Dani. She/her, I am 40+, blog is 18+. I’m a water Witch not a mermaid but a friend to them. Agnostic Reform Jewitch 🇺🇸✡️🏳️🌈🇮🇱🕊️🇵🇸⛲💫. I believe in the two state solution. I care about the innocent people on both sides. Listen To the people I don’t trust either government
your friends living room once everybody but you is asleep
laundromats at midnight
• any target
• churches in texas
• abandoned 7/11’s
• your bedroom at 5 am
• hospitals at midnight
• warehouses that smell like dust
• lighthouses with lights that don’t work anymore
• empty parking lots
• ponds and lakes in suburban neighborhoods
• rooftops in the early morning
• inside a dark cabinet
A lot of these places are called liminal spaces - which means they are throughways from one space to the next. Places like rest stops, stairwells, trains, parking lots, waiting rooms, airports feel weird when you’re in them because their existence is not about themselves, but the things before and after them. They have no definitive place outside of their relationship to the spaces you are coming from and going to. Reality feels altered here because we’re not really supposed to be in them for a long time for think about them as their own entities, and when we do they seem odd and out of place.
The other spaces feel weird because our brains are hard-wired for context - we like things to belong to a certain place and time and when we experience those things outside of the context our brains have developed for them, our brains are like NOPE SHIT THIS ISN’T RIGHT GET OUT ABORT ABORT. Schools not in session, empty museums, being awake when other people are asleep - all these things and spaces feel weird because our brain is like “I already have a context for this space and this is not it so it must be dangerous.” Our rational understanding can sometimes override that immediate “danger” impulse but we’re still left with a feeling of wariness and unease.
Listen I am very passionate about liminal spaces they are fascinating stuff or perhaps I am merely a nerd.
I get the playgrounds at night because I walk to one that’s near my house at night sometimes and hang out. I always feel like I’m being watched or followed, or rather something out of the ordinary is happening
Kehehe I haveth an idea and now you get to deal with it-
Actually this is an idea I had a while ago but tumblr deleted it and now it has come back better.
----
Rayven once again appears in a burst of chaos, carrying a child in her arms. "Bia, sorry to spring this on you. Mo--" Rayven pauses, blinks, then huffs. "Starlyng has a trip that would leave Robyn alone for too long, Byrd broke his leg so he can't care for her, and my butt of a father had no other servants. I have a mission to go on and I don't want to put Robyn in danger."
Rayven sets the child down, the girl looking almost like a mini-Rayven aside from the copper red of her hair compared to Rayven's ebony hair. She's clinging to Rayven's side, staring out at Bianca and then at the room around them. While they've met before, it seems Robyn has become shy now that they aren't in the Feathre Tree.
"She should behave well for you, and I should only be gone a couple days. Would you watch her?"
Oh, @nightwriter-flights-of-fancy. I remember when you alluded to this idea. I have a very good memory. Sometimes. lol Bianca is in her 20s during this, so it's very interesting writing her reaction.
To understand this, she started to live with Mordecai when she was 18, her wings flayed by Asmodeus at 20, and by 23, she was in Gaia with Sephiroth. So, she is around 21-22, which is very interesting. Sorry. My mind just jumped to ages.
Possible Trigger Warnings: Angelic lore, Blame and resentment from crowds, Religious themes, Sick and dying mention, Xenophobia (fear/hatred of the divine/supernatural)
Possible Tropes: Alternative fashion, Angelic/Divine protagonist, Babysitting, Cozy atmosphere, Found family, Goth rock/Gothic vibes, Guarded protagonist, Magic and portals, Sanctuary/Safe haven, Slice of life, Soft protagonist with a sharp edge, Stable/Horse care, Superpowers/Awakening, Wholesome interaction
The heavy scent of cedar shavings, sweet feed, and leather oil always had a way of grounding Bianca, pulling her back into her skin when the world outside Mordecai’s Tuscan villa got a little too loud.
She was standing in the cool shade of the stable aisle with a stiff-bristled dandy brush in hand. She worked it in long, rhythmic strokes across the glossy flank of her mare. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy, claw-clipped bun. A few strawberry blonde tendrils stuck to the back of her neck in the afternoon heat. Her oversized, faded black flannel shirt swallowed her small frame, paired with her favorite high-waisted denim and a pair of scuffed, mud-splattered combat boots. She rolled up her sleeves tightly past her elbows.
A portable cassette player rested on a nearby tack trunk, humming low with the melancholic, reverb-heavy drone of a gothic rock tape she’d picked up in the city. The bass vibrated subtly against the wooden floorboards.
