianca’s safety. The loss of Sarah has turned him into a man of routines and defenses, compartmentalizing his grief and keeping the world at arm’s length. He struggles with expressing affection and vulnerability but is intensely loyal and self-sacrificing. Bianca remains his only anchor.

💑 Transcendent Bond His bond with Bianca is complex and often strained. David's love is unwavering, but his inability to express it leads to emotional distance. He also held a deep, romantic love for Sarah, whose death left a void he has never filled. Despite his emotional shortcomings, David would give his life to keep Bianca safe. This quiet, protective love forms the foundation of their story.

⚔️ Courage in Conflict David is brave in a way that isn’t flashy. His courage lies in persistence, in showing up every day, in keeping Bianca alive even when he feels dead inside. He’s not a trained soldier, but he fights tooth and nail with whatever he has. His background in construction and survival makes him surprisingly adept in crises. When it matters most, he never hesitates to step between his daughter and danger.

✨ Likes & Dislikes

Likes: Bianca’s laughter, quiet mornings, cold beers, working with his hands, Sarah’s memory, practical tools, solitude, silence, early planning, staying prepared

Dislikes: Asmodeus’s cult, loud noises, instability, emotional confrontation, chaos, unpredictability, feeling helpless, showing weakness

🌿 A Soul of Many Hobbies David enjoys carpentry, hiking, survival planning, and fixing anything broken: mechanical or otherwise. These hobbies provide a form of control in a chaotic world. He’s deeply practical and finds comfort in physical tasks. When stressed, he repairs things or sharpens tools, channeling emotion into motion.

Powerset Overview

💫 Powers and Abilities: While not supernatural, David’s “powers” lie in his relentless adaptability and sharp survival instincts. He has excellent hand-to-hand skills, impressive physical endurance, and uncanny foresight under pressure. His background in construction also gives him an edge in improvisation and shelter creation. He’s a natural strategist when it comes to evasion, defense, and environmental use.

💔 Weaknesses: David’s greatest weaknesses are emotional. He distances himself to avoid pain, leaving him isolated and unable to fully connect with Bianca. He’s also not formally trained in combat, meaning against supernatural threats, he often relies more on grit than skill. His guilt over Sarah’s death clouds his judgment, particularly when Bianca is in danger.

Key Moments in David Moore’s Journey

Meeting Sarah and building a life together

The birth of Bianca: unexpected and miraculous

Sarah’s murder by Asmodeus’s cult, shattering his world

Years of living on the run with Bianca, hiding, surviving

Struggling to connect with Bianca as she grows into someone needing more than just protection

Realization that emotional presence matters just as much as physical safety

Themes

Fatherhood

Grief and healing

Survival versus living

Emotional repression

Protection versus connection

Duty and sacrifice

Trauma and trust

[bardic-tales]

Getting back into making character sheets. This is my villain who I am writing as a protagonist.

I wanna try something...

Reblog this post with:

An art piece/writing piece that you're proud of!!

It doesn't matter if you've posted it before, it doesn't matter how old it is - art is given a short life on the internet nowadays, let's celebrate things we've already made!

I'll try and reblog everyone who responds to this ✨

[bardic-tales]

Title: The Dream that Never Dies

Pairing: Bianca Moore(f!OC) / Sephiroth

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1946

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII (AU)

Tags: Alternative Universe, Canon Divergence, Crossover (original & FF 7), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Pining, Whump, Enemies to Lovers, Soulmates, Anxiety and Mental Health, Introspection, Magic and Fantasy, Parallel Universe, Supernatural

Warnings: Psychological manipulation, captivity, emotional coercion, non-consensual touching, obsession, trauma responses, intense imagery, unsettling themes, yandere

Summary: In a dreamscape of silver moonlight and withering flowers, Bianca runs, but Sephiroth always follows, waiting for the moment she will surrender.

Author’s Note: This story explores Yanderoth (yandere!Sephiroth) and takes place after Bianca is captured by Shinra following the Nibelheim Incident. With his descent into madness already set in motion, Sephiroth becomes obsessively fixated on reclaiming her, unwilling to let anyone else have what he deems his. His love for Bianca twists into dangerous possessiveness, driving him to extreme lengths to ensure she remains by his side. As Bianca struggles against both Shinra’s torment and Sephiroth’s relentless pursuit, their bond is tested in ways neither of them could have foreseen. This is a dark and intense take on relationships, blending obsession, devotion, and the unbreakable thread that ties them together.

The dreamscape shimmered and pulsed as Bianca ran through it, the air thick with the scent of unknown flowers and a feeling of unreality. The air rasped in and out of her lungs, a harsh, ragged sound accompanying her desperate struggle. She darted through the night-blooming flowers, their velvety petals brushing her ankles as her feet barely touched the soft earth.

With a silken whisper, the silver petals shut, concealing her passage as a sea of blossoms unfolded before her, their delicate perfume a sweet and subtle reminder of her journey. The eternal moonlight cast long, dancing shadows on the twisted trees. Their argent and ebony leaves shimmered in the gentle glow. A soft, almost inaudible breeze stirred the leaves. The white ribbon, stark against the ethereal landscape Sephiroth had crafted, fluttered behind her like a lost soul. Its delicate fabric whispering secrets only the wind could understand.

Sephiroth followed. He pursued behind her, his steps slow and deliberate, each one carefully placed and measured. His footsteps smashed the flowers behind her as he endlessly pursued his query. In the dim glow, his long, straight silver hair shimmered like a cascade of liquid mercury. With an intensity that pierced the dreamscape’s soft haze, his cyan eyes glowed, their pupils slit. His black coat moved around him like a living shadow, as his silver pauldrons caught the moonlight as he stalked her, his presence a blend of elegance and menace. His gloved hands hung loosely at his sides, the fingers gently flexing, as if silently expecting the exact moment he would seize his opportunity to catch her.

“You can’t run from me, Bianca,” he called, his voice a smooth ripple through the night air. A chilling calm settled over his words, devoid of any heat, yet laced with a bone-deep certainty that sent shivers down her spine. “You’ve returned to me, just as I knew you would.”

With each gasping breath, her bare feet pounded the earth, the yielding grass offering no respite from her desperate flight. Her wild, luminous indigo eyes darted around for an escape, but this world was his. There were no doors or edges, only the endless expanse of his creation. Her wings, heavy with the weight of despair, beat weakly, a desperate struggle against his unyielding chase. She had learned by now that nothing in this place was accidental. An icy dread seeped into her bones as his insidious influence coiled around her, leaving her vulnerable and exposed.

With each lengthening stride, Sephiroth left a trail of withered flowers, their once-bright colors fading to brown beneath his dark influence; the crunch of his boots broke the silence only. He did not need to rush. As a hunter who had already cornered his prey, his movements were a deliberate waltz with the inevitable outcome, a dance of precision and purpose leading to a certain capture.

Bianca stumbled, her porcelain skin catching the moonlight as she fell to her knees. Her fingers dug into the earth, and the silver threads of grass twisted around her hands like chains. Trembling violently, she felt like a wounded creature trapped within the nightmarish grip of the dream, its power overwhelming her senses and leaving her vulnerable and afraid.

A bitter dread, like a Northern wind, washed over her as she felt Sephiroth’s presence loom a few paces behind, his shadow stretching long and menacing.

“Enough, Bianca,” he murmured, his voice both a command and a caress. His arm shot out, a rush of warmth enveloping him as the flowers bloomed brighter, the sky exploding with vibrant color with the rotating crimson and cyan glow of the nebula and celestial bodies overhead suspended in their orbit. The slow, deliberate approach was all she could sense before the crushing weight of oblivion, paralyzed as she was and feeling his coat brush against her as a final, heavy touch. His hand rested on her back. His thick fingers moved slowly, languidly, across the material of her trench coat, their touch feather-light as they brushed against the soft down of her wings.

With a sharp jerk of her head, her eyes blazed with furious intensity, and an uncontrolled rage emanated from her entire being. “I don’t belong here. I don’t belong with you.”

His lips curved into a slow, tender smile, a smile so gentle that it almost seemed to soften his features, yet it couldn’t quite erase the sharp angles of his face, leaving a hint of underlying intensity.

“You are exactly where you belong. With me.” A cold, gloved hand brushed her cheek, making her breath catch in her throat, a shiver tracing her spine. A furious fire ignited within her at his touch, a cruel mockery of the intimacy she had once experienced with him, his hand brushing hers with a shocking intensity.

