#lifes a queue

[bardic-tales]

In Bloom, a FF VII xReader Fic

Summary: A heartwarming day at Midgar’s Pride Festival brings you closer to Zack, Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal as each of them shows their support in their own unique way.

Pairing: Zack Fair x Reader, Sephiroth x Reader, Genesis Rhapsodos x Reader, Angeal Hewley x Reader (xReader, ambiguous dynamics/flirtation/romantic potential)

Other Characters: None

Possible Trigger Warnings: Affirmation, crowds, emotional vulnerability, public displays of affection, sensory overload

Tagging: @projecthypocrisy

The sky blooms with color above Midgar’s Upper Plate. Ribbons of light from the hovering banners reflected in the polished glass of towering buildings. The annual Pride Festival is in full swing, pulsing with music, laughter, and a riot of vibrant hues as far as the eye can see. The streets are alive with bodies in motion, confetti fluttering like cherry blossoms in a techno-spring.

You find yourself in the heart of it all, swept up in the pulse of shared joy and bold authenticity. Somewhere in the chaos, your hand is claimed by the warm, unmistakably Zack Fair.

“Tell me this isn’t amazing!” Zack’s voice is nearly swallowed by the beat thumping from nearby speakers, but his grin shines brighter than the glitter on his cheeks. He’s wearing a rainbow cape and mismatched socks, one of which boasts tiny chocobos in pride colors. “I could live here. Just pitch a tent and vibe forever.”

He pulls you closer to avoid a parade float shaped like a giant Moogle. His energy is magnetic. He’s dancing with strangers one minute, then dragging you to a nearby booth the next, where a vendor is offering free heart stickers. He plasters three on your face, kisses your forehead and carefully avoids the stickers before returning to bounce like he’s had six energy drinks too many.

Behind him, Angeal trails like a bodyguard in a slightly-too-tasteful festival shirt: black, button-down, embroidered with subtle rainbow stitching on the collar and cuffs. He’s holding a tote bag full of water bottles, sunscreen, and a folded blanket, like a proud dad.

“You drinking enough water?” he asks as he passes you a bottle, his brows lifting just enough to soften the concern with warmth. He’s scanning the crowd more than the celebration, but there’s a distinct gentleness to how he watches you There's a quiet pride, like he’s honored just to see you show up as you are.

And then there’s Genesis.

Genesis is already halfway up a stage, speaking to a drag queen doing a runway strut in six-inch heels. He’s in full dramatic regalia: a red velvet cropped jacket with golden detailing, iridescent pants that shimmer like the stars, and more glitter than should be legally allowed. His nails are painted a deep wine, and his hair is slicked back.

“From birth, we are bound by chains of expectation,” he announces to no one in particular, twirling to show off his cape. “But here! Here we are our own people!”

He leaps down, theatrical as ever, and joins your little group with a flourish.

“Darling,” Genesis says, eyeing your outfit like a fashion critic, “you are resplendent. That look? That aura? A masterpiece of authenticity.”

You feel your face warm. Compliments from Genesis feel like being knighted by a runway deity who quotes too much poetry.

Sephiroth is the last to arrive. His tall form is unmistakable in the crowd. He walks with a measured grace. His silver hair braided back today: an unexpected but striking touch that Genesis may or may not have insisted upon. He wears a sleek, dark coat with a subtle iridescent sheen that only catches the rainbow under certain light. A small pride pin, a silver feather painted with gradient hues, rests on the left side of his chest.

He says little, but he sees you. His gaze is steady, not scrutinizing but present and grounded. When he comes to stand beside you, the proximity says more than words. You feel the quietness of him there, silent and unwavering. There is no spectacle, no performance. Sephiroth is always just a presence, but, most of all, always acceptance.

“You look comfortable,” he murmurs eventually. It was not a question, but more of a gentle observation. A rare softness threads through his voice, and when his hand brushes yours, he lets it linger.

Zack returns with a face full of rainbow mochi samples. “Okay, okay, listen,” he says through a mouthful of chewy joy, “we have to check out the Queer Creatives’ Alley. I heard someone made a plush of Seph, and it’s got a glittery wing. I mean. Come on.”

“I am not a plush,” Sephiroth replies flatly.

