#syntheticdesign02

[bardic-tales]

Funny prompt idea I just thought of: Redemption!AU Bianca, Sapphire, and Azaela sit down at a coffee shop and try to talk about anything that isn't trauma related 🤭

Hey, Synth. I been meaning to get to this. Hope you enjoy it. @sapphirothcrescent. Our girls are having coffee. I put it in Sector 7 😂

Possible Trigger Warnings: Corporate exploitation, Existential dread, Genetic manipulation, Military trauma

Possible Tropes: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Biting, Character Study, Comfort Characters, Domestic Fluff, Found Family, Girls’ Day Out, Hurt/Comfort, Modern AU, Normalcy Attempt, Slice of Life, The Power of Friendship, Trauma Dumping (Avoidance Of).

The Sector 7 café smelled heavily of dark roasted beans and artificial sweetener, providing a stark contrast to the crisp mountain air of Rinnos or the humid, earth-scented depths of the Mideel jungle.

At a small corner table beneath a flickering neon sign, Bianca Moore adjusted the drape of her heavy knitted sweater.

Across from her sat Azaela Sharpe, wearing a comfortably oversized sweatshirt and aggressively stirring a mountain of sugar packets into a vanilla iced latte. Perched on the edge of the third chair was Sapphire Aphelion. She was a picture of vibrant, chaotic energy. Her eyes darted between the blinking digital menu board and the porcelain mug resting in front of her.

"Alright," Azaela announced, setting her metal spoon down with a sharp, definitive clink. She took a long, blissful sip of her liquid sugar. "Rules of the table are officially in effect. We are three normal girls having a normal coffee date. No talking about corporate military protocols, no mentioning mad scientists, no existential brooding, and absolutely zero trauma. Understood?"

"Agreed," Bianca said, a small, playful smirk tugging at her lips as she leaned her chin into her hands. "I am on a strict, self-imposed vacation from the madness. If anyone starts drifting into analysis or psychological damage, I'm using my veto power. Let's talk about something incredibly mundane. Hobbies. Outfits. The weather."

"The weather in Mideel is much better than the smog in Sector 7," Sapphire offered cheerfully, her accent carrying the slow, warm cadence of the southern islands. She grabbed a small paper napkin, pulled a heavy fountain pen from her pocket, and carefully dipped it in a tiny puddle of spilled coffee before scrawling 'Dear Friends, I hope this finds you well' across the top. She stopped, staring down at the blinking PHS device that Azaela had set flat on the table. "Though I must say, these tiny PHS everyone stares into are highly unnatural. I tried to type a quick message to my father earlier, but there was barely any room to sign it properly. It's a total lack of manners."

"Sapphire, it's a text message," Azaela laughed, leaning back. "You don't need a formal epistolary sign-off. It already shows your name at the top of the chat bubble."

"It's about the principle!" Sapphire huffed, tapping her pen against the napkin. She aggressively took a bite out of a chocolate chip muffin, chewing with unnecessary ferocity. "It's just like that microwave upstairs in our temporary quarters that makes the food hot in seconds. It lacks respect for the culinary arts. Back home in the jungle, if you want hot stew, you build a fire, you gather the kindling, and you wait. You respect the wood! You don't subject a perfectly innocent potato to invisible radiation!"

"I am never letting you near the kitchen in Rinnos," Bianca laughed, her wings giving a joyful, programmatic flutter against her chair that she didn't even bother to suppress. "Zack would join your anti-microwave crusade instantly, though. He’d probably try to build a literal brick fire pit right over the living room hearth just to prove a point about roasting marshmallows manually."

"See? Zack understands the sanctity of the flame," Sapphire pointed out.

"Zack understands anything that lets him play with matches," Bianca countered, taking a slow sip of her own herbal tea. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the sticky table. "But really, if we're banning kitchen appliances from our conversation, let's talk about entertainment. What do you do for fun? Have any of you seen any good movies lately? Modern ones, preferably."

"Oh, I love movies!" Sapphire said, her eyes lighting up with genuine excitement. "We had an old cathode-ray CRT television box in the village square. The signals were decades old, but my absolute favorite is The Maiden of the Chocobo Farm, released in 1968. The grand orchestrations! The sheer, unadulterated drama! Truly, modern digital storytelling has completely lost its way."

Azaela stared at her, her straw hovering halfway to her mouth. "Sapphire, that movie is literally forty years old. It’s practically black and white."

"It is a timeless masterpiece!" Sapphire leaned halfway across the table, suddenly snapping her teeth together in a playful, sharp snap inches from the sleeve of Azaela’s oversized sweatshirt. "I bite people who disparage the classics, Azaela. Consider this your only warning."

"Hey! No biting the SOLDIER," Azaela laughed, pulling her arm back but grinning broadly. The lighthearted bickering felt deeply relieving. "Though I guess I can't talk too much about sophisticated tastes. If I could eat hot pizza and drink vanilla lattes for every single meal without ever looking at a vacuum-sealed military ration again, I’d die a happy woman."

"A woman of baseline culture," Sapphire declared, nodding her approval.

"Pizza is a universal human right," Bianca agreed thoroughly, breaking off a piece of a pastry. "Back in Midgar, when things were... well, before we left for the mountains, getting a fresh slice away from the standard cafeteria food was the highlight of my week. Though, speaking of food, Sephiroth has been trying to make pumpkin soup back at the cottage. He gets so incredibly serious about it, standing over the pot in this massive, ridiculous slate gray sweater while the winter blizzards rattle the windows. He looks less like a legendary warrior and more like a very tall, very brooding mountain chef."

Azaela smiled softly at the mention of the knitwear, her mind briefly drifting to her own quiet moments, before she shook her head. "Wait, Bianca, you're breaking the brooding rule. Mentioning mountain isolation counts as brooding adjacent."

"Is it brooding if it’s domestic?" Bianca challenged playfully, raising an eyebrow. "I think talking about a man failing to properly dice a pumpkin is entirely within the safety zone. Besides, you're the one who brought up military rations."

"Fair point," Azaela conceded, raising her iced drink in a silent toast. "We'll allow the pumpkin soup, but only if no Shinra recipes were involved in its creation."