The sudden, chaotic tear in the air didn't startle her as much as it used to. She simply paused. The brush hovered an inch above the mare's coat as the familiar, static pop of Rayven’s magic rippled through the stable.
Bianca turned slowly, setting the brush down on the ledge of the stall. Her golden eyes, still a stark, permanent reminder of her awakening at twenty, softened the moment she processed the sight of her friend, and then, the tiny, copper-haired force of nature clinging to Rayven’s hip.
As Rayven explained the situation, stumbling over the names of her chaotic household, Bianca couldn't help the small, faintly amused tug at the corner of her lips. She wiped her palms on her jeans, stepping out of the aisle’s dusty light to close the distance.
Robyn was staring at her with wide, painfully shy eyes.
"Rayven, breathe," Bianca said. Her voice carryied that quiet, self-contained stillness that usually anchored the room.
She knelt down, bringing herself closer to Robyn's eye level, though she kept her hands tucked loosely into her pockets so as not to overwhelm the girl.
"Of course I'll watch her. You don't ever have to apologize for bringing her here. She’s entirely safe with me."
She looked back up at Rayven. Her expression turned a fraction more serious, a silent understanding passing between them. The villa was isolated, yes, but the surrounding towns were becoming increasingly unpredictable.
Lately, word had spread like wildfire through the local villages that an angel of the Lord was living on the Delacroix estate. At first, it had been a quiet wonder. People would make the trek up the winding, sun-baked dirt roads, bringing their sick, their desperate, or just their profound grief, treating Bianca like some living bridge to the divine. They would crowd the gates, holding out rosaries, whispering heavy, tear-stained prayers into the Tuscan breeze, begging her to act as their personal miracle worker.
But Bianca had learned humanity’s devotion was a fragile, transactional thing. When the skies remained silent, when the sick and their dead didn't miraculously rise, and their god left their desperate pleas completely unanswered, the reverence soured into something ugly.
The very same people who had knelt in the dirt began to look at her with burning resentment, projecting their anger onto her. They blamed her for the failing crops, the sudden illnesses, the unfairness of their mortal lives, turning on her because she wouldn't—or, perhaps, more accurately couldn't—play the savior they demanded.
Bianca had learned to lock the gates, retreating deeper into the solitude of her writing, keeping her guarded nature wrapped tightly around her like a shield. She knew how quickly a crowd could curdle from desperate to dangerous.
Gently, Bianca extended a hand toward Robyn, offering a small, reassuring smile that she kept soft and deliberate. It was a quiet invitation into her sanctuary: one who only a select few had access to.
"Come on, little one. I was just finishing up with the horses. If you want, you can help me give her an apple, and then we can find something sweet in the kitchens. What do you think?"
Kehehe I haveth an idea and now you get to deal with it-
Actually this is an idea I had a while ago but tumblr deleted it and now it has come back better.
----
Rayven once again appears in a burst of chaos, carrying a child in her arms. "Bia, sorry to spring this on you. Mo--" Rayven pauses, blinks, then huffs. "Starlyng has a trip that would leave Robyn alone for too long, Byrd broke his leg so he can't care for her, and my butt of a father had no other servants. I have a mission to go on and I don't want to put Robyn in danger."
Rayven sets the child down, the girl looking almost like a mini-Rayven aside from the copper red of her hair compared to Rayven's ebony hair. She's clinging to Rayven's side, staring out at Bianca and then at the room around them. While they've met before, it seems Robyn has become shy now that they aren't in the Feathre Tree.
"She should behave well for you, and I should only be gone a couple days. Would you watch her?"
Oh, @nightwriter-flights-of-fancy. I remember when you alluded to this idea. I have a very good memory. Sometimes. lol Bianca is in her 20s during this, so it's very interesting writing her reaction.
To understand this, she started to live with Mordecai when she was 18, her wings flayed by Asmodeus at 20, and by 23, she was in Gaia with Sephiroth. So, she is around 21-22, which is very interesting. Sorry. My mind just jumped to ages.
Possible Trigger Warnings: Angelic lore, Blame and resentment from crowds, Religious themes, Sick and dying mention, Xenophobia (fear/hatred of the divine/supernatural)
Possible Tropes: Alternative fashion, Angelic/Divine protagonist, Babysitting, Cozy atmosphere, Found family, Goth rock/Gothic vibes, Guarded protagonist, Magic and portals, Sanctuary/Safe haven, Slice of life, Soft protagonist with a sharp edge, Stable/Horse care, Superpowers/Awakening, Wholesome interaction
The heavy scent of cedar shavings, sweet feed, and leather oil always had a way of grounding Bianca, pulling her back into her skin when the world outside Mordecai’s Tuscan villa got a little too loud.