“You are now,” Genesis says, smirking.

The five of you make your way through the festival together, weaving between stalls of handmade pins, trans flag capes, polycule polyhedrons, and every color-coded signal badge imaginable. There’s a weightlessness to it, the feeling of breathing deeply without bracing for impact. You see families—both biological and chosen—gathered on blankets in the park, couples of every configuration walking hand in hand, kids painting flags on each other’s cheeks with washable markers. For once, the world isn’t asking you to fit. It’s celebrating that you don’t.

At one point, Genesis drags you to a poetry mic and whispers, “You should read something. Be defiant with your softness.” When you shake your head, nervous, he doesn’t push, but he stays by your side, arm looped through yours like you’re co-stars in a play only you understand.

Angeal finds a spot under a shady tree and spreads out the blanket, inviting you to rest. He shares snacks like a mother chocobo, and when someone walks by with a sign that reads You Are Valid, he taps you lightly and looks at you meaningfully. “They're not wrong.”

Zack lies in the grass beside you, sunglasses askew, humming along with a nearby ukulele performance. “You doing okay?” he asks. “I know big crowds can be a lot.”

You nod, and it’s true. It is a lot. But it’s your lot. Your space. Your time. And your people.

Sephiroth settles beside you as well, knees pulled up, gaze tilted to the sky. “This,” he says slowly, “is not what I expected.”

Zack snickers. “Did you think it was going to be just glitter and shouting?”

“There is a great deal of glitter.”

“And shouting!” you chimes in helpfully.

“But,” Sephiroth adds, after a pause, “it is kind.”

That catches you off guard. You look at him and realize he’s right. Under the noise and the chaos and the bold self-expression, there is a thread of something profoundly tender. The kind of love that doesn’t demand you be loud or small or brave or loud enough to be seen. Just seen.

The sun begins to dip low, and the sky turns soft. Somewhere in the distance, fireworks begin. You lean into the warmth around you: Zack’s laughter, Angeal’s steady hand on your shoulder, Genesis from a book like it’s fate, and Sephiroth’s quiet strength anchoring the moment.

You don’t have to explain anything. Not here. Not to them. You belong.

[allaboutmagic]

⁉️ Creators' Club: Trivia Tuesday ⁉️

wanna know more? go this way to get to the Creators' Club hosted by @bardic-tales

Today I'm going to tell you a little bit about some changes I made to my mc's backstory from 'The Lilac crown': Elisabeth Darrington.

Alright, as you may know from my intro post, Liz is kidnapped on her sixteenth birthday.

Originally she was supposed to flee after a group of radicals (they call themselves 'the black crown') tried to kill her. See, in my first draft Liz was meant to be queen once she reached a certain age (again, I played around with age quite a lot, and some other factors that could lead to her taking the throne sooner rather than later). Some ppl really weren't happy with that, because Liz has no magical power whatsoever. So even though she is the rightful heir they want her twin brother instead. Otherwise they fear that the magical population (Tehokans) will lose power and strength in favor of non-magical people (Voimatos). To save her life and find alliances, she flees to Belena, an independent city where only Voimatos live. It is run by the 'Council of Thirteen'. Although they are actually striving for a completely different system of rule, the prospect of an allied queen who also has no magical abilities is at least a promising start.

Almost all of that is still happening but the major difference is that Liz now was never meant to be on the throne in the first place. Her parents have decided that Tim is better suited to rule and keep the slowly crumbling peace in the kingdom. They claim that he is the legitimate heir and that Liz is simply not a strong mage, which is why she aims to become a fighter in the royal guard. Liz is generally treated rather subordinately. All in the name of protecting her of course. However, having to put up with yet another king who favors the status quo is not very popular with the Voimatos. Which is why the red alliance, an organization rooted in Belena, tries to intervene by killing all the primary heirs to the throne, aka Liz and her siblings. Their assassination attempt fails when Liz does not respond to their weapons, as she is not a Tehokan. They then decide to take her with them to obtain a political advantage. It think this idea has so much more potential and works in a much better way with Liz as a character. In the first version Liz would've had to leave her country, her people, her family. She'd have never chosen that. She'd have rather died, you know? But for her personal development and to gain a better understanding of the real world and their problems, it was extremely important that she left home. So someone (aka me i guess) had to force her hand a little. This way she still ends up in Belena and learns about what is really going on in the kingdom while also being in line with her character. It also allowed me to add a little (more) family drama which is something that I personally, as a reader and writer, love.