For a few minutes, the conversation drifted into comfortable, lazy rhythms. They argued animatedly about the sheer ridiculousness of high heels, the proper way to dress for a sudden winter storm, and why the simple combination of bread, cheese, and tomato sauce was humanity's greatest collective achievement.

Bianca watched her two friends, a genuine sense of lightness pushing down her inner demon which always threatened to overtake her. There were no ancient prophecies to fulfill today, no genetic manipulations to constantly fear, and no endless cycles of corporate exploitation to untangle.

They were just three girls: a wing-bound angel enjoying a rare moment of peace, a mountain of refined sugar, and a chaotic jungle gremlin threatening to bite anyone who insulted old media—bound by a shared, silent agreement to let the rest of the heavy world fade away, if only until the coffee in their mugs ran completely cold.

Would you like to be on the FWC tag list or taken off? Please either send me an ask or DM me.

@themaradwrites @manorofshepard @kitcatling @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

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@serenvesper @sapphirothcrescent @tolliver-j-mortaelwyver @megandaisy9

@roselyn-writing @syntheticdesign02 @felix-winged-kitsune-derg

[bardic-tales]

Do you have any advice for what to do when you feel like your writing is terrible and there's no point in continuing?

Asking for a friend and definitely not for me 🥲

Hope you are having a wonderful night, Synth. I'm about to head to bed myself.

Tell your "friend" that every single writer who has ever cared about their craft has stared down this exact same monster. When you pour your energy into building worlds, dissecting complex character dynamics, and maintaining massive, intricate narratives, a creative crash isn't just possible. It’s mathematically inevitable.

When the brain runs out of the specific fuel required to translate vivid internal visions into text, it defaults to a defense mechanism: convincing you that the work itself is the problem.

The Creative Gap

That crushing feeling that your writing is terrible? It is actually a symptom of growth. Ira Glass famously articulated the concept of the creative gap. Your taste remains impeccable, but your mechanical skill takes time to catch up.

When you read your recent pages and feel dissatisfied, it’s not because your writing has suddenly degraded. It’s because your analytical eye has leveled up, and you can now see nuances, pacing issues, or character beats that you weren't sensitive to a few months ago. Your fingers just need a moment to catch up to your brain.

Production to Exploration

When a massive project feels like a wall you can't climb, the pressure to produce polished, public-ready chapters can paralyze you. Lower the stakes entirely by shifting your goals.

Remind yourself of the absolute freedom of the private draft. Write something entirely self-indulgent that will never see an upload queue, a tag list, or an archive. I do this a lot. I have reams of Sephiroth and Bianca fics and ship development that has never seen my Tumblr.

If prose feels like pulling teeth, stop writing prose. Switch to bullet-pointed headcanons, dialogue-only scripts, or raw, unstructured world-building notes.

Take your characters completely out of their current heavy plotlines. Put them in a low-stakes, high-comfort domestic setting, or an entirely different universe, just to see how they react. Let them breathe without the weight of the main narrative hanging over them.

Protect Yourself From Creative Burnout

Creative burnout is often compounded by social or emotional burnout. If you are spending energy managing community expectations, keeping up with posting schedules, or navigating online spaces, your creative well is going to run dry.

It is completely valid to step back from the social side of fandom. You don't owe anyone a constant presence. Turn off the metrics, close the feedback loops, and reconnect with the quiet, solitary joy of just hanging out with your characters.

If writing sentences feels too heavy, consume instead. Revisit the specific media, music, or mythology that sparked the project in the first place. Let someone else's art or fic refill your tank while you rest.

The "Shitty First Draft"

The point of a first draft is not to be good; the point of a first draft is simply to exist. You cannot edit a blank page.

"Allow yourself to write poorly. Give yourself permission to put down clunky dialogue, repetitive verbs, and pacing that feels completely off. You are just dumping the raw clay onto the wheel. The shaping, the polishing, and the magic happen during revision."

If a scene isn't working, write a bracketed note like [insert brilliant, emotionally devastating conversation here] and keep moving forward. I like to color code my placeholders.

The point of continuing isn't to achieve flawless execution on the first try, nor is it to satisfy an algorithm or a deadline. The point is that these characters and stories belong to you, and they deserve to be told, even if the process is messy, slow, and occasionally frustrating.

Be kind to yourself, pass this along to your "friend," and take a deep breath. The words will come back when they're ready.

[bardic-tales]

Idea based on our dms! 16 year old Hoenheim goes to Redemption!AU Sephiroth for advice about what to do on both his crushes on Marlene and his teammate, since Seph is almost his father. lol

Look what you made me do! 😂

Blame our DMs for this one. Presenting: 16-year-old Hoenheim seeking teenage romance advice from Dad-Sephiroth. I hope you love it as much as I loved writing it.

Possible Trigger Warnings: abuse, child abuse, human experimentation, PTSD, trauma

Possible Tropes: Domestic fluff, Found family, Love triangle, Mentor Sephiroth, Hurt/comfort, Domesticated villain, Trauma recovery, Heart-to-heart, Red thread of fate, Healing, Safehouse setting, Adoptive father figure

The heavy timber door to the Vanguard’s central study stood half-ajar, spilling a narrow, amber strip of light across the damp stone floor of the Rinnos safehouse.

Inside, the room smelled comfortably of rain-washed cedar, dried chamomile, and the faint, sweet trace of a fresh loaf of bread cooling on a side table: a quiet, domestic warmth that stripped every ounce of the corporate military prestige from the former First Class SOLDIER seated within.

Sephiroth sat behind a broad, hand-carved desk, a soft midnight-blue tunic draping loosely over his broad shoulders. He had set aside the heavy silver pauldrons. black leather coat, and crossed leather suspenders hours ago.

His long, silver hair fell in two pristine curtains over his chest, glowing softly under the steady light of a brass desk lamp as he carefully wiped down a wooden chocobo toy he had been carving for Lucien.

A quiet, hesitant knock rattled the doorframe.

Sephiroth didn't flinch. He didn't reach for the seven-foot length of the Masamune leaning against the corner. Instead, his piercing cyan eyes softened as he looked up. His feline pupils widened slightly in the dim light.

"Come in, Hoenheim," Sephiroth said. His voice had aged into a low, resonant rumble: warm and completely unhurried.