“You choose her.” Her voice, a ragged whisper, trembled with a pain so profound it felt as if her very soul was unraveling. “You chose madness.”

His smile remained a serene mask. “I chose truth. And you, my beautiful little bird, you came back to me despite it all. Our bond, our thread tying us together, led you here. You can deny it all you wish, but your soul knows where it belongs.”

She struck him then. Her fist crashed against his chest, hitting him in the center where his suspenders crossed his massive pecs. The impact, though considerable, had absolutely no physical effect on him whatsoever.

However, the intense, unfiltered agony reflected in her eyes stirred a strange reaction within him, a perverse sense of satisfaction that seemed to solidify his certainty, as though her suffering provided the last piece of validation he required. With repeated blows, her sharp nails raked across his coat, leaving bloody streaks that looked as if her touch alone possessed the power to rend not just his clothing, but the very essence of his being, a terrifying demonstration of her strength and anger.

“You died!” she screamed. “I saw you!! I-I saw you in the Nibel Reactor. I saw you fall. I tried to reach for you but you turned your back on me!”

The rawness of her sobs, jagged and uncontrolled, caused her strength to abandon her, leaving her weak and slumped against him. Clawing at his coat, her knuckles white, a biting tremor ran through her as she buried her face in his chest, the silence deafening. Each shuddering breath was a quiet betrayal of her resolve, a small crack in the dam of her composure that threatened to unleash the torrent of her emotions.

As his arms encircled her, dread gripped her as Sephiroth’s arms encircled her, as their pressure was suffocating, like a vise tightening around her ribs. His chin trembled on her head. The scent of lavender and smoke—a phantom sweetness—was a chilling reminder of their fleeting time together. Each breath was a chilling reminder of the lurking danger, like icy fingers gripping her throat.

“It is the world that died, not I,” Sephiroth whispered into her hair. His breath ruffled her soft, dark strands. “I am here, Bianca. I have always been here, waiting for you.” His fingers tightened around her, his grip enough to bruise. “You saw me fall, but what you truly saw was the world shedding its illusion. I am reborn, and I offer you the same rebirth. You need only accept it.”

“I don’t want this.” As she sobbed, her breaths became softer, each one trembling against him, a delicate shudder against his chest. “I don’t want you.”

A low, dark chuckle, originating from deep within his chest, vibrated through his body, resonating into hers and sending shivers down her spine with its intensity.

“Lies. You are here because you want me. Because despite everything, you still love me.” Slowly and deliberately, his free hand moved up her stomach, tracing the scar to her navel before circling it and moving up her torso until he stop under her supple breasts. Warm against her ear, his breath carried the weight of unspoken sorrows, a sigh escaping his lips in a barely audible whisper. “You kept my ribbon, even now. You can never escape me because I am part of you. Just as you are part of me.”

The contact felt like the weight of ashes settling on her skin; a chilling touch that extinguished the last flickering embers of her already dwindling hope. The crimson thread throbbed, a frantic pulse of dread against the encroaching darkness, mirroring her terror.

“Look at me.” His gentle words barely registered; her head slowly rose, the weight of grief pressing down on her, eyes overflowing with unshed tears. “There is no freedom outside of me. No sanctuary but the one I offer. The world beyond this dream is nothing but cruelty and chains. But here, with me, you can be whole again.”

With a gentle touch, his thumb brushed the corner of her eye, smudging the remaining trace of a tear; in that moment, it was as if a painter was skillfully blending a stroke of despair into their work of art, making the emotion part of the finished product.

She shook her head, but her movements were sluggish, as if the weight of his words pressed down on her very bones. “You’re just another cage,” she whispered.

“No.” His voice, a silken thread weaving through her mind, was accompanied by the oppressive weight of his presence, crowding and constricting her thoughts. “I am the key. And you, my love, you are the lock. Without me, you remain closed, lost.”

She didn’t respond. Her chest ached, each shallow breath a painful reminder of their loss, his death and rejection, that left her hollow.

Shifting his weight, he leaned closer, the distance between their lips now negligible, a mere breath separating them. “You need only say yes, and I will make this dream your eternity.”

As he drew closer, she gasped, her breath hitching in her throat, and her lips parted involuntarily, overwhelmed by his nearness. She knew Sephiroth could feel her surrender; a tangible shift in the air, thick with the scent of her grief and defeat, a silent cry swallowed by his power. She was incredibly close to surrendering, to allowing him to completely pull her into the encompassing darkness where, together, they would rule as gods amidst the ruins of a fallen Existence.

But then, a flicker of resistance, a spark of that angelic light that still clung to her soul. She pulled back, her voice small but firm. “No.”

The word, a delicate and fragile thing, hung suspended in the air between them, heavy with unspoken meaning and implications. His smile tightened, a fissure cracking through his perfect composure.

“You say no now,” Sephiroth drawled, “but this dream will not end, Bianca. Every time you close your eyes, I will be here. Waiting. And you will come to me, again and again, until you realize that your dreams are the only reality worth living. You will be mine.”

He let go, and as she fell, the world tilted sickeningly, the vibrant petals of the flowers seeming to claw at her. Sephiroth rose, his silhouette a lonely monument against the cold, indifferent glow of the moon. His predatory gaze never left hers, a burning intensity promising a nightmarish devotion. The chilling weight of Shinra’s violation of her body and Sephiroth’s corruption of her mind was palpable in that unwavering stare, promising endless torment with no escape unless she gave in.

“I am your haven, Bianca,” he murmured as the dreamscape shifted, drawing her into another cycle of their twisted dance. “And you will come to love your prison, just as you were always meant to.”

tagging some fellow mutuals: @themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[bardic-tales]

Day One | Bianca Moore | Day Three

Obsession: Day Two: Self-erasure through obsession

Today’s character dive explores the complex and often uncomfortable intersection of obsession, control, and identity in relationships. In this piece, I ask: Does your OC ever try to control who their lover speaks with? Or how they dress? Or where they go?

Through the lens of Bianca Moore's relationship with Sephiroth, we examine a disturbing kind of devotion: one that doesn't enforce boundaries, but dissolves them entirely. This is not about possessiveness in its obvious forms, but about the quiet horror of self-erasure in the name of love. Bianca doesn't limit Sephiroth. She worships him. And in doing so, she becomes the ultimate cautionary tale of what happens when reverence replaces self-worth.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse dynamics, emotional manipulation, obsession, psychological control, stalking, trauma, unhealthy relationships.

Bianca Moore does not try to control who her lover speaks with, how he dresses, or where he goes, because that would imply she believes she has a right to control him. She doesn't. Not because she's healthy or balanced (she is absolutely not), but because in her mind, Sephiroth exists above those mortal, petty concerns. In Bianca’s obsessive worldview, Sephiroth is a god in the making, and gods don’t need micromanagement. Her obsession isn't about policing him. It’s about offering herself as the willing sacrifice, reshaping her identity entirely to be the perfect companion for his conquest of life, death, and destiny. She doesn’t try to restrict him because she believes if she’s worthy, if she’s essential, then he won’t leave. He’ll choose her. Every time.

This doesn’t mean Bianca’s possessive nature doesn’t manifest. It absolutely does, but it emerges in subtle and insidious ways. Rather than dictate his interactions, she sabotages the competition. If another dares to draw too close to Sephiroth, emotionally or ideologically, Bianca removes them from the board. Not always through violence, though she’s more than capable of it, but through psychological warfare, manipulation, and discrediting rivals.

She crafts herself as irreplaceable, the only being who truly understands the divine madness behind his eyes. After all, Bianca didn’t just fall in love with Sephiroth. She gave up her afterlife for him. No other mortal, clone, or Remnant can compete with that kind of devotion and if they try, they don’t last long.

As for clothing and appearance? Bianca wouldn't dare to tell Sephiroth how to dress. She worships the way he moves, the way his coat billows, and the silver gleam of his hair in moonlight. Any attempt to change him would be a blasphemy in her eyes. Instead, she alters herself to be more aligned with his vision. She channels her powers to become more alluring, more ethereal, more complementary to his growing darkness. In her histrionic evolution, she performs devotion with increasing theatrical flair: not to control him but to make herself unforgettable, so that when he becomes god, she is the goddess at his and Jenova's side.