Okayyyy, that's it for now I guess. Let me know if you could understand my reasoning, if you'd have chosen similarly or if you'd have kept the first idea. Also, if you want to, tell me about your story, your character, or some of the changes you made, big or small (I believe that sometimes its the small decisions that make a particularly big difference in the end).

Happy writing! <3

[somethingtocallmine]

[wishfulsketching]

Omg Ambessa x Silco crackship (if you can call it that) is amazing, I live for it🙏

I'm happy to hear that we all agree that this would've calmed Silco down (at least a little bit):

[soft-likethesunset]

i'm not the best at singing. but i'm gonna sing anyway dude. i'm not the best at painting. but i'm still going to paint. my dancing will never see a stage. but it's perfect for early mornings in my bedroom and late nights with people i love. so what does this mean? it means that people are designed to do. not to be the best. just to do. if you're doing what you enjoy, then you don't have to be the best. you just have to enjoy it. you have to live.

[twistedappletree]

[metamorphesque]

October, Louise Glück

[itsawritblr]

When someone interrupts me while I'm writing an intense scene.

[foreverrryourssss]

Black American Women 🖤🤎

[positiveconnector]

[bardic-tales]

Introduction, a FF 7 / FWC AU fic

Summary: Bianca reunites with Sephiroth at the edge of annihilation, and together, they vow to remake existence in their divine image.

Pairing: Bianca Moore (f!OC) / Sephiroth

Other Characters: Jenova (mentioned), Planetary Defenders

Possible Trigger Warnings: Abuse, blood, body horror, canon-typical violence, cult-like devotion, delusions of godhood, grief, madness, mental instability, obsessive love, past medical experimentation, psychological trauma, religious imagery, self-harm (implied), torture (referenced), violence

The Planet did not whisper their names. It screamed them.

Night bent around the crater’s jagged rim, clutching at the wind as it screamed across a dead expanse of shattered stone. A storm of mako-tinged mist curled at Bianca’s ankles like restless phantoms, yet it wasn’t the ghosts of the Planet she listened for. It was him.

And she felt him before she saw him. Of course she did.

The red thread of fate burned against her wrist. It was alive, writhing, and thrumming with divine resonance. Then he was there. He emerged from the mist like a god descending from myth. Masamune gleamed in his hand. Its edge already stained with the blood of a world that dared to forget him.

"Bianca," Sephiroth said, low and reverent. His voice cut through the night like prophecy fulfilled.

She turned. Her wings rustled behind her. Ebony feathers glinted with purple, twitching slightly with the residual tension that never quite left her body. The black leather of her coat flared behind her as she moved, as her boots crushed the snow and dirt beneath. Her indigo, feline-like eyes locked onto his Mako-blazing gaze, and for a moment, the world narrowed to only them.

“You’re late,” she said, fangs peeking as she smiled like a predator. “I was beginning to think Meteor beat you here.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. It was just enough to crack the austere perfection of his expression.

“I was attending to your welcome,” Sephiroth murmured. His gaze trailing over her like a ritual blade.

Bianca stepped toward him without hesitation, and the air thickened between them, heavy with power, memory, blood. Her hand rose, fingers brushing the silver-lined spaulder on his shoulder. The metal was cold. Like him. Like her.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come back to me,” she admitted, not soft, not pleading. Just honest. A crack in the thunderclouds of her psyche. “I thought that maybe the Planet had you, like it had the others.”

"Oh, Bianca." His gloved hand rose, cupping her jaw with an intimacy only he could wield like a weapon. “The Lifestream? A prison. My will is stronger." His thumb traced her lower lip, a motion laced with reverence and possession.

Her throat tightened.

She wanted to cry, and she never cried. Not since Hojo. Not since Diana and the cold table and the skin she had to regrow like a phoenix with ash still burning in her lungs that very first time. But here Sephiroth was, speaking her name like gospel, and she remembered why she had followed him into the end of all things.