Sixteen-year-old Hoenheim Sharpe lingered in the doorway, his fingers tightly hooked into the sleeves of his dark sweater. He looked so much like the ghosts of Sephiroth’s own past: the same quiet, hyper-vigilant posture, the same habit of observing the room for invisible threats before stepping inside.

Yet, there was no Hojo here. No sterile white tiles, no intercoms, no observation glass. Just the quiet crackle of the cedar hearth in the corner.

"I. . .hope I'm not interrupting," Hoenheim murmured. His voice barely carried over the distant sound of the mountain rain outside. "The twins are already asleep. Bianca said you were in here."

"You are never an interruption," Sephiroth replied gently. He set the wooden chocobo and his carving knife onto a leather blotter, gesturing toward the soft, high-backed armchair across from his desk. "Sit. You look as though you've been carrying a heavy weight all evening."

Hoenheim crossed the room, his movements entirely soundless and sank into the deep cushion of the chair. He stared down at his boots, pulling his knees slightly toward his chest before catching himself and relaxing his posture. He glanced at the side table. His eyes lingered on the quiet, comfortable order of the room.

"It's just. . ." Hoenheim started, biting his lower lip, a habit so like Bianca's friend, Azaela's. "I wanted to ask you something. About. . .people. About how you knew."

Sephiroth leaned back. He rested his elbows on the wooden armrests of his chair, interlocking his fingers. "How I knew what, precisely?"

"How you knew Bianca was. . .the one," Hoenheim blurted out, the words tumbling past his lips before his usual reserve could catch them. A deep flush crept up his neck, staining his pale cheeks. He quickly looked away, staring intently at the flickering flame of the desk lantern. "I mean. You were raised in the same place. You endured the same terrible things. But. . .how did you know it was more than just surviving together? How did you learn to trust it?"

Sephiroth didn't laugh. He didn't offer a patronizing smile. He simply listened and gave Hoenheim his absolute, undivided attention, as he did with Soot, Ash, and his own children. The silence between them was not the suffocating, tense quiet of a laboratory, but rather a patient, protective space.

"When you spend your youth in the dark, Hoenheim," Sephiroth began, "it is easy to confuse the person holding the lantern with the light itself. For a long time, Bianca and I were merely two children trying to keep each other alive against a world that saw us as property."

He paused. His left hand shifted slightly to rest flat on the desk, where the faint, translucent crimson glow of the Red Ribbon of Fate pulsed softly around his wrist: a quiet, constant heartbeat connecting him to Bianca in the adjacent room.

"It stopped being just survival when I realized that her presence didn't just keep me safe. It made me want a future," Sephiroth said, his expression softening into warmth as it often did talking about Bianca. "She didn't just share my scars. She gave me permission to feel something beyond them. Kindness. Warmth. A life where we weren't defined by what was done to us, but by what we chose to build."

He tilted his head slightly, watching the boy's subtle shift in body language. "Does this question have a specific origin? Or perhaps. . .two?"

Hoenheim’s head snapped up. His wide eyes flashed with a mix of shock and embarrassment. "How did you—?"

"Aurora talks," Sephiroth said. His voice laced with a genuine, quiet humor directed at his daughter. "And Marlene is not particularly subtle when she visits from the village, nor is your teammate when you two are on perimeter duty."

Hoenheim buried his face in his hands with a quiet groan. "It's a mess, Sephiroth. A total mess."

"Explain it to me," Sephiroth invited gently. He rested his chin on his hand. "I am listening."

Hoenheim took a deep, shuddering breath, slowly lowering his hands. "Marlene. . .she's incredible. She's bright, and direct, and she doesn't look at me like I'm a lingering experiment or a project that needs fixing. When she's at the house with Aurora, everything feels. . .light. Easy. Like I'm just a normal sixteen-year-old boy."

"Marlene carries a remarkably grounded spirit," Sephiroth agreed softly. "Barret raised her well. And your teammate?"

Hoenheim looked down at his lap. His shoulders tightened slightly. "That's the part that terrifies me. Out on the ridges, when it's just the two of us watching the passes. . .they understand the noise in my head. They know what it's like to carry a weapon's instinct and try to turn it into something good. When we're fighting side by side, it's like sync. I feel completely safe. But then I look at Marlene, and I feel tethered to the real world."

He looked up at Sephiroth. His eyes filled with a desperate, youthful confusion. "I feel like I'm split down the middle. I don't know who I'm supposed to be, or who I'm supposed to choose. I'm afraid if I make a choice, I'll ruin the only safety I've ever found."

Sephiroth watched him quietly for a long moment. He saw so much of his own early years in Hoenheim: the terrifying fear that affection was a finite resource and that love was a tactical choice with severe consequences for failure.

"You are assuming," Sephiroth said with his impossibly gentle tone, "that your heart is a rigid strategic map, Hoenheim. That you must claim one boundary and abandon the rest to keep the perimeter secure."

Hoenheim blinked. "Is it not?"

"No," Sephiroth replied quietly. He stood up. His tall frame moved with an effortless, fluid grace as he walked around the desk. He didn't tower over the boy.

Instead, he leaned back against the edge of the wood, bringing himself down to Hoenheim's eye level. "You were taught by Hojo that every feeling, every reaction, must serve a singular, defined utility. That affection is a liability, or at best, an instrument to be controlled."

Hoenheim flinched slightly at the name, but Sephiroth’s calm, steady presence anchored him before the panic could catch.

"You do not have to force an immediate answer upon yourself tonight," Sephiroth continued, extending a large hand to rest lightly on Hoenheim's shoulder. His grip was warm, solid, and entirely safe. "You are sixteen. You are living in a safe house surrounded by people who would tear down mountains to protect you. Marlene gives you a tether to the gentle, uncomplicated beauty of the world. Your teammate gives you the quiet comfort of shared understanding. Neither of those feelings is a mistake."

"So. . .what do I do?" Hoenheim asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"You allow yourself to feel them," Sephiroth answered simply. "Without fear. Without punishing yourself for having a heart capable of holding both. Honesty. With them With yourself. It will guide you when the time is right. But do not hurry the process. You survived a lifetime of being forced to perform on command. You are allowed to take your time now."