When it comes to where he goes, Bianca doesn’t stop him. She follows. Through crumbling reactors, into forgotten caves, through dreams and fractured realities, Bianca is always there. Not in a healthy 'ride or die' way, but in a 'you are the axis of my reality and I will bend the cosmos to orbit you' way. If Sephiroth disappears, Bianca tears through timelines to find him. If he dies or is defeated by Cloud, she waits on Gaia until he returns. She has redefined her existence to revolve around him, to the point that her own agency has eroded. She doesn’t control him because she has no interest in domination: only submission, reverence, and being chosen. And that’s what makes her terrifying. Her lack of self becomes her weapon.

Ultimately, Bianca Moore does not exhibit control in the traditional sense because she doesn’t see Sephiroth as hers to control. She sees herself as his to use. Her possessiveness lies not in restraint but in proximity and exclusivity. She doesn’t want to dictate his movements. She wants to be the reason behind them. Her obsession is so all-consuming that it erodes her boundaries entirely, and in doing so, she doesn't need to chain Sephiroth. She becomes the chain itself.

The tragedy is that while she longs to be irreplaceable, her desperation only feeds into his possession, making her more a vessel than a partner (although he does genuinely love her). And in that, Bianca's downfall is sealed: not by jealousy but by the annihilation of her selfhood in service of a god who was never meant to love anyone back but does in a warped possession.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

Obsession taglist: @queerlilchinchin

[bardic-tales]

Day 9 | Diana Ravenscroft | Day 11

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 10: Allies and Rivals

In today’s entry, we delve into the alliances and antagonisms that shape Diana Ravenscroft’s presence within the Final Fantasy VII universe. Unlike traditional bonds of camaraderie or enmity, Diana’s connections are transactional, strategic, and often laced with cruelty or obsession.

From her cold alliance with Professor Hojo to her volatile fixation on Bianca Moore, Diana’s relationships are a reflection of her ruthless pursuit of knowledge and power. Her interactions with figures like Sephiroth and Rufus Shinra expose the dangerous tightrope she walks: one lined with gods, monsters, and the consequences of playing with divine blood.

Possible Trigger Warnings : abuse (emotional, medical, and power-based), body horror, clinical detachment toward sex, medical experimentation, obsessive behavior, sexual content (non-explicit), torture (scientific and psychological), trauma references, violence (implied and described)

Diana Ravenscroft does not have friends. She has only assets, subjects, and strategic alliances.

Her closest ally, if one dares call it that, is Professor Hojo. Their bond is forged not from loyalty or affection, but from shared ambition, mutual disregard for ethics, and a clinical fascination with the divine and monstrous. Diana slept with Hojo once, out of sheer curiosity: biological impulse observed, analyzed, and swiftly discarded. She told him afterward, without emotion, that she didn’t see the point of copulation. Their dynamic is brutally pragmatic. Hojo trusts her with high-level projects because she delivers results, not because he likes her. In return, Diana tolerates his madness and arrogance because proximity to his legacy gives her greater access to forbidden knowledge and living weapons like Bianca Moore.

Speaking of Bianca, Diana considers her both a masterpiece of genetic anomaly and a personal obsession. Bianca is not just a rival. She’s the divine cipher Diana is trying to crack. She vivisected her, infused her with mako and Jenova and S-cells, and cataloged every drop of demonic blood for study.

But Subject N01, a celestial named Bianca Moore, was never truly subdued. Diana's rivalry with her is deeply personal, fueled by jealousy and intellectual fascination. Diana hides that fear well, but it informs her cruelty. Every incision she made into Bianca’s flesh was an attempt to dominate something she couldn’t fully understand, an immune system that defied humanity's, and to stabilize a program that was basically rotting from the inside out: the SOLDIER degradation and fatal illnesses, such as cancer. Bianca’s defiance haunts her, knowing that if she had not been recalled to Midgar that she would be among the causalities within the Shinra Mansion the night that Subject N01 broke free.

Sephiroth, on the other hand, is Diana’s silent death sentence. She doesn’t fear him outwardly. She’s too arrogant for that. She knows what he is, and more importantly, she knows what she did to what he calls his, one of the only beings that he considers family. To Sephiroth, Diana is not an obstacle. She’s a stain. She harmed Bianca: his Bia, his celestial mate, his sacred counterpart. Sephiroth may be calm, composed, and distant, but he’s also capable of cosmic violence with surgical precision. Diana is under no illusions. If she Sephiroth ever decided she’s outlived her usefulness, there will be no warning. She exists now only because he allows it.

Among the rest of Shinra, Diana cultivates working relationships based on leverage and power dynamics. She sees the Turks as blunt instruments: useful but not intellectually worth her time. Reeve is a nuisance, as he is too burdened by morality to ever be of real use.

Rufus Shinra, however, intrigues her. Diana suspects he may one day prove a more useful patron. But make no mistake: she does not trust anyone. She aligns herself with those who further her goals and cuts ties when they become liabilities. If Diana has allies, they are temporary props for a greater design.

In the Final Fantasy VII universe, Diana’s only true allegiance is to progress: for science, for power, and for unlocking the secrets buried in divine blood. Her rivals are living proof of her limitations: Bianca, who refuses to break; Sephiroth, who represents divine wrath; and even Hojo, whose madness she both enables and surpasses.

In this world of monsters and gods, Diana is the one who opens their veins. Not out of cruelty, oh no, but because she must know. Knowledge, however, has consequences, and in this universe, a god feels and remembers what was done to his consort.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[bardic-tales]

Bianca follows a very strict routine. Her routine revolves around her role as a protector, lover, and a self-styled "Priestess' title. Every morning, she siphons spirit energy from the life-force of the planet, patrols the crater to make sure nothing is threatening her lover. Through out the day, she preforms blood rituals and trains with Noctemaris for the day that she will have to face her father and her lover's enemies. She treasures each black feather she has of her lover, seeing it as a symbol of their connection.

Her evenings are marked by meditation and dark prayers, finding solace in the icy atmosphere, as she hides away in the deepest part of the cave system, since she experiences hypothermia faster than a normal human. At night, she sleeps little. However, whens he does, she engages in a dreamscape where she spends time with her lover. Her every action reflects her unwavering devotion to his power, as she helps him become the god that she believes he should be.

Which OC follows a strict daily routine?

[bardic-tales]

The Space Between - An FWC / FF 7 Crossover Fic

Summary: In a twilight dreamworld between life and death, Bianca (16) meets Sephiroth (18): two broken souls who recognize themselves in each other before reality pulls them apart.

Pairing: Bianca Moore (F!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: David Moore (minor), Krista Gilmore (mentioned), Rosen (mentioned), Paramedics (minor)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse (implied), blood, character death (referenced), emotional trauma, mental health struggles, medical emergency, mention of suicide ideation, self-harm (implied), violence (referenced)

1.

The world breathed silver.

The air, if it could be called that, shimmered with soft light that held no source. Trees arched overhead in reverent curves, their bark the color of frost, their leaves translucent and glinting like glass dipped in moonlight. There was no sun or warmth here: only a neverending twilight. The kind of silence you could fall into and never come out.

Bianca stood in the center of a clearing, gown flowing around her like ink dropped in water. It was a black fairytale creation, sheer and delicate. The fabric whispered against her legs with every breath of wind. Tiny silver stars were embroidered across it, mapping constellations she didn’t recognize.

She never wore things like this. And she never braided her hair like this either: split down the middle, tight and neat, as if someone else’s hands had done it.

She didn’t know where she was.

More pressingly, she didn’t know why she was still here. Why she was still anywhere.

Krista was dead. Krista was dead because she had killed her. That truth pressed against her ribs like a jagged thing, sharp and hot and always there. She had been ready to stop feeling. Ready to sleep. There had been blood, too much of it. She’d been floating in a static white plane and then . . .

. . . And then this place caught her. Or maybe she caught it. Dreams didn’t normally form this way, did they?

Something moved through the trees.

Bianca turned sharply. Her heart gave a rebellious thud. Then she saw him.

He stepped through the silver forest as if it parted for him. Shoulder-length hair, paler than the leaves around them, framed a face sculpted with such unnerving symmetry that it almost hurt to look at him. His coat hung open slightly. His expression was neutral. Too neutral.

He looked like someone trying to remember if they were supposed to feel something. Was this Heaven? Was he an angel?

They stared at each other for a long moment. Both were still as statues, as they stared at each other.

Finally, he spoke. “You’re not from here.”

His voice was smooth, but not emotionless. Deep, with a note of confusion buried beneath the calm. Bianca didn’t answer at first. Her throat was dry. She hadn’t even thought she could speak here.