She was standing in the cool shade of the stable aisle with a stiff-bristled dandy brush in hand. She worked it in long, rhythmic strokes across the glossy flank of her mare. She’d pulled her hair up into a messy, claw-clipped bun. A few strawberry blonde tendrils stuck to the back of her neck in the afternoon heat. Her oversized, faded black flannel shirt swallowed her small frame, paired with her favorite high-waisted denim and a pair of scuffed, mud-splattered combat boots. She rolled up her sleeves tightly past her elbows.
A portable cassette player rested on a nearby tack trunk, humming low with the melancholic, reverb-heavy drone of a gothic rock tape she’d picked up in the city. The bass vibrated subtly against the wooden floorboards.
The sudden, chaotic tear in the air didn't startle her as much as it used to. She simply paused. The brush hovered an inch above the mare's coat as the familiar, static pop of Rayven’s magic rippled through the stable.
Bianca turned slowly, setting the brush down on the ledge of the stall. Her golden eyes, still a stark, permanent reminder of her awakening at twenty, softened the moment she processed the sight of her friend, and then, the tiny, copper-haired force of nature clinging to Rayven’s hip.
As Rayven explained the situation, stumbling over the names of her chaotic household, Bianca couldn't help the small, faintly amused tug at the corner of her lips. She wiped her palms on her jeans, stepping out of the aisle’s dusty light to close the distance.
Robyn was staring at her with wide, painfully shy eyes.
"Rayven, breathe," Bianca said. Her voice carryied that quiet, self-contained stillness that usually anchored the room.
She knelt down, bringing herself closer to Robyn's eye level, though she kept her hands tucked loosely into her pockets so as not to overwhelm the girl.
"Of course I'll watch her. You don't ever have to apologize for bringing her here. She’s entirely safe with me."
She looked back up at Rayven. Her expression turned a fraction more serious, a silent understanding passing between them. The villa was isolated, yes, but the surrounding towns were becoming increasingly unpredictable.
Lately, word had spread like wildfire through the local villages that an angel of the Lord was living on the Delacroix estate. At first, it had been a quiet wonder. People would make the trek up the winding, sun-baked dirt roads, bringing their sick, their desperate, or just their profound grief, treating Bianca like some living bridge to the divine. They would crowd the gates, holding out rosaries, whispering heavy, tear-stained prayers into the Tuscan breeze, begging her to act as their personal miracle worker.
But Bianca had learned humanity’s devotion was a fragile, transactional thing. When the skies remained silent, when the sick and their dead didn't miraculously rise, and their god left their desperate pleas completely unanswered, the reverence soured into something ugly.
The very same people who had knelt in the dirt began to look at her with burning resentment, projecting their anger onto her. They blamed her for the failing crops, the sudden illnesses, the unfairness of their mortal lives, turning on her because she wouldn't—or, perhaps, more accurately couldn't—play the savior they demanded.
Bianca had learned to lock the gates, retreating deeper into the solitude of her writing, keeping her guarded nature wrapped tightly around her like a shield. She knew how quickly a crowd could curdle from desperate to dangerous.
Gently, Bianca extended a hand toward Robyn, offering a small, reassuring smile that she kept soft and deliberate. It was a quiet invitation into her sanctuary: one who only a select few had access to.
"Come on, little one. I was just finishing up with the horses. If you want, you can help me give her an apple, and then we can find something sweet in the kitchens. What do you think?"
A completely submissive and terrified whumpee, unless he has someone to protect.
"Please, please, don't hurt them. Take me, please!" He knows it's the right choice, he's used to pain, he can handle it better than them... but he can't help but shaking and step back when Whumper approaches him with a terrible, anticipatory smile.
To the citizens of Midgar, the Angel of Shinra was a luminous symbol of divine grace, but behind the sterile corporate glass of Professor Hojo’s laboratories, her existence was anchored to a far more volatile reality: an insatiable, devouring hunger. Bianca Moore—a catastrophic synthesis of celestial majesty, infernal lineage, and alien Jenova cells—carries a physical framework that operates like a furnace, demanding a staggering amount of energy just to keep her reality-bending powers from unraveling. Yet, while dark prophecies and ancestral succubi bloodlines traditionally dictate a craving for blood, essence, or raw life force, Bianca’s anatomy turns a radical corner, binding her survival entirely to the most grounded, organic sustenance.
This hyper-metabolic furnace forms a profound foundational pillar of this alternate universe, transforming the simple act of eating from a basic necessity into a high-stakes battlefield of corporate coercion, tactical warfare, and ultimate, lawless rebellion.