Hoenheim stared at Sephiroth, the tight knot of anxiety in his chest slowly releasing under the elder man's steady, unyielding warmth. He let out a long, slow breath he felt like he'd been holding for days.

"Thank you, Sephiroth," Hoenheim murmured. A faint, genuine smile finally broke through his reserved expression. "I. . .I really appreciate it."

"Always," Sephiroth said and gave his shoulder a firm, gentle squeeze before releasing him. "Now. Go get some rest. Before Genesis decides to enlist you for early morning sword drills."

Hoenheim actually let out a quiet, breathless laugh as he stood up. "Goodnight, Sephiroth."

"Goodnight, Hoenheim."

Sephiroth watched the boy step out into the hallway, the timber door closing softly behind him. Left alone in the quiet study, Sephiroth turned toward the window, looking out into the misty, lantern-lit night of Rinnos. He reached up, gently touching the small white hair ribbon that Bianca had forgot earlier that day and he had tucked into his pants pocket: a reminder of where they all had begun and how far they had walked into the light.

[bardic-tales]

So since I've recently come to love Diana, I'm so curious... what do you think she would think about Azaela? 👀

Good morning! First of all, a massive thank you to them for liking Diana. There is truly nothing better than when an antagonist gets the love and appreciation they deserve, especially one as layered as she is. Diana has more in common with Dr. Monreau than Hojo.

Fun bit of trivia for Diana, is that she holds the remnants of Bianca’s original '97 scientist concept. Where Bianca retained her humanity and never became truly detached, Diana is what happens when you take that scientific brilliant mind and completely strip away the grounding warmth that keeps Bia, as a scientist, human. It’s like Diana is a ghost of a path Bianca never walked.

Sorry I don't have a fancy header for Diana. I need to get to work on that. 😂

Possible Trigger Warnings: biological experimentation, corporate exploitation, emotional manipulation, forced conditioning, human experimentation, medical trauma, psychological abuse.

From a clinical and scientific standpoint, Diana Ravenscroft would view Azaela Sharpe not as a groundbreaking military pioneer, but as an intriguing specimen with a highly irregular cellular profile.

Given that Diana specializes in bioengineering and managing the degradation of Shinra's experimental subjects, she would meticulously analyze the unauthorized alterations Professor Hojo made to Azaela’s mako infusion. Diana—who operates with a cold, calculating mindset entirely detached from standard ethical constraints—would find Azaela’s internal moral conflicts and desperate struggle for human autonomy to be an irrelevant, sentimental waste of genetic potential.

To Diana, Azaela’s value resides strictly in her blood work and physical endurance under corporate conditioning, dismissing the young SOLDIER's emotional suffering as merely a predictable variable in a larger corporate experiment.

What would truly capture Diana's analytical focus, however, is Azaela's relationship with Sephiroth and Hojo's subsequent fixation on it. Because Diana’s ultimate scientific ambition centers on unlocking the secrets of divine genetics and apex biology, she would view Azaela as a fascinating psychological lever over Shinra's greatest biological weapon and, if Azaela, was friends with Bianca during any of Bianca's time in Project N, Diana would use that friendship as a means to test the two to see if Bianca's emotional instability with having her friends in danger affects her demonic regeneration, volatile magic, or the S-cell absorption and fusion rates.

While she might privately consider a regular human SOLDIER a lesser subject compared to her grander obsession lineages, Diana would recognize that Azaela has successfully become Sephiroth’s emotional anchor. Rather than replicating Hojo's deeply invasive personal fixation, Diana would objectively evaluate how this bond alters Sephiroth’s obedience and mental stability, treating Azaela as a highly volatile but useful variable to be observed, cataloged, and potentially exploited to further her own radical research.

Fantasy Worlds Taglist: (+ / -) please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the list by a DM or an ask.

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[bardic-tales]

Another idea for whenever you feel inspired 🥰

Azaela goes to Bianca and Sapphire for advice on what to do about Reno and Genesis after Azaela does her lingerie shoot and Reno won't shut up about it 😂

Azaela needs her girls to tell her she shouldn't have to choose between them lol

Oh. This is juicy, and Bianca would absolutely love to help her sister from another mother out. I set this in Midgar in Seph and Bia's apartment. I like to imagine that Sephiroth is gifted with luxury things as part of PR and Bia and him both hate it.☺️

@sapphirothcrescent. Lookie, lookie.

Possible Trigger Warnings: Corporate exploitation

Possible Tropes: Alternate universe - canon divergence, domestic fluff, female protagonist, found family, girl talk, polyamory, slice of life, strong female lead

The rain in Midgar didn't fall so much as it bled out of the charcoal sky, a greasy, continuous drizzle that streaked the floor-to-ceiling reinforced glass of the Sector 0 penthouse. Bianca Moore absolutely hated this apartment.

It was a gilded cage designed by Shinra’s PR and Marketing divisions to promote the '1st Family of SOLDIER'. It was all sterile chrome, sharp geometric leather couches, and hidden biometric sensors that she knew Sephiroth had disabled weeks ago, though the cold aura of corporate observation still clung to the corners of the ceiling.

To combat the metallic numbness of the place, Bianca had spent the afternoon turning the kitchen into a war zone of flour, yeast, and melted butter. She wasn't wearing her SOLDIER uniform or the heavy, asymmetric tactical dusters she favored for survival.

Instead, she wore an oversized, faded black band t-shirt that she had dragged her friends too years ago, a pair of worn denim jeans that had seen better days, and a pair of beat-up canvas sneakers with mismatched neon laces. Her large, black-and-indigo wings were carefully tucked behind her. Their internal structural wires rested heavily against her back as she leaned over the marble island, pulling a fresh, golden cookie sheet full of pizza goodness from the oven.

"Eat," Bianca commanded. She set the steaming baking sheet down on a trivet before the two women sitting at her counter. "Azaela, take the big piece. You look stressed. Sapphire, stop staring at the digital oven clock like it’s going to explode."

Sapphire Aphelion blinked out of her trance. Her dark hair framed her face. She reached out with a delicate, flour-dusted hand. Her phone rested on the counter beside her: permanently dark, permanently silent, completely ignored.

Hailing from the deep, humid jungles of Mideel, modern Midgarian appliances still looked to her like alien artifacts.