Because he remembered her when no one else did. Because he saw her before the fall. Because he had once said, “You are not broken, Bianca. You are divine. We and Mother are. Pain and fury are the only way forward.”

The aching, bright red thread shimmered again, wrapping itself around their wrists in a heart-shaped glow that pulsed like a shared heartbeat. She could feel his pain like it was her own—raw, buried, and utterly untouchable by mortals—and she welcomed it. She let it sear her veins, because his agony was sacred. It was the language of gods, the only language that she now understood.

“I missed the way you say my name,” she whispered.

“And I missed the way you bled for it,” he answered.

Their kiss wasn’t tender. It was violent. Teeth. Fangs. Tongue. Her blood-red nails dug into the back of his neck beneath his hair which shone like quicksilver. His grip was bruising with his hand fisted in her black waves, tugging at the white ribbon that fluttered like a surrender flag. She tasted mako and ozone and madness, but most importantly, him. The him she gave up sanity to follow.

They broke apart only because the air between them threatened combustion.

Behind him, the mist parted, cracking open by the silent arrival of a dark star hanging above the crater, as the world descended into orange light.

Meteor, she thought. Still far, still small, but closer now than ever. And oh, how beautiful destruction looked when framed behind his silhouette.

“Do you feel it?” he asked, voice dropping to a low hum as he stared into the cosmos with eyes resembling cold, ancient fire.

“I do,” she murmured, moving to his side, Noctemaris materializing in her hand with a high-pitched shriek of splitting dimensions. The blade pulsed in her palm: hungry and restless.

“Soon, Bia, the Planet will scream its last breath,” Sephiroth said, his tone as calm as falling snow. “And we will ride its husk across the void until the Promised Land bends to us. This is not annihilation. It is rebirth.”

Bianca's gaze locked on his profile. Every edge of him was sharp, glorious, and godhood incarnate.

“You always did have a way with poetry since your resurrection,” she muttered, cracking her neck. “But don’t forget. You’re not doing this alone anymore.”

His head tilted. “You are the other half of my soul. The mother of divine corruption,” he intoned. “Together, we shall tear open the womb of existence and plant a new star within its corpse.”

Bianca shivered, not from fear, but from the certainty that this was exactly where she belonged.

Far above and beyond mortal comprehension, A crack split the sky, and the stars shuddered. Something was coming. Something other. Another world colliding.

She looked at Sephiroth. He already knew.

"Other dimensions are collapsing into ours,” she said, her wings twitching with tension. “Something's bleeding through. Different worlds will soon converge into this one before they split apart once again.”

“And they will try to stop us,” he said with a smirk.

Bianca turned her head slightly, catching his smirk and matching it with one of her own. “They’ll fail. Like they always do.”

“No, Bianca,” Sephiroth corrected, gently, his hand once again finding her jaw, lifting her face to meet his. “They will kneel.”

She grinned. Jenova whispered chaotic hymns in an ancient tongue in her veins, and Noctemaris hummed like a thing alive.

In that moment, wrapped in his presence, in his 'Chosen One' prophecy, Bianca remembered exactly why she had clawed her way through space and time and death itself: not for salvation. Not for revenge. But to introduce the multiverse to the only love that had ever made sense: Him.

@themaradwrites @shepardstales @megandaisy9 @watermeezer

@prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen @chickensarentcheap

@inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @serenofroses

[rueclfer]

hiiii rue i love ur writing i will read anything u write! That being said, any form of Denki smau with exceptionally forward reader who makes him nervous… would be… very swag.

hes so paatheettiiccc but i also think he'd love getting his licks back like he's teeheeing and blushing and rubbing his hands together like a fly behind the screen thinking of a witty reply HEHE thank yew denki nation🫡🫡

show me how // denki kaminari

-

mha tag: @lotuslovers @babylambdietcoke @0skullyard0 @kaldurahms-lover @commonmisery @moonstonejpg @twoplayergaymers @simp-plague @xvilluis

[somethingtocallmine]

[attramind]

if you feel like you are losing everything

[futuristic-koala]

[lavb-b]

Class.

Inspired by @confusedcultist with their outfit ideas!!