Possible Trigger Warnings: abortion, abuse, confinement, domestic abuse, eating disorders, human experimentation, medical trauma, miscarriage, non-consensual medical procedures, starvation, stillbirth
The biological reality of Bianca Moore is defined by a silent, ravenous conflict occurring at the cellular level. As a unique hybrid born of a cosmic, infernal-celestial lineage and violently fused with S-cells, her physical existence demands an astronomical amount of energy. In this specific alternate universe, Bianca’s cosmic anatomy does not require her to sustain herself on blood, semen, or spirit energy, as ditated in Fantasy Worlds Collide's main canon.
She is entirely dependent on organic, material sustenance. The sheer force of her corrupted spatial, temporal, and reality-bending magical abilities creates an endless metabolic drain, turning her appetite into a vital mechanism of survival rather than a simple human indulgence.
During her years under the thumb of the Shinra Electric Power Company, this hyper-metabolic demand was weaponized into a cruel tool of corporate coercion and control. The Shinra Science Division, led by Professor Hojo, thoroughly understood the colossal caloric intake her body required just to maintain cellular stability and prevent catastrophic power bleeding. Yet, rather than properly nourishing her, Shinra’s PR and reproductive teams strictly rationed her diet for aesthetics and clinical manipulation.
To maintain her public image as the luminous, non-bloated "Angel of Shinra," Bianca was forced to survive on light porridge, clear soups, steamed vegetables, and white fish. This deliberate underfeeding left her in a state of perpetual, agonizing cellular starvation, an invisible torment hidden behind her mandatory, camera-ready smiles.
To suppress the explosive exhaustion, erratic power fluctuations, and severe cortisol spikes caused by this forced starvation, Shinra routinely laced her meager meals with chemical stabilizers.
Her breakfast and lunch were systematically supplemented with tranquilizers, stamina-boosting tantal extracts, and fatigue-suppressing distillates masquerading as "vitamin blends." The company prioritized reproductive viability and flawless cosmetic optics over her physical comfort.
Sephiroth, fully aware of this clinical starvation through the somatic link of their Red Ribbon of Fate, frequently used his high military standing to bypass protocol, quietly sneaking real food, fresh bread, and plastic cups of pudding into their high-security quarters at night to save her from metabolic collapse.
When Bianca was deployed to active battlefields alongside Sephiroth, Genesis, or Angeal, as a SOLDIER medic, her nutritional deprivation became a severe tactical hazard. The high-intensity physical exertion of SOLDIER operations, combined with the chaotic activation of her corrupted celestial magic, would rapidly deplete her energy reserves.
While standard infantrymen relied on standard rations, Bianca was forced to choke down highly concentrated, dense SOLDIER protein bars simply to prevent her heart rate from plummeting into cardiac irregularity. If her intake dropped even slightly below optimal thresholds during a campaign, the shadow corruption within her lineage would destabilize, causing severe emotional instability, reduced combat effectiveness, and acute physical cramping that threatened to tear her body apart from the inside out.This desperate struggle for nourishment reached a horrific apex during her tragic reproductive losses within the upper plates of Midgar.
Carrying pregnancies that were constantly under assault by the synthesis of alien cells and celestial essence required double the metabolic output her starved frame could provide.
When she endured the devastating, unassisted stillbirth of her daughter on her living room floor, her heavy wings pinned her to the concrete as her body fataly hemorrhaged. Because standard planetary Cure spells and Mako-infused restorative magic simply fizzled against her non-Gaian biology, her survival depended entirely on the immediate, desperate triage of the 1st Class SOLDIERs and her own grueling, high-energy hybrid regeneration: a process that left her cellular reserves entirely hollowed out and starving.
Following the definitive catalyst of the Nibelheim Incident and their subsequent defection, the creation of the Vanguard completely revolutionized Bianca's relationship with her own biology. In the absolute freedom of exile within the high, untracked terrain of the Wutai Mountains, the rigid, clinical restrictions of Shinra were permanently shattered.
Forging a rogue mercenary faction alongside a resurrected Angeal, a stabilized Genesis, a sane Sephiroth, and Zack Fair, the Vanguard structured their entire operational logistics around sustaining Bianca’s hyper-metabolism. In the fortified sanctuary of the mountain town of Rinnos, the daily routine shifted from corporate starvation to active, abundant nourishment, recognizing that a well-fed Vanguard co-leader was the ultimate shield against the Planet's lingering threats.
Whether traveling through the annexed territories, hiding in remote border sectors, or collaborating with the resistance fighters of AVALANCHE, her need for massive, grounding meals—like the simple, heavy stews that remind her of her adoptive mother, Sarah—remains an unshakeable reality.