“I- I don’t know where here is,” she said softly. Her voice didn’t echo. It didn’t need to. The dream absorbed everything. “But I guess that makes two of us.”

He stepped closer, slowly. Cautiously. His eyes, green, slitted, and almost luminous, didn’t leave her face. “I’ve been here before,” he said. “In sleep. In pieces. But it’s different now.”

Bianca’s brows furrowed. Something about him tugged at her chest. Not attraction—something deeper. Older. A familiarity that shouldn’t be there. You’re the same as me, something whispered in her blood.

Bianca’s brows furrowed. Something about him tugged at her chest. Not attraction. Something deeper than surface level attraction. Older. A familiarity that shouldn’t be there. You’re the same as me, something whispered in her blood.

“I think I’m dead,” she said. Despite her best efforts, her voice broke, cracking with grief and the need for someone to understand how she felt. “Or supposed to be.”

He paused. A subtle shift in his expression. It was just enough to register. “That makes two of us.”

She blinked at him.

He looked down and flexed his hand, as if testing whether it belonged to him.

“There was a boy,” he murmured, his voice distant now. “Rosen. I killed him because he asked me to. He was the last of his people. He said… he didn’t want to be alone.”

Bianca wrapped her arms around herself, her sheer sleeves crinkling like starlight. “There was a girl,” she whispered. “Krista. She lied to me. And I loved her. I thought she was saving me. But she wasn’t. I killed her to save myself and I —”

They didn’t say anything for a while.

The wind moved through the trees with a soft, rustling sigh, like a thousand voices lost in the vacuum of time.

He approached, more confident now. He moved like a soldier—controlled, and purposeful—but with something aching beneath it: a pain that Bianca felt in her soul. Like he didn’t know how to be anything else but a soldier. He stopped just an arm’s length away.

“I don’t know your name,” he said.

“Bianca.”

His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “Sephiroth.”

Something clicked, but not in her mind. Her soul leaned forward. Sephiroth nodded once, like the name tasted familiar in his mouth, though he couldn’t say why. “You’re not human,” he said suddenly.

Bianca’s brown eyes widened. Those words stung. “Yes, I am.”

They stood there, watching each other with the kind of stillness that comes before a storm: or a revelation. A thread shimmered faintly between them, pulsing red before vanishing from view.

“I don’t belong anywhere,” Bianca admitted. The truth was out before she could catch it. “They killed my mother in a ritual. I’ve been running for years. And now? I don’t even know if I want to keep going. I don't want to keep going.”

He didn’t flinch, but something about his expression tightened.

“I never met my mother,” Sephiroth said. “They told me she died giving birth to me. I carried a picture of her for years. Lost it. I think I looked for her in every face I passed. Hoping someone would say her name and it’d feel like coming home.”

Bianca’s breath hitched. Something about that shattered her. Something about that made her recognize the man he would become: her other half.

“You sound like you’re supposed to be a villain,” she said, a bitter little laugh escaping her. “But you’re not.”

He stepped even closer.

“You look like a fairytale,” he replied, eyes tracing the stars on her dress. “But I don’t think you are.”

She gave a dry laugh. “It’s not even mine. None of this is.”

“Maybe it is,” he said, almost gently.

The world hummed around them. Not threatening and not warm. Just awake. Watching as if it had been waiting.

“What is this place?” Bianca whispered. “Why are you here too?”

Sephiroth shook his head, and the silvery strands brushed against his cheeks. “I don’t know. I was dreaming. I think. I usually see shadows. SOLDIERs. Fire. My mother hugging me in a meadow. But this? ” He looked around. “This is peaceful.”

She looked up at him, and for a moment, just a mere second, she imagined what it would be like to belong here with him, as if they were made from the same broken star but split.

"I usually dream of fire, too. Of ash. Of devils calling to me," She admitted, the first time she gave those dreams a form. "Perhaps, we are not alone anymore."

Something glowed faintly around their wrists: a thread, almost invisible, forming a delicate heart-shaped pattern before flickering out.

Sephiroth looked at her like she had just said something he’d been waiting to hear his whole life. He lifts turned upward into a sad little smile and opened up his mouth to say something else.

Then the world cracked. The silver trees began to blur, and their edges smeared like black paint in water. The stars on her gown dimmed. Her chest constricted, as air whooshed out of her lungs.

“No, Sephiroth, wait!” Bianca gasped, holding a hand over her heart and reaching for him with her other. “I don’t want to—”

The forest vanished. He vanished and all that was left was the screaming ache that she had not been a lone.

2.

She woke to the scream of sirens and the burn of lights too bright. Pain returned all at once: her chest, her wrists, and her throat. The sharp scent of antiseptic filled her nose. She blinked against the flashing lights and saw David, her father, hovering.

His face twisted in worry, as his hand gripped hers so hard it hurt.

“Stay with me, Bia," he choked out. "Please. don’t go."

She tried to speak but couldn’t. Something was in her throat, preventing her from even speaking. Her ears rang. She tried to speak his name, Sephiroth, but the name stuck within her, burying deep within the layers of memory, physical pain, and grief.

In a place separated between space and time, Sephiroth jolted awake with a sharp gasp. His fingers tightening around a bedroll. The canvas ceiling of a field tent swayed above him. A lantern flickered from a hook, casting sleepy golden shadows across the military-green fabric. Rain ticked against the outside like whispered warnings.

He sat up too fast. His head spun.

“Sephiroth?” came a groggy voice from nearby. Genesis, curled up in a sleeping bag, as the young man cracked one eye open. “What now?”

Sephiroth didn’t answer. His breath steamed faintly in the cool mountain air. Beside Genesis, Angeal slept like a stone, snoring softly under a rumpled blanket. A worn copy of Loveless sat on a crate nearby Genesis, half-open like it had fallen from tired fingers and it had.

The fire in Sephiroth’s chest hadn’t gone out yet. Not fully. His heart pounded like he’d been running, but towards what, he didn’t know.

The silver forest was gone, but the feeling lingered.

He pressed a palm to his sternum, trying to steady it. Trying to hold onto the scent of glass leaves, the hush of the twilight air, the echo of a girl’s voice that still rang in his head and through his blood. "You're not alone."

He could almost see her: black dress moving around her like smoke, stars on her bodice and sleeves, and brown eyes full of something sharp and kind. Bianca. That was her name, wasn’t it?

But even now, in the cold Wutain night, the syllables were slipping. The memory of her face blurred at the edges like water on ink. Details unraveled. Was her braid left or right? Were the stars on her dress real? Was she real?

His breath caught. It was fading. Already.

He clenched his jaw and stared at his hand, turning it over like he expected to see something wrapped around his wrist.

Sephiroth had to be mistaken. There was nothing: no thread, no mark, just skin.

He lay back slowly, staring up at the roof of the tent, the metal taste of loss sitting thick in his mouth. There would be more missions. More training. More silence.

But he would always remember, for a while, that once, in a place that smelled like forest and night flowers, someone had looked at him like he was more than a weapon. And, more importantly, that he had looked back at the broken girl and saw her.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap @seastarblue

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[bardic-tales]

Day 4 | Diana Ravenscroft | Day 6

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 5: Relationship with Materia

In the world of Gaia, materia is often treated with reverence, caution, or strategic utility. For Diana Ravenscroft, however, materia is not a means to survive or a conduit to the Planet’s will. It is a subject, a specimen, and a locked vault of planetary memory and divine architecture she has every intention of dissecting and decoding.

Today’s exploration delves into Diana’s uniquely clinical relationship with materia: not as a user or believer, but as a scientist seeking to master the unmasterable. This entry examines how her fixation on materia’s genetic, divine, and metaphysical properties reflects the core of her worldview. Her fixation is one where understanding demands domination, and awe is always forced to kneel before knowledge.

Possible Trigger Warnings: body horror, experimentation, forced implantation, medical trauma, non-consensual modification, scientific exploitation, violence

Diana Ravenscroft’s relationship with materia is one of scientific detachment and intellectual scrutiny rather than mystical reverence or practical reliance. She views materia not as a tool for battle or survival, but as a rare biological and metaphysical phenomenon: a crystalline compression of planetary will that can be categorized and weaponized. In her eyes, materia represents the intersection of science and the divine, a place where her obsession with understanding supernatural forces can be made manifest. Unlike typical Shinra operatives who use materia for combat efficiency, Diana prefers to extract and analyze them in controlled laboratory settings, stripping away their mythos to reveal their inner workings.