"The little numbers change too fast," Sapphire murmured, taking a massive bite of the pizza and sighing happily. "But this tastes like home. It reminds me of the simple hearths."

Sitting next to her, Azaela Sharpe looked like she was about to vibrate out of her skin. The blonde, celebrated across the planet as the first female 1st Class SOLDIER, was dressed in her preferred comfortable, oversized casual clothes. Her glowing green Mako eyes wide with a mixture of embarrassment and exasperation. She took a vanilla iced latte, which Bianca had aggressively sweetened with four extra pumps of cane syrup, and drank half of it in a single, desperate gulp.

"I am going to murder Reno," Azaela groaned, burying her face in her hands. "And then I am going to throw Genesis’s stupid copy of LOVELESS into a Mako reactor."

Bianca chuckled. Her feline purple pupils glinted with amusement as she wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. She leaned against the island. Her long, prehensile tongue catching a stray speck of sugar on her lower lip.

"Alright," Bianca said. "Let's hear it. What did the red-headed menace and our resident drama king do now? I heard about the lingerie shoot. Shinra PR practically plastered the memos all over the tactical briefing floors."

Azaela turned a violent shade of crimson, looking at her slice like it held the secrets to the universe. "It was supposed to be a standard autonomy play! Shinra wanted to handle my image, so I took control of it first. But Reno... Reno won't shut up about it. Every time I walk down the corridor, he makes some loud, ridiculous comment about lace or structural integrity. And Genesis...Genesis is brooding so hard he’s practically generating his own weather system because he thinks Reno is being 'unrefined' and intrusive. I feel like I'm trapped between a high-speed train and a localized hurricane. They're making me feel like I have to choose between the two of them, and it’s driving me insane."

"In Mideel, if two chocobos fight over the same patch of greens, you simply let them kick each other until one tires out." Sapphire wiped a bit of sauce from her chin. "Or you ride both. Though I suppose men are slightly less cooperative than large avians."

Sapphire paused, turning to Bianca. "Is there a rule in the city that says you can only have one suitor? It seems terribly inefficient. Like only having one book to read."

"Exactly!" Bianca clapped her hands together. A brilliant, sharp-fanged grin broke across her face. She reached under the counter and pulled out a thick, heavily creased paperback romance novel with a flamboyant cover depicting a pirate and a duchess on a stormy sea. "Love isn't a pie, Azaela. You don't run out of pieces just because there's more than one person sitting at the table. Love is love. If you have the capacity to care for Reno’s chaotic, red-headed nonsense and Genesis’s dramatic, poetic soul, why on earth should you have to slice your heart in half?"

Azaela blinked, looking up from her latte. "You-you think I shouldn't choose?"

"I think choosing is a corporate construct," Bianca said with a dramatic roll of her indigo eyes, waving her hand dismissively toward the ceiling to mock the invisible Shinra executives.

"Shinra loves boundaries." Bianca's face darkened for a moment, resembling a look that she had seen Sephiroth have since he was four. "They love boxes, classifications, and single-occupancy forms. But out here, in real life? Polyamory is the only thing that makes sense when you're dealing with personalities that massive.

"Sephiroth caught me reading one of my romance serials the other day—the one with the polyamorous elven court—and he literally stopped, looked at me," she paused as she picked up a knife and fork and cut a small square out of her pizza, "and told me I should have been born from a cherub because I am entirely too invested in universal affection."

Bianca let out a bright, melodic laugh. "He thinks he's being witty, but honestly, he’s just glad I have the energy to manage more than one dynamic."

Sapphire nodded in solemn agreement, leaning over to gently pat Azaela’s shoulder. She signed a physical note on a scrap piece of parchment she carried in her pocket, writing her advice down as if it were a formal missive, ending it with her signature 'Yours in perpetuity, Sapphire.'

"Angeal says that honor is about being true to what your heart dictates, not what the regulations demand," Sapphire said softly. Her thoughts drifted to the stoic, heavy-winged SOLDIER she had grown so fond of. "If you try to force yourself into a shape that doesn't fit, you will break. Just like those terrible microwave machines that make the food taste like plastic."

"Listen to the jungle girl, Zaela," Bianca said, sliding the remaining half of the pizza closer to Azaela. "Reno behaves like a stray dog because he wants your attention, and Genesis acts like a tragic opera lead because he’s terrified of losing your respect. They’re both projecting their own insecurities onto your autonomy. You did that shoot for you. Your body belongs to you. Not to Shinra, not to the media handlers, and certainly not to them. If they want to be a part of your life, they need to learn to share space in the sanctuary you're building."

Azaela let out a long, ragged breath. The tension slowly drained from her shoulders. She took a large bite of the sweet pizza—pineapple and ham as Sapphire insisted—the comfort of the warm kitchen and the unyielding support of her friends finally breaking through the suffocating weight of her SOLDIER responsibilities. "So, I just tell them to deal with it?"

"You tell them that the first woman in 1st Class doesn't take orders on her personal life," Bianca stated firmly. Her voice carried the razor-sharp edge of the field commander she truly was beneath the flour and the oversized t-shirt. "You tell them that if they want to sit at your table, they play by your rules. Now, finish that latte before it gets cold, and tell me more about what Reno said."

[bardic-tales]

I got this idea for our girls, but you made me promise not to write so here you go, if you want to take a stab at it. 👀

Sephica, Azaela x Genesis, and Sapphire x Angeal having a beach day. Genesis and Azaela are working on their tans and Azaela might be using Genesis's copy of Loveless to cover her eyes because she can never remember to bring sunglasses (she has also never successfully tanned but this time it will definitely work). Sapphire and Angeal are working really hard on a sand castle, where Sapphire will not stop asking Angeal if she can use the buster sword to carve it. And Bianca and Sephiroth try to convince the rest of the group to join them in a "friendly" game of beach volleyball. 🤭

Oh, you slickly passed the baton. Listen, I see you trying to bypass the "no writing / burnout ban" by dropping this absolute goldmine in my lap. But you know I've always got you. 😂

Sit back, Synth and @sapphirothcrescent, put your feet up, and enjoy seeing our girls brought to life. Guilt-free. Consider your craving satisfied.