She rejects the monstrous, predatory feeding methods of the Calamity or the baseline succubi bloodlines, choosing instead to anchor her volatile, reality-ripping powers with the simple humanity of breaking fresh bread. Her hunger is no longer a vulnerability exploited by Hojo's and Shinra, but a fierce, life-affirming testament to the survival of the Firebird.
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Hoi! How would Bianca react to Felix having a massive case of the zoomies? :3
Hi there, Felix. I love this idea so much. As always, I answer these for my Bianca in the Redemption!AU.
Possible Trigger Warnings: Child experimentation (referenced), trauma (referenced)
Oh my gosh, Felix having the zoomies would honestly be the highlight of Bianca’s week.
Honestly, knowing her, she would find it absolutely hilarious. Since her own true form is a literal 55-foot cosmic horror draconic Phoenix with tendrils and pseudo-fathers, he wouldn't faze her in the slightest.
She’d probably just lean against a wall, completely amused, watching him tear across the room like a chaotic little blur of energy.
Instead of trying to slow him down, Bianca’s chaotic good energy would immediately match his vibe. She would start cheering him on from the sidelines, laughing her head off and shouting words of encouragement while keeping a careful eye on her surroundings to make sure both of them are safe.
Because her wings are strictly ornamental and held up by internal structural wires from Hojo's childhood experiments, she’d be hyper-aware of her spacing. She definitely wouldn't want her large feathers getting in his way or accidentally getting snagged while he’s drifting around the furniture at top speed.
To keep the prankster spirit alive, she’d probably start tossing plushies or random training pads much to Sephiroth and Angeal's chagrins into his path just to see him execute some wild, high-traction maneuvers.
She’d be grinning from ear to ear, matching his frantic energy with her signature sass and bad puns, completely turning the living room or Vanguard training floor into an impromptu obstacle course. For someone who carries so much trauma and heavy prophecy on her shoulders, seeing that kind of pure, unbridled joy is exactly the kind of distraction she thrives on.
Once Felix finally burns through all that energy and inevitably crashes from the sheer exhaustion of the zoomies, Bianca would immediately switch into her elite combat medic mode. She’d slide a cold glass of Wutai green tea or a plate of fresh bread his way, completely ready to patch up any minor scrapes or protect him from getting scolded by the older (ex) SOLDIERs.
She would just sit down nearby, loop her Red Ribbon of Fate casually around her fingers, and give him a warm, sisterly smile that lets him know he is completely safe to be his wonderful, chaotic self around her.
Aaaaaaaaa I love this so much!!! Felix would absolutely be pulling tricks and maneuvers mid-air, and absolotely falling flat on his ass a few times due to the sheer speed he is zooming at xD he would show off the combat moves that Zack, Cloud, and himself had been practicing, casually summoning his wings and grabbing them in his talons and tossing them onto the couch or any soft surface at high velocity xD he would take the tea and bread gratefully, the small, simple food full of nutrients that he struggles to get due to his poor eating habits
Felix throwing Zack and Cloud onto the couch at Mach speed is officially the funniest mental image ever, and Bianca would absolutely be losing her mind laughing at him crashing. She’d be right there to catch them (or at least make sure they land on the soft cushions) and immediately slide the food over before Angeal can even start a lecture about safety rules.
Honestly, she completely gets the struggle. She was forced to eat the nutrient slurries and a highly regimented diet under Shinra, so she’d be secretly thrilled to spoil him with real, comforting food. Bianca believes that the way you treat family is with warmth and good comfort food.
He is safe to zoom around and be as chaotic as he wants with her.
Human relationships are not transactional but they are reciprocal, which I think many of you with your ‘i don’t owe anyone anything’ shtick are too happy to forget
Transactional: everything has to be exactly 50/50 all the time, pay me back for the £5 sandwich or buy me something worth exactly £5, I refuse to make an effort for you if there’s nothing in it for me
Reciprocal: you were there for me when I needed help, and I’m going to do the same for you, it doesn’t matter if one of us needs more or is capable of less, because the point is not equivalent exchange but mutual care
Captive whumpee has their own room, or closet, or cage, and when they enter it whumper won't touch them. They are never restrained in a way that prevents them from fleeing to their place. Whumper will lure them out with food or painkillers, with undoing any restraints still on them, with the promise of a shower, and whumper keeps those promises. Whumpee comes to feel safe in their place, and knows that, at least in this one thing, they can trust whumper.
And then the rescue happens, and the rescuers drag whumpee out of their safe place to get them to actual safety.