While she is more than capable of using materia herself, Diana rarely does unless absolutely necessary. Her style of work doesn't lend itself to battlefield magic. She delegates that to enhanced test subjects, SOLDIER prototypes, and controlled experiments. When she does wield materia, she does so with surgical precision, preferring types like Contain, Gravity, or the elusive Enemy Skill materia. Her use is never emotional or instinctive. It’s calculated, data-driven, and often tied to live experimentation, especially when testing the resilience of genetically modified subjects.

During her obsession with the divine and Bianca Moore, her fascination with materia intensified following the discovery that certain individuals can naturally absorb or synthesize materia-like energy without external conduits became an obsession. Diana began experimenting with materia implantation, theorizing that materia could be used as a medium for permanent genetic alterations if properly stabilized. Her labs became host to grotesque trials in which subjects were forcefully fused with materia, often resulting in catastrophic failure, but in the rare case of success, she documented cellular regeneration.

This belief turned into an obsession, pushing her to experiment with corrupted and forbidden materia: dark, unstable shards extracted from ruins or rumored to have been tainted by proximity to the Planet's wounds. She wasn't content with the standard elemental and command sets. Diana sought materia tied to ancient knowledge and the boundary between life and death. Her fixation reached a crescendo when she attempted to create a hybrid materia using a demonic cells extracted from Bianca and an Odin summon materia. Though the project failed catastrophically, it marked another pivotal moment in Diana’s descent into scientific fanaticism.

In the end, Diana doesn’t see materia as a source of wonder or connection to the Planet. She sees it as a key. A key to unmaking death, to controlling gods, and to rewriting the boundaries of human evolution. Her relationship with materia mirrors her relationship with people: cold, instrumental, and exploitative. Yet, buried in her clinical approach is a flicker of awe she will never admit. This is an unspoken reverence for the cosmic architecture of a world that still dares to defy her scalpel.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[bardic-tales]

Title: Heaven

Pairing: Bianca Moore(f!oc) x Sephiroth

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1384

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Warnings: Eroticism, intimacy, dominant/submissive themes, possessive dynamics, emotional vulnerability, references to past trauma

Summary: In the quiet solitude of their hidden cabin, Bianca and Sephiroth share an intimate bath, a moment of quiet devotion and unspoken understanding.

Author's Note: Sephiroth is a service dom in Fantasy Worlds Collide, even as the One-Winged Angel. His need for control is deeply intertwined with his desire to care for Bianca. This interpretation draws inspiration from the ending scene of the Nibelheim Incident, before Cloud’s infamous counterattack, where Sephiroth, despite his godlike presence, displayed a quiet, almost reverent focus on Jenova. That moment of intense devotion resonated with me, shaping how he approaches his bond with Bianca, not just as a dominant force, but as someone who finds fulfillment in tending to her needs, ensuring her well-being, and reinforcing their unbreakable connection.

💞🌹Happy Valentine’s Day to those who celebrate! Thank you for supporting Bianca and Sephiroth since I decided to share their story on Tumblr. I appreciate every one of you.

1.

The fire crackled softly in the corner of their secluded cabin. Its warmth gently mingled with the faint scent of vanilla and lavender. Bianca leaned back against the edge of the clawed bathtub set before the crackling black marble fireplace and felt the weight of her head settle on the porcelain. Her long, onyx hair cascading in wet waves around her. The tub was deep. Sephiroth had filled it with water infused with a few drops of vanilla, lavender, and milk. Droplets glided over her shoulders, drizzling down her breasts until meeting the surface of the white cloudy water. Rose petals floated on the top, occasionally bumping into her body. Tucked away in a corner of the North Crater, untouched by time, the cabin seemed far from the chaos of their lives. Here, it was just the two of them.

Sephiroth stood at the side of the bath. His imposing figure was a strange contrast to the intimate, peaceful atmosphere. His long silver hair hung loosely, parting in front of his cyan eyes. Those sharp cat-like irises watched her with an intensity that made her shiver—not from fear, but from the deep, possessive care he had for her.

No, Sephiroth never feared her. He was perhaps the only thing in Creation to accept her just as she was: a cosmic entity capable of doing great evil. The absence of his coat, pauldrons, and gloves left him bare from the waist up. His broad, muscular chest glistened as the flickering light of the candles swayed. His pecs were visible under the crisscrossing suspenders that held his large stomach guard in place. How many times had she traced the Shinra logo engraved into the black leather with her fingertips, feeling the groves and indents beneath her skin? His presence was a force in the room, but tonight, there was something softer, something quieter about him: a reverent and almost worshipful side that only Bianca had ever seen.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice smooth, carrying a subtle undercurrent of concern that only she could recognize.

Bianca didn’t answer at first. Instead, she closed her eyes, relishing the gentle pressure of the warm water against her skin. The bath seemed to soothe her, calm the frayed edges of her soul. How long had it been a long time since she had felt this vulnerable, this unguarded? Five years ago? In Nibelheim?

"No," she murmured, her voice low, almost a purr. "I’m fine, Seph." Her indigo eyes flicked up to him, meeting his intense gaze. "Just… stay with me."

A subtle twitch of his lips—the barest hint of a smile—was the only response before his hand reached down. He bent forward and curled his long fingers around her chin beneath the water. His touch, heavy with unspoken vows, pressed into her chest; a silent promise, a reminder of their shared destiny, her heart thrumming in a rhythm of belonging.

With a measured grace, Sephiroth knelt fully beside the tub. The defined muscles in his legs shifted beneath the tight, black fabric of his trousers. He never took his eyes off her as he reached for a soft black washcloth with silver embroidery, dipping it in the warm water, and slowly, almost deliberately, ran it over her bare skin.

The sensation of the cloth gliding over her was almost too much to bear: the warmth, the softness, and the intimacy of his touch, sending a rush of heat to her cheeks. Although his hands were always powerful, a new stillness and gentleness hung over them that night; they felt different. His hands moved with a tenderness that spoke of years spent understanding her soul, each touch acknowledging the unspoken burdens she carried.

His touch was slow and unhurried. Every movement of the washcloth was a caress, every stroke an act of devotion. He moved from her shoulders down her arms, tracing the curve of her collarbone with a tenderness that made her breath catch. His cyan eyes drifted to the swell of her breasts floating on the surface of the water: a heated gaze that told what he wanted in an intensity that words wouldn’t have been able to. The touch was possessive, a branding that marked her as his; the warm water, scented with lavender and vanilla, washed away the grime and the lingering chill of the harsh world.

“Bia,” he whispered, his voice low, the sound of her name falling from his lips like a prayer. It was a tone that he used for her: not Jenova, only her. “You are mine. I am glad you stopped pretending you aren’t.”

The words echoed in the room's silence, but it wasn’t just the words that mattered. The feeling was overwhelming: the weight of his touch, the quiet intensity of his gaze, and the way he made her feel both loved and utterly his. She shuddered, leaning into his touch. Her eyes fluttered closed, a sigh escaping her lips as she reveled in the warmth of his presence.

She felt him lean over her. His lips brushed against her warm skin, licking up the droplets of water from her neck. His breath warm against her ear, nipping the soft lobe with his teeth.

“Do you feel it, little bird? The bond between us?” His voice was a gentle murmur, but behind it lay a strength as solid as rock, a palpable power that emanated from him. “You are everything to me. When we finally open the path to the Promised Land, you will rule beside me and Mother.”

Bianca’s breath hitched. To her, his words were a sweet melody, filling her heart with commitment and hope. Like a warm embrace, they offered reassurance, unwavering affirmation, and a bond that wove them together, tighter than anything she had ever known; an unbreakable connection. In this moment, she felt the tug of their connection—a powerful force that transcended time and space, a warmth spreading through her chest, like a silent promise.

He dipped the washcloth again. This time, he slid it lower, the whisper-soft fabric gliding over her stomach, arousing her skin. His hands, large and steady, continued their meticulous work, their touch feather-light yet firm. Each motion was more intimate than the last. He washed her slowly and methodically, as if savoring the act of caring for her, taking pleasure in the simple intimacy between them.

Every accidental brush of his fingers or palm against her skin sent shivers of warmth through her, a heat far more intense than the fire’s glow or the hot water. It was him. It was always him. The man beneath the titles ignited in Bianca, a Celestial being, feelings she shouldn’t have known: a burning love, an overwhelming desire, and a wild, intoxicating loss of self.