I'm breaking out the gold star divider for this . . . consider me giving you all gold star. lmao

Possible Trigger Warnings: Medical experimentation (mentioned), Scars (mentioned)

Possible Tropes: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Beach Episode, Fix-It, Found Family, Original Character(s), Soulmates

The Beach Episode

The Costa del Sol breeze carried the faint, crisp scent of salt water and roasting sea bass, rustling the fronds of the towering palm trees that bordered the shoreline.

Here, far beneath the high-altitude corporate radar of Midgar, the azure waves of the ocean rolled lazily onto a pristine crescent of white sand. For this select assembly of the elite, the afternoon belonged entirely to a rare, self-contained horizon of normalcy.

Nestled comfortably under a broad, striped canvas cabana, Genesis Rhapsodos was meticulously orchestrating his absolute defense against the afternoon sun.

Sprawled across a mahogany lounger, his custom beach attire reflected his characteristic theatrical flair: a lightweight, open-chested linen tunic in his signature crimson, paired with tailored black swim shorts accented by subtle silver buckles along the hip. His medium-length auburn hair was combed back with flawless precision, and his blue mako eyes were shielded by dark, mirrored aviator sunglasses that caught the glare of the tide.

Directly beside him, occupying the twin lounger, Azalaea was attempting to construct her own sanctuary of relaxation. Her style was far more casual: an oversized, cream-colored linen shirt worn loosely over a vibrant emerald green bikini that contrasted beautifully with her bright blonde hair and striking green eyes.

Having completely forgotten her sunglasses on the vanity of the beachside villa for the third consecutive time, she had resourcefully reached across the small wicker table to confiscate Genesis’s prized, leather-bound copy of LOVELESS.

Flipping it open to the third act, she draped the heavy, weathered pages directly across her face to block out the harsh glare.

"Aza," Genesis remarked. His voice was smooth and slightly elevated over the steady rhythm of the crashing surf. "Wielding the grand epic of the Goddess as a makeshift sunshield is a borderline sacrilegious distortion of the text. ‘The infinite mystery, the gift of the goddess. . .’ is meant to illuminate the psyche, not provide shade for your nose."

"Gen, if I don't cover my face right now, my forehead will turn the exact shade of your coat before the tide comes in," Azalaea muttered beneath the leather cover, her voice slightly muffled but entirely unbothered. She adjusted the spine of the book to better shield her eyes, shifting her slim, athletic frame against the plush towel.

"Besides, you promised this specific patch of coast has the perfect ultraviolet index for tanning. I am executing a very precise strategy here. This time, it will definitely work. I am going to return to Midgar with a golden complexion that will make the entire PR division weep."

"You have been pursuing this elusive pigmentary transformation for three seasons," Genesis noted with a soft, theatrical chuckle, adjusting the collar of his crimson tunic as he leaned back to absorb the warmth. "Yet each endeavor culminates in a remarkably predictable sequence of crimson inflammation followed by immediate peeling. A true tragedy of biological absolute."

A few yards down the shoreline, closer to the wet, packed sand where the surf dissolved into foam, a massive structural project was underway. Angeal Hewley knelt in the sand. His tall, broad, and powerfully muscular build fully apparent in his chosen attire: a deep navy blue, sleeveless compression rash guard that left his scarred shoulders exposed, paired with rugged, dark grey utility board shorts.

His thick, slicked-back black hair was damp from the spray, and his face carried an expression of profound, quiet concentration as he smoothed down the outer ramparts of an incredibly complex, multi-tiered sand fortress.

Beside him, Sapphire was practically vibrating with chaotic, feral energy. Her beach wardrobe was a lawless assembly of mismatched styles: a cropped black tactical tank top, bright sapphire-blue swim trunks with heavy, non-military utility straps hanging loose, and a series of rugged leather wrist wraps that she had stubbornly refused to leave behind.

She was hovering over Angeal’s shoulder. Her eyes wide as she stared at the sheer scale of the sand structure.

"Angeal. Angeal, look at the eastern tower, it's totally asymmetrical," Sapphire insisted, pointing a finger toward the damp battlements. She reached back.

Her hand instinctively hovering toward the massive hilt of the iconic Buster Sword, which was currently propped vertically against a heavy piece of driftwood a few feet away. Its dark iron surface caught the brilliant sunlight. "Let me use it. Just for two minutes. I can use the flat edge of the blade to cleanly shave down the outer walls. It’ll give the fortress an absolute, razor-sharp geometric finish. Come on, let me chop it!"

Angeal didn't even look up from his work, his massive hands gently patting down a wet handful of sediment to reinforce the central keep. "For the tenth time, Sapphire, no. Wielding a legendary heirloom forged from the pride of my family to sculpt wet silt is a complete violation of its purpose. A sword is a tool of honor, meant to defend the weak and uphold one's dreams. Not to be used as an oversized trowel because you lack the patience to use a plastic bucket."

"But it's perfect for it!" Sapphire groaned, dropping down onto her knees beside him and digging her fingers into the sand with a dramatic sigh.

"Sit still and help me collect shells for the parapets instead of plotting military-grade excavations." Angeal replied with a rare, dry smile. His stoic demeanor cracked just enough to reveal his playful side.

Further up the beach, near a pristine white net stretched between two weathered wooden posts, Sephiroth and Bianca were standing side-by-side, observing the scattered members of their found family.

Bianca stood with an aura of effortless elegance. Her waist-length, wavy black hair was streaked with indigo and worn half-up and secured perfectly with her white ribbon--the engagement present Sephiroth offered her during a routine PR tour at the Gold Saucer years ago. Azaela and Sapphire had stood as her matrons of honor during the unofficial ceremony when the pair had returned.

The delicate fabric fluttering in the ocean breeze. She wore a sleek, sophisticated midnight-black one-piece swimsuit featuring a high, modest neckline and an elegant open-back modification that comfortably accommodated the structural wires of her large, ornamental black and indigo wings.

The design was carefully chosen to cover the long, twisting purple surgical scar that circled her belly button: a permanent reminder of her survival against Hojo’s knives. Her indigo eyes, featuring sharp feline pupils, sparkled with an unmistakable spark of mischief as she lightly spun a vibrant neon-blue volleyball across the tips of her three-inch, blood-red stiletto nails.

Beside her, Sephiroth cut an imposing, breathtaking figure that completely dominated the shoreline. Discarding the heavy, rigid weight of his legendary First Class leather coat, his beach attire consisted of a relaxed, lightweight long-sleeve black swim tunic made of durable, non-conductive material that comfortably framed his broad shoulders and chest, paired with simple, knee-length slate gray swim trousers. His exceptionally long, flowing gray hair fell straight down past his waist, shimmering in the brilliant sunlight, while his piercing cyan eyes glowed with a calm, steady warmth.

The translucent, glowing red cord of the Red Ribbon of Fate was visible around his left wrist, looping gracefully across the space between them to bind securely around Bianca's right wrist.

"They are entirely too comfortable," Bianca whispered. A feisty grin tugged at her pink lip gloss as she leaned her shoulder against Sephiroth’s arm, her ornamental wings flaring slightly and uselessly to catch the wind. "Look at them, Seph. Half of them are buried under literature while the other half is building a retirement home out of wet silt. It’s an absolute tragedy of missed athletic potential."

Sephiroth looked down at his wife. His serene expression softened into a look of absolute, romantic tenderness. He reached down. His left hand shifted to gently intertwine his fingers with hers, feeling the steady, reassuring somatic pulse of her celestial energy traveling through the glowing thread.

"The tactical distribution of their energy is highly inefficient," he agreed. His deep, formal cadence carrying a distinct undertone of quiet amusement. "Azaela appears to be treating Loveless as a parasol, and Angeal's structural engineering lacks proper structural anchoring. Perhaps a physical intervention is required."

Bianca chuckled, lifting the neon volleyball and tucking it securely under her arm. "Oh, absolutely. Let's go break up their sanctuary."

Together, the soul-twins strode soundlessly across the sand. Their perfect posture intact as they approached the cabana. Bianca stopped right at the foot of Genesis’s lounger, intentionally casting a long, golden-indigo shadow over Azalaea’s covered face.

"Alright, people, recess is officially over," Bianca announced loudly. Her voice was bright and full of playful authority as she bared her sharp upper fangs in a teasing smile. "Seph and I have officially claimed the court. We are staging a friendly game of beach volleyball, and participation is mandatory by order of my command. No exceptions. No corporate excuses."

Genesis tilted his mirrored aviators down his nose, staring up at the couple with a look of dramatic exhaustion. "A 'friendly' match involving the two of you is impossible, Bianca. The last time Sephiroth engaged in a casual sport we destroyed a training room. I am currently right in the middle of tanning."

"It's a volleyball, Gen, not a Mako artillery shell," Bianca shot back, playfully tossing the ball directly into his lap. "Come on! Get up! Aza, drop the literature. I know you're not actually sleeping under there."

Azalaea slowly lifted a corner of LOVELESS, blinking against the sudden intrusion of light as she looked up at Bianca and Sephiroth.

She groaned, though a small smile was already breaking across her face as she looked toward Genesis. "But, if it means watching Genesis attempt to dive into the sand without ruining his hair, I might be persuaded to join."

"My physical form remains entirely flawless in any environment," Genesis retorted. He swung his legs off the lounger with a sharp, prideful snap as he caught the ball. "If the Goddess demands a demonstration on the court, I shall not decline."

Sephiroth turned his gaze toward the shoreline, where Angeal and Sapphire were still locked in their architectural debate.

"Angeal," Sephiroth called out. His voice carried effortlessly across the sand with a resonance that instantly cut through the sound of the surf. "The net requires a proper defense, and Sapphire needs a venue to channel her aggression that does not involve the destruction of the Buster Sword."

Angeal paused. He stood up to his full, imposing height and wiped the damp sand from his palms. He looked at the massive nodachi Sephiroth always carried and still held in his left hand, and then at the wide, eager grin spreading across Sapphire’s face as she realized the sand castle was officially abandoned.

"Very well," Angeal conceded, a genuine, warm chuckle escaping his chest as he walked toward the net. "But if Genesis begins quoting poetry mid-serve, I am invoking a technical foul."

"Yes! Finally, something to smash!" Sapphire yelled. She leapt to her feet and sprinting toward the court. Her feral energy completely unleashed as she took her position on the sand.

Bianca leaned over to Sephiroth. "You know, you need to put the Masamune down to serve and spike, yes?"

Sephiroth let out a soft, warm laugh. The sound entirely relaxed as he looked down at her. His cyan eyes held a steady, easy affection that completely bypassed any lingering military formality.

"I am entirely capable of a clean rotation without any shortcuts, Bianca," he replied smoothly, a genuine, teasing hum in his voice. He looped his left fingers securely through hers, his thumb lightly brushing the pulsing red thread at her wrist. "Though knowing Genesis, he'll claim my reach is an unfair advantage regardless. He's always been remarkably defensive about his coverage on the court."

With a fluid, casual gesture of his free hand, a faint violet light rippled along the air. He seamlessly channeling his magic until the silver steel shrunked down to the size of a standard blade.

Striding effortlessly across the sand to the driftwood where Sapphire and Angeal had been working, he set the regular-sized Masamune down neatly right beside the Buster Sword, letting the gold-accented handguard rest against the dark iron.

As the six of them gathered around the white net, the long, translucent red thread connecting Sephiroth and Bianca’s wrists flared with a brilliant, vibrant crimson light: reflecting the deep, unshakeable warmth of a found family that had successfully rewritten their own destiny, finding their true sanctuary not in the shadows of the laboratories or battlefields, but right here in the bright, untarnished light of the living world.

@themaradwrites @manorofshepard @kitcatling @prehistoric-creatures @creativechaosqueen

@chickensarentcheap @inkandimpressions @arrthurpendragon @projecthypocrisy @beyondnibelheim

@serenvesper @sapphirothcrescent @tolliver-j-mortaelwyver @megandaisy9

@roselyn-writing @syntheticdesign02 @felix-winged-kitsune-derg

[bardic-tales]

Bianca and Sapphire go out on a lunch date. They have a wonderful time and they decide to split the bill. Sapphire starts pulling things out of her pockets. Colorful river stones, buttons, Sephiroth's feathers, delicate seashells, misshapen sticks, pressed leaves, tiny pigeons made out of clay all come spilling out. Bianca briefly thinks she is going to have to pay for both of of their meals when finally Sapphire pulls out some crumpled bills, coins that are not from that century nor country, and more importantly, Sephiroth's black credit card. She offers the card to the waiter, and offers some of her seashells or pigeons to Bianca.