“Sephiroth,” she whispered, her voice thick with a need that stirred deep inside her. Her hand rose. With a tremor in her fingers, she lightly touched his chest, her fingers brushing against the damp leather of his suspenders. A delicious tremor started deep within her, radiating slowly outward until her whole body was trembling, causing her thighs to clench tightly together. She moaned, then. “I can’t...”

But he didn’t relent to hear more. While washing her, he leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against the crown of her head. His touch was a paradox: simultaneously unyielding in its firmness and gentle in its caress. He didn’t need words to convey his devotion. His actions spoke louder than anything he could ever say.

Time seemed to slow down as each minute stretched into an eternity, each moment unfolding like a breathtaking and seemingly endless dream. As Bianca melted into his gentle care, she felt herself sinking deeper into the tranquil, secluded haven they had built together, a refuge from the outside world. The world outside was far away. Here, in this cabin, there were only the two of them. Without words, their bond was clear, a silent understanding woven into the fabric of their shared moments; it was present in the stillness between them, the intimacy of their touch, and the subtle dance of his movements.

The bath, the quiet, the warmth? These were all hers. They were his. Their fates written not in the stars, but in the fire of their love.

tagging some fellow mutuals. Thank you all for showing interest in my Bianca.

@asirensrage @themaradwrites @whatwedointhecraft @serenofroses @megandaisy9

@watermeezer

@seastarblue @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

@chickensarentcheap @arrthurpendragon

@inkandimpressions

[creators-club]

Meet the Creator / Project: 11.25.24 - 12.1.24

Welcome to a new week, fellow authors. Below, you will find everyone who has a specific project or character that they wish to talk about.

@bardic-tales: original world. final fantasy 7: bianca moore

@bardic-tales: original world. final fantasy 7: FWC (Original)

@bardic-tales: original world. final fantasy 7: FWC (FF 7)

@megandaisy9: 13rw. dying light. silent hill: cael

@seastarblue: original world: mehri al-adwan

@riemmetric: original world: rain on empty shells (relationship between Clara and David)

@mrsmungus: ncis: ties that bind

@aalinaaaaaa: original world: High Councillors of Morilast

Guests:

We do allow guest participants in our club. If you are interested in becoming an official member, please see our pinned post and our guidelines. We host events every day, except on holidays and our yearly break at the end of December.

This week's guest participants are:

@asayyun14: original world: dzagokü kimaska

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[armchair-pirate]

🎨 icon and pin header by: @bardic-tales

👑 FF 7 RPer 👩‍🎨 he / him 🎬Final Fantasy

I am 21+. I'm an indie author who cowrites with @bardic-tales, who also goes by the name of Nicole or NL. Nicole is my wife.

As I am a closed RP account, I typically am not searching for any type of followers.

Adult Policy

I occasionally post adult material on this blog. It will always be hidden beneath a read more line. There will be smut. This will be between @bardic-tales and myself.

Ask Policy

I do allow anon asks. If I receive hate mail even one time, I block the account.

Headcanon Policy

We have very specific head canons for Bianca and Sephiroth. You can view all headcanons on @bardic-tales' blog under headcanons: fwc: ff.

Fandoms Policy

The fandoms I RP are just Final Fantasy 7.

As a RPer for FF7, @bardic-tales and I have chosen to use the events of the “FFVII: Last Order” anime as the basis for Sephiroth’s 'death'. This choice adds a deeper layer of tragedy to Bianca Moore’s story.

Also, please know that there will be spoilers for the Remakes (Remake and Rebirth) on this blog. Please read at your own discretion.

RP Policy

At the moment, other than @bardic-tales, I am not opened to RPing with anyone. All RP posts are tagged: #rp: fwc and take place in my passion project, Fantasy Worlds Collide.

Trigger Policy

There are plenty of triggers, since I RP as Sephiroth and his history is full of extremely sensitive material. There is no set era to Sephiroth, as we are dealing with a Multiverse.

Fantasy Worlds Collide:

Overview: a brief overview of important terms and characters in the world: fantasy worlds collide.

Important OC Links:

Bianca Moore - a character sheet that describes Bianca Moore. Bianca Moore is the protagonist in the RP.

ch: bianca moore - ff - any RP posts that feature @bardic-tales' Bianca Moore

ch: sephiroth - any RP posts that features Sephiroth.

rp: info - any information from Fantasy Worlds Collide that pertains to the rp.

Fantasy Worlds Collide Characters - @bardic-tales' Tumblr

Final Fantasy Characters - a list that details all of the OC characters for the Final Fantasy 7 fandom that exist in the FWC project.

Original Characters- a list that details all of the original characters that exist in the FWC project. This will only include characters that are not fanon characters, such as young Bianca from ages 1 - 20.

Sephiroth is a demisexual male who uses he/him pronouns. He is on the asexual spectrum. As the setting for this RP can very, he can sometimes have a god-complex and sadistically torture Cloud / his party, the teenager who is always questioning everyone about his mother 'Jenova', or the tired War Hero who just wants to be recognized as a normal person.

Love Interest

Bianca Moore, a fallen angel born to the Watcher Angel, Seraphine, and the demonic prince, Asmodeus, dropped into the Shinra Mansion from a cosmic rift—an entry point into a fate forever intertwined with Sephiroth's.

Bianca is RPed by @bardic-tales.

[bardic-tales]

Bianca can't stand her father, the fallen angel Azrakiel who later renamed himself as Asmodeus. Asmodeus is still sore about being cast from the Celestial Realm and came across a tome depicting a prophecy how a child of light and dark will destroy the Omniverse and could remake it to her will: said child was Bianca Moore. He sired a living weapon and a means to gain powers like the Creation Deity. Bianca bitterly fights against her 'preordained' destiny. Asmodeus only sees Bianca as a tool.

what two ocs can't stand each other?

[bardic-tales]

The Silence Between Screams - FF VII / FWC Alternate AU Fic

Summary: A clinical, soulless encounter between two scientists is overshadowed by the haunting presence of an experimental subject who refuses to break.

Pairing: Diana Ravenscroft (f!oc) / Professor Hojo

Other Characters: N01 (Bianca Moore), Zack Fair, Cloud Strife, Sephiroth (mentioned)

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse (medical), body horror, blood, captivity, coercion, experimental torture, graphic medical procedures, gaslighting, loss of bodily autonomy, medical trauma, non-consensual experimentation, psychological manipulation, sedation, sexual content (clinical, detached), torture, vivisection.

1.

The silence that followed was surgical. Not awkward, not bashful. Simply . . . done.

The rustle of fabric as Diana Ravenscroft pulled her white coat back over her bare shoulders was louder than the tapping of her boots across the cold, blood-flecked tiles. She moved with the same mechanical efficiency she used to vivisect spinal cords and catalogue the reactions of degraded clones. Clinical. Controlled.

Hojo hadn’t bothered to redress completely. He stood near a steel table stacked with corrupted Sephiroth Clone tissue samples. His lab coat was open, shirt partially untucked. His posture was still hunched. His long fingers hovered over a scalpel as if debating whether to pick it up or whether it might betray something messy if he did.

Neither of them said anything for several moments. That was the way of scientists who’d reduced even human intimacy to data.

“I expected something . . . more,” Diana said finally, adjusting the rubber gloves onto her hands with a sharp snap. Her tone wasn’t judgmental. It was just factual, as though commenting on the acidity of a blood sample left unrefrigerated too long.

Hojo let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t perform for your satisfaction, Ravenscroft.”

She raised a brow as she tightened the belt around her coat. “And yet you seem quite invested in your reputation with the Costa del Sol interns.”

“Ah, yes. A crude population, easily impressed by confidence and a doctorate.” Hojo picked up the scalpel, examining its reflective edge with a disturbing fondness. “But I wasn’t interested in impressing you. I thought you might learn something.”

“I did,” she said, tucking a strand of copper-red hair behind her left ear. “That it’s a highly inefficient and overhyped biological process with excessive perspiration and no clear purpose outside of reproduction and temporary chemical feedback.”

“Ah,” Hojo murmured, “there it is. The dispassionate prodigy strikes again.” His smile was skeletal, as if his lips stretched thinly over his face. “You know, most people at least lie to themselves about needing connection.”

“Most people don’t watch their test subjects scream for dead lovers while their nerves are flayed open,” she said evenly. “That tends to adjust one’s expectations about the value of sentiment.”

Almost on cue from across the lab-

CLANG. SLAM.

A containment tank rattled violently against its metal restraints. The sound echoed through the suffocating, dusty corridors. Diana didn’t even flinch. She checked her clipboard.

N01 again.

The subject’s pale form spasmed violently in the green-tinged fluid. Mako and blood threaded through her veins like rivers of mercury. Her indigo eyes were squeezed shut, as her lips moved, sending bubbles up through the liquid she was submerged in.

Sephiroth . . .

The words was more of an exhalation than speech. Her vocal cords strained against the breathing tube that had been sutured in post-laryngeal insertion.

Hojo’s attention drifted lazily toward the tank. “Her vocal cords are regenerating faster than expected.”

“No,” Diana said, noting it. “She’s compensating. Trauma-induced vocal plasticity. Something about Sephiroth’s name triggers a spike in her theta wave patterns. Possibly just desperation.”

Hojo moved to the tank like a man greeting a particularly beautiful cadaver. His fingertips tapped the glass near N01’s head. “She calls for him even under sedation. What do you suppose that implies?”

“That her psychological tether has exceeded the cellular one. We’re beyond degradation timelines now,” Diana said. “She’s more will than flesh.”

Hojo’s grin deepened. “Delightful.”

Diana turned to check the other chambers: Zack Fair and Cloud Strife. Both were floating in their tanks, green light bathing their still faces.

Zack’s eyes fluttered. That one was fighting.

“Subject Fair is resisting the infusion protocols again,” she said, already stepping toward the monitor banks. “Jenova cell uptake is 32% lower than last week. You overdosed the mako.”

“No such thing,” Hojo said. He approached behind her. “He’ll break. They all do.”

Diana leaned close to the screen. “Except when they don’t. And then we have another Hollander problem on our hands.”

Behind them, N01 convulsed again. Blood seeped from her tear ducts and beneath her fingertips. Her back arched within the tube like she were fighting invisible restraints. Black and indigo wings rattled against the rigging pining them in place. She was fighting not just the containment gear but something older. A memory. A name.

Sephiroth. Again.

Diana tapped her stylus against the tank’s control screen, lowering the adrenaline stimulation by half a point. Her lips barely moved. “Interesting.”

Hojo watched her with a glint of suspicion beneath his glasses. “You’ve grown unusually preoccupied with N01.”

"She’s my assignment,” Diana replied coolly. “I’m invested in results. Her celestial genotype is the only one surviving cellular breakdown past the seven-month degradation mark.”

“Is that all?” Hojo asked. His voice was like a scalpel sliding under the skin: invasive and precise.

She didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, she stepped back and adjusted the settings on Cloud’s tank.

“I’ve noticed something curious,” she said. “Subject Strife is showing sporadic memory flash loops. I believe N01’s psychic field is affecting him.”

“Fascinating,” Hojo drawled. “Perhaps proximity-based empathic leakage.”

“Or perhaps,” she said softly, “we’ve underestimated the metaphysical overlap.”

Hojo tilted his head, peering at her like she was one of his own specimens. That was how he looked at everyone: like they were part of one never-ending test.

“You’ve always worshipped control, Diana. Cold fingers on the scalpel. So what is it about this girl?” he asked, voice growing quieter. “The way she fights even after her flesh is torn. The way she still calls for him. Are you envious?”

Diana looked at him then: sharp, green eyes flat. “You confuse obsession for admiration. What I see in her is possibility.”

“She’s not divine. She’s not Jenova”

“No,” Diana said. “But she was touched by something that is.”

They both stared at N01 for a moment longer, watching the bubbles escape her lungs in pulses, as if she were counting the seconds until she could scream for him again for the fluid to silence the name.

Hojo turned away first. “We’ll need to do another biopsy. Harvest from the lower spine this time. That’s where the demonic markers spike.”

“I’ll prep the restraints.”

She walked to the surgical table and hummed a tune under her breath. When she passed the semen-stained sheets still crumpled from their earlier liaison, she didn’t look at them once. There was no afterglow. No fondness. Just data to log and a subject to bleed.

2.

Sometime Later

The labs fell quiet, smothered in the sterile hush of fluorescent light. Only the low, rhythmic hum of containment units broke the silence. The machines pulsed like mechanical lungs in the hollow underground lab. Dim green light filtered from massive cylindrical tanks, casting sickly patterns on the steel floor.

Zack Fair floated within one of them, motionless but twitching: a muscle in his jaw twitching every few seconds, like a dreamer caught in the throes of a nightmare he couldn’t wake from as he reached for a figure that had passed on.

Next to his tank, Cloud's eyes fluttered open for a breath of a moment: unfocused, pale blue irises drowning in the mako-saturated liquid. He didn’t seem to see anything. Then they shut again, sinking back into whatever coma Shinra had drugged him into.

In the furthest corner of the chamber, where the green light faded into nothingness and even the machinery dared not breathe too loud, a figure hung suspended in another tank. Isolated and restrained.

N01.

Unlike the others, she was half-curled, floating as though the containment fluid embraced her more tightly than gravity ever could. Her bare skin shimmered beneath the green hue, ethereal and bruised.

Shinra had stripped her bare, as if peeling away her last defense, her last dignity. But even so, she remained unbowed, a figure of tragic defiance suspended in silence.

Long black hair streaked with iridescent purples drifted around her like ink in water. Her eyes were closed.

A deep curved scar glowed faintly along her stomach, pulsing in sync with something ancient and wrong. The taint of Jenova had not been silenced. The cells only slept, tainting her blood and bonding with something far more ancient than them.

A ripple stirred the stillness.

Without warning, her fingers twitched, just a little, and her lips parted. Not wide. But the word that slipped through was undeniable, unyielding, carved from something deeper than consciousness. Still, the solution muffled the name.

"Sephiroth . . ."

There was no desperation. No sob or scream. It wasn’t a plea. It was a calling. Certain. Unshakable. An unbroken promise that he would come.

And then, an almost imperceptible sound pulsed around the tank. The tiniest of fractures spread like a vein through the glass of her tube, branching out from her right hand, where her clawed fingers now pressed faintly against the inside surface.

A slow tremor moved through the steel base of the chamber. The lights above flickered once. The containment fluid pulsed, as globes of air palpitated like the thudding of a heart through her containment unit. Somewhere, beyond the lab, a spirit stirred in a body that was not his.

And N01 barely smiled. Her expression was neutral, unreadable, but behind her eyelids and in the depths of blackness, memories bloomed like fire consuming a village: a ceiling ripped open by cosmic purpose, a ladder of splintered wood, and blood soaking silver hair.

The thread around her wrist was still there. Glowing. Binding. Unbroken. And in that moment, though she was still submerged, still locked in Shinra’s man-made tomb, the air around her changed.

Because something had heard her. He was coming.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

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@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon

[bardic-tales]

Introducing Aurora, the Sovereign of the Abyssal Realm

Warnings: Graphic violence, psychological trauma, manipulation, themes of godhood and existential dread

🌙 Name: Aurora Moore 🔮 Age: Appears early 20s; actual age—2,000 years 👤 Gender: Female 🌌 Fandom: Final Fantasy VII Universe (AU) 🌟 Ship: None formally 📅 Date of Birth: Year 2000 of the New Existence (exact date lost to time) 👼 Mother: Bianca Moore 👨 Father: Sephiroth 🧑‍ Brother: Lucien (fraternal twin) 🎭 Faceclaim: Anastasia E G

Character Overview

Aurora Moore is the godborn daughter of Sephiroth and Bianca Moore, created through corrupted reality magic in the Ethereal Nexus. A celestial-infernal-Jenova hybrid, she is the anointed Sovereign of the Abyss: her own terrifying, divine domain. Aurora was shaped by relentless emotional training, divine genetics, and a legacy of warfare. Despite her cruelty, she holds a conflicted tenderness for her twin brother Lucien, her father, and her mother. She is revered, feared, and pitied in equal measure. Aurora is an icon of divine wrath carved from the broken legacy of the Remnants and the bloodlines of gods.

🌟 Character's Persona: Aurora is a tactician with a tyrant’s soul. Intelligent, theatrical, and obsessed with perfection, she’s cold on the surface but internally volatile. Her greatest strength lies in her vision and resilience. Her greatest weakness? Emotion. She wields pain like a weapon but is not immune to it, often spiraling when confronted with her parents’ disapproval or threats to Lucien. Aurora grows not through redemption, but through brutal clarity. She recognizes that she must forge identity beyond the shadows of her creators.