This was so cute! I couldn't help myself. ☺️

Possible Trigger Warnings: Chronic pain (mentioned), Medical trauma / experimentation (implied), War / rebellion (mentioned)

Possible Tropes: Black Card, Comedic Relief, Crow Brain / Magpie Tendencies, Fluff, Found Family, Gift Giving, Slice of Life, Sugar Daddy Sephiroth (comedic)

The restaurant they’d chosen in the lower valleys of Wutai was quiet, smelling of steeped green tea and toasted sesame: a rare, fragile pocket of normalcy away from the Vanguard’s strategy maps and the endless shadow of Shinra.

Bianca took a slow sip of her strong-steeped tea, her indigo eyes warm as she looked across the table. For a couple of hours, she wasn't the Vanguard’s elite vanguard commander, and she wasn't the "Saint of SOLDIER." She was just Bianca, enjoying the simple, grounding luxury of fresh food and good company.

When the waiter finally dropped the bill between them, Sapphire offered a bright, easy smile. "Let's split it!"

"Sounds perfect," Bianca agreed, reaching for her purse.

Then, Sapphire began to empty her pockets.

Bianca watched, frozen in a state of escalating, affectionate bewilderment as the table was systematically overtaken. First came a handful of smooth, colorful river stones, clacking softly against the polished wood. Next were a few mismatched buttons, followed immediately by three pristine, glossy black feathers that Bianca recognized instantly. They carried the faint, unmistakable scent of clean rain and ozone that clung to Sephiroth’s wing.

Before Bianca could even open her mouth to ask why Sapphire was hoarding the plumage, the deluge continued: delicate, unbroken seashells from some far-off coast; a couple of misshapen, twisting sticks, a perfectly pressed autumn leaf, and finally, a small army of tiny, intricately molded clay pigeons.

The waiter stood by, his polite smile stiffening into a mask of pure professional confusion.

Bianca’s right hand drifted instinctively toward her tactical grey trousers, her fingers touching the edge of her wallet.

Great, she thought, a familiar flare of chaotic amusement warming her chest. I'm paying for both of us. It's fine. I'll just tell her the river stones are lovely collateral.

But Sapphire wasn’t done. With a triumphant grin, she reached deep into the lining of her pocket and pulled out a chaotic handful of crumpled, worn paper bills, followed by a shower of heavy coins that looked like they belonged in an ancient Cetra ruin or an overseas museum rather than a Midgarian cash register.

And then, right at the center of the pile, Sapphire dropped a sleek, unyielding piece of plastic.

It was pitch-black, entirely unmarred by the chaos of the river stones, and stamped with the highest-tier executive clearance Shinra had ever issued. Sephiroth’s personal black credit card.

Bianca’s lips twitched, a sudden, sharp laugh escaping her fangs. The image of the legendary, SOLDIER Sephiroth handing over his unlimited black card so Sapphire could carry it around next to a collection of sticks and clay birds was almost too much to bear.

Sapphire proudly slid the black card toward the bewildered waiter. "Use this," she said brightly.

Then, looking across the table at Bianca with absolute, open-hearted generosity, she scooped up a couple of the delicate seashells and a tiny clay pigeon, holding them out in her palms. "And these are for you!"

Bianca looked at the little clay bird, and then up at Sapphire’s genuine smile. The weight of her chronic wing pain, the lingering stress of the Vanguard's rebellion, and the heavy memories of Shinra’s labs seemed to lift all at once, replaced by the pure, chaotic lightness of the moment.

Reaching out with her blood-red stilettos talons, Bianca carefully took the clay pigeon and the seashells, sliding them into her vest pocket right next to her potion vials.

"Thank you, Sapphire," Bianca said, her indigo eyes shining with genuine affection as she winked. "Honestly, this is worth way more than whatever Sephiroth has on that card."

[bardic-tales]

Sending this to your ask box instead of dming you because it might help others.

I'm finally taking the leap and getting off docs. Since I'm taking the hiatus from writing, I figured its a good time to move all my work. I know you highly recommend scrivener, but my new concern is I basically have 2 computers I write on (my PC in my office and my laptop). I can't transfer files between both of those computers with scrivener, right? Since the files live locally on your computer? Is there any kind of cloud service? Or would Ellipsus be best for my case?

First off, congratulations on taking the leap to move off Google Docs. A hiatus is actually the perfect time to handle the logistical headache of migrating your work so you can return to a fresh, organized space.

And this is me watching you making sure you are doing your haitus. My hair is even gray. Oh my. /jk

Now, onto your question. You absolutely can use Scrivener across two different computers without losing your mind or manually dragging files onto a thumb drive every day. While it's true that Scrivener saves your projects as local files on your hard drive, it works beautifully with cloud services like Dropbox, OneDrive, or iCloud.

I used to bounce between a desktop and a laptop by simply saving my active Scrivener projects directly into a OneDrive. The only major rule is that you have to let the cloud service fully finish syncing before you open the project on the other computer, and you shouldn't keep the file open on both devices at the exact same time, or you risks creating conflicted copies.

That said, if the thought of managing local file syncing feels a bit nerve-wracking or tedious, Ellipsus is a genuinely fantastic alternative to consider.

Because Ellipsus is entirely web-based and built specifically for creative writers, it gives you that seamless log in from anywhere and pick up exactly where you left off experience that you're used to with Google Docs.

From what I seen with my friends' snippets and shares, It has a distraction-free interface and a system that lets you keep multiple drafts of the same scene without cluttering your sidebar

The choice comes down to what kind of environment you want to return to after your hiatus. If you want a digital powerhouse with heavy-duty plotting tools, character sheets, and deep organizational compile features, and you don't mind the 5-second discipline of letting a cloud folder sync, I'd go with Scrivener.

But if you prefer a streamlined, modern, clutter-free space that lets you pick up where you left off like Google Docs, Ellipsus is what I'd recommend.