🎭 Personality:

Chaotic Neutral | Capricorn| ENTJ | 3w4 Aurora is methodical and intimidating, carrying herself with the gravitas of a deity. Her speech is deliberate, her demeanor immaculate, but she's anything but calm beneath. The trauma of being born with purpose and a way to ease her mother's sorrow rather than love defines her decisions. She's haunted by inadequacy, yet incapable of yielding. She doesn’t see morality: only strength, will, and weakness. Her actions are shaped by wounds, need for autonomy, and the constant need to prove that she is not them (Kadaj and Yazoo) while still craving her parents' approval.

💑 Transcendent Bond: Her bond with Lucien is the most powerful emotional thread in her life. They are twin-born gods, but she treats him like her heart outside her body. While she may manipulate, control, or even harm others to achieve her ends, Lucien remains untouched by her wrath, her sacred exception. No romantic bonds are present, but there is potential for deeply symbolic, divine entanglements should anyone survive her immense standards.

⚔️ Courage in Conflict: Aurora’s courage is undeniable. She does not flinch before voidspawn or gods, nor does she hide behind pawns. Her battlefield is both literal and metaphysical. She will stand at the center of war and reshape reality itself if necessary. Her resilience lies not in lack of fear, but in her decision to use pain as fuel. Every fight is another trial she bends to her will. She's at her most terrifying when cornered—because that’s when she evolves.

✨ Likes & Dislikes

Likes: Ravens, starlight symphonies, tactical warfare, forbidden knowledge, celestial absinthe, rare celestial meat, philosophical texts, solitude, divinity rituals, Lucien’s smile

Dislikes: Butterflies, innocence, dreams of redemption, mortal weakness, nostalgia, emotional exposure, comparisons to her parents, holy relics, betrayal, vulnerability

🌿 A Soul of Many Hobbies When not ruling with divine authority or waging multiversal war, Aurora indulges in poetry, fairytales, and alchemical experimentation. She crafts magical artifacts with loving precision, finding a rare calm in creation. Stargazing over the Abyssal horizon is her private solace, where she contemplates the ruins of the gods and dreams of remaking them better. She often speaks to the spirits of dead warriors. She does this to learn and to test their worth.

Powerset Overview

💫 Powers and Abilities: Aurora’s power is vast and terrifying. Her primary gift is Reality Distortion, allowing her to twist the laws of physics and consciousness within her realm. She draws from Nightmare Manifestation to weaponize fear, and her Shapeshifting, inherited from Jenova cells, makes her form as fluid as her wrath. Octaslash and Shadow Flare give her direct combat lethality, and her Abyssal Throne makes her nearly invincible within her domain. She combines arcane knowledge with divine presence, ruling not just through power but legacy.

💔 Weaknesses: Aurora’s emotions are both her power source and her weakness. Her love for Lucien clouds her judgment, and her unspoken desire for Bianca and Sephiroth’s approval leaves her emotionally compromised. Outside the Abyss, her power is weakened unless prepared through rituals. Her pride is immense. She underestimates mortals and gods alike, and she is convinced of her supremacy. She can be baited, broken, or betrayed if the right emotional fault line is hit.

🌠 Key Moments in Aurora's Journey

Aurora and Lucien weren’t born. They were forged, shaped from grief, ambition, and corrupted divinity in a post-cosmic reality engineered by Bianca. Their existence is not a miracle, but a declaration. They are the legacy of power, not innocence, built to finish what Bianca and Sephiroth began.

When Aurora and Lucien were five, Aurora and Lucien are nearly broken until Bianca intervenes in full apocalyptic form, confronting Sephiroth without a word, just raw celestial rage. Bianca has broken the cycle of Jenova and Sephiroth's domination over her as she protected her children. This moment shatters any illusion of control, forcing Sephiroth to see Aurora not as a tool, but as a child forged in fire, demanding respect.

After the confrontation, Sephiroth softens: not with warmth but with something far more terrifying. Genuine regard. He sees Aurora not just as the extension of his will, but as something worthy of legacy, calling her not his tool, but his daughter.

Bianca doesn't hand Aurora a crown. She crafts a living realm around her, as she recreates the Abyssal Plane. It is a nightmarish throne woven from corrupted reality and challenge. Aurora is told to conquer or be consumed, and in claiming dominion, she becomes more than an heir or daughter. She becomes a goddess.

Aurora builds civilization out of shadows, forming a court of elite female-presenting entities who serve as both reflections and instruments of her ideology with Bianca's help and guideance.

🌟 Themes:

Divine Inheritance vs. Self-Definition

Power and Isolation

Sibling Devotion

Trauma as Transformation

Control vs. Chaos

Legacy and Rebellion

Ruthless Sovereignty

The Illusion of Redemption

The Price of Divinity

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy

[bardic-tales]

Day 8 | Day 10

31 days of FF 7 Headcanons: Day 9 - Favorite Weapon

Weapons are often reflections of those who wield them, and in the case of Bianca Moore, her blade is as enigmatic, haunting, and complex as the woman herself. In her Final Fantasy VII arc, Bianca forgoes her celestial greatsword, Solstice for the corrupted, sentient Tachi known as Noctemaris.

Born from suffering and bonded through blood, this weapon is more than steel and spellwork. It is a manifestation of her father's inner darkness, a record of his descent, and, now, a companion in her fury. Noctemaris is not merely a weapon of choice. It is the embodiment of Bianca’s transformation, an extension of her fury, pain, and unrelenting will to survive a world that sought to unmake her.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, blood, body horror, captivity, death of a loved one, demonic themes, dismemberment, graphic violence, loss of agency, manipulation, mental illness, mind control, murder, parental abuse, psychological trauma, religious trauma, ritualistic violence, self-harm, torture, trauma bonding, and weaponized possession.

Bianca’s weapon of choice in the Final Fantasy VII arc is the Tachi known as Noctemaris, a corrupted and sentient blade that resonates with the dark energies she now calls her own. Though she once wielded a celestial greatsword named Solstice. Solstice was her mother's greatsword. However, her mother Seraphine’s enchantment forbids her from drawing it while corrupted.

In contrast, Noctemaris is a blade forged from the very essence of the void between realms, and it not only accepts Bianca’s twisted soul but amplifies it. It has become more than a tool of war. It is a symbol of her severed past and the infernal path she’s chosen.

Bianca came into possession of Noctemaris not by choice, but through trauma. During a brutal confrontation with her father Asmodeus, she was impaled by the blade. its malevolent purpose meant to break her to his will and cut through any defiance she might have remaking Creation. However, in a desperate and selfless final act, Mordecai, her first husband, hurled both Bianca and the blade into a dimensional rift. This act saved her life but cursed her to carry the weapon of her tormentor.

Since then, the sword has bound itself to her aura. Its whispers are constant and maddening, tempting her to fall further from grace. Though it was meant as a chain, Bianca twisted its fate, claiming it as her own instrument of vengeance and ruin.

The sword’s construction is a macabre spectacle in itself, as it was once a celestial blade. Its obsidian and silver alloy blade, etched in a forbidden script that now glows crimson in light, seems to bleed the aura of its own mythos. Each marking is not merely decoration but a living record of darkness. The blade shimmers with stardust and the occasional trace of nebula, giving it the illusion of being plucked from the night sky or a tear in the fabric of space. It is beautiful and horrifying. This is the perfect extension of Bianca herself.

Noctemaris’ hilt is just as formidable in design. Twisted demonic motifs stretch across the guard, writhing with an uncanny, almost sentient awareness. Its grip is wrapped in ebony leather, scarred from both use and time, and it clings to Bianca’s hand as though refusing to be separated. The diamonds on the tsubi (hilt) are silver. The blade whispers to her in moments of silence, feeding on her doubt and pain, as it pushes her toward oblivion. It is not merely a weapon but a companion of her darker nature: one that understands the weight of her suffering and offers a savage outlet for it.

Despite its temptation, Bianca maintains a tenuous control over Noctemaris, channeling its power without fully succumbing to it. In the FF7 timeline, she uses this weapon exclusively, not only because Solstice refuses her, but because Noctemaris feels like a part of her soul. It is corrupt, broken, beautiful in its devastation. It is not the blade of a hero nor of a villain, but of something in-between: a creature made of shadow, love and loss, rage and ruin. Through it, Bianca carves her place in a world that now shuns her, daring anyone to challenge the storm she’s become.

@themaradwrites @craftyhal @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon