militum magis

multimuse roleplay account for final fantasy characters. written by sam. ( mobile navigation )

[moonlightsdreaming]

by serenade

[littlelovelymemes]

(    *    & .   A  MILLION  LITTLE  THINGS    /    SENTENCE  STARTERS .

‘  you  might  not  have  been  able  to  save  them ,  but  you  sure  as  hell  saved  me .  ’

‘  you  are  not  the  best  part  of  my  life …  you  are  my  life .  ’

‘  delicious ,  delicious .  that  man  is  delicious .  ’

‘  he’s  like  a  chocolate  george  clooney  with  a  caramel  gosling  center .  ’

‘  look  at  you  being  the  bigger  man .  i  mean ,  smaller  bigger  man .  he’s  taller .  ’

‘  i  know  this  sounds  crazy ,  but  that  is  not  the  worst  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me .  ’

‘  i’m  happier  than  i’ve  ever  been  and  i’m  not  playing  by  the  rules  anymore .  ’

‘  it’s  perfectly  normal  to  change  your  shirt  fifteen  times  before  going  to  play  video  games .  ’

‘  you  say  everything  happens  for  a  reason .  i  can’t  find  a  reason  for  this .  ’

‘  it  absolutely  kills  me  that  i  wasn’t  there  for  you .  ’

‘  that  was  one  time .  and  i’m  sober  now .  ’

‘  happy  birthweek  is  not  a  thing .  ’

‘  i  truly  believe  everything  happens  for  a  reason .  the  challenge  in  life  is  to  find  that  reason .  ’

‘  it’s  not  that  i  don’t  want  to  live .  i  just  don’t  want  to  live  like  this .  ’

‘  i  dare  you  to  go  steal  her  mic  and  sing  ‘ ( insert  song  here ) ’ .  your  version ,  wrong  lyrics  and  all .  ’

‘  i  have  so  many  feelings  that  i  can’t  process  because  i’m  too  ashamed  to  admit  that  i  have  them .  ’

‘  when  i  first  met  you ,  you  said  what  you  needed  was  a  time  machine .  where  would  you  go  if  you  had  one ?  ’

‘  sometimes  i  get  really  sad  for  no  reason .  actually ,  a  lot  of  times .  ’

‘  i  tried .  i  tried  to  be  the  man  you  taught  me  to  be .  i  tried  not  to  ask  for  help .  ’

‘  you’re  allowed  to  be  angry .  you’re  allowed  to  feel  whatever  it  is  that  you  feel .  ’

‘  i  can’t  do  this .  i  can’t  hurt  you .  ’

‘  if  you’re  in  there ,  can  you  just  knock  three  times  please ,  so  that  i  know  that  you’re  still  alive ?  ’

‘  listen ,  i’m  sorry .  i  tried .  i  can’t  not  care .  ’

‘  not  that  you  need  my  permission ,  but  you  deserve  to  be  happy .  ’

‘  you’re  right ,  i  don’t  know  what  i’m  talking  about .  ’

‘  i  always  thought  the  next  apartment  i  would  rent  would  be  for  us .  ’

‘  i  have  seen  porn  flicks  with  more  plot  twists  than  your  love  life .  ’

‘  maybe  you  should  stop  taking  shots  at  me  and  get  them  back .  or  is  it  your  plan  to  stand  there  and  do  nothing  and  lose  them  forever ?  ’

‘  you’re  always  so  fast  to  assume  that  it’s  my  fault ,  but  guess  what ?  you  don’t  know !  ’

‘  you  know  what  life  is  really  about ?  friendship .  you  and  me .  right  here .  yeah ,  us .  that’s  what  it’s  about .  ’

‘  of  course  i’m  scared .  i  thought  you  of  all  people  could  understand  that .  ’

‘  dare  me  to  do  anything  and  make  it  really  hard .  ’

‘  i  was  here ,  dammit ,  until  i  wasn’t .  ’

‘  you  can’t  worry  so  much  about  tomorrow  that  you  forget  to  live  today .  be  here .  ’

‘  it’s  got  to  be  the  hardest  thing  i  did  in  my  life .  ’

‘  sometimes  you  can’t  do  the  fun  thing  –  the  thing  that  makes  you  happy .  you  have  to  do  the  right  thing .  ’

‘  whatever  we  did ,  whatever  happened ,  we  also  created  a  life .  ’

‘  how  can  something  so  small  cause  so  much  pain ?!  ’

‘  the  thing  is  i  don’t  have  time  to  be  angry  because  i  have  to  use  up  all  of  my  energy  to  make  sure  that  he  is  okay .  ’

‘  you’re  not  the  boss  of  you  anymore .  ’

‘  slight  problem .  he  found  the  pregnancy  test .  ’

‘  just  because  you’re  scared ,  doesn’t  mean  you  shouldn’t  do  it .  ’

‘  there’s  nothing  you  can  say  to  change  the  fact  that  i  love  you .  ’

‘  this  is  your  baby .  it’s  just ,  it’s  too  much .  we  hurt  too  many  people .  ’

‘  it’s  bad  enough  you  wrecked  your  marriage  but  don’t  try  to  wreck  mine .  ’

‘  you  may  think  you  have  a  bulletproof  relationship ,  but  so  did  i .  ’

‘  wow ,  i  don’t  want  you  to  take  this  the  wrong  way ,  but  i  really  wish  you  hadn’t  met  me .  ’

‘  you  don’t  get  it .  i  know  you  think  i’m  distant .  i  am  just  trying  to  survive .  ’

‘  there’s  a  history  of  ‘ we  don’t  talk  about  that ’  in  my  family .  ’

‘  as  bad  as  it  seems ,  there  is  good  and  you  will  find  it .  i  promise .  ’

[climhazards]

starter call!

i’m mobile for the moment but i wanted to post a starter call if anyone’s interested! just leave a comment with which muse you’d like one from.

muse page here!

[ethernalium-deactivated20191103]

[climhazards]

“What is wrong with you?” ( for Yuna! )

question starters! – @revolverized

This was Mount Gagazet, and Yuna knew what that meant. Her time was running out.

Many summoners called an end to their pilgrimage when they reached the snow-covered mountain, the reality of their journey too heavy a burden to bear any longer. She saw no shame in the choice to change one’s mind, but that wasn’t the choice she would make. However grave, she was firm in her resolve to see this through.

Squall’s question rattled Yuna, making it so she wasn’t sure if she was shaking from the chilly air or from the tone of his voice. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, but now, it felt like a topic neither could avoid.

“Nothing, and nothing is wrong with you if you choose… if you decide not to continue,” she answered, her last few words weak.

Yuna couldn’t envision proceeding without Squall by her side – he’d become her rock and her comfort over the course of their journey. But if he chose to leave, she wouldn’t be able to give up her pilgrimage. She’d come too far, and Spira needed a savior. Even if it would be temporary; only a moment to breathe before the wreckage of Sin came back to haunt them, she considered it a worthwhile sacrifice. Her father had seen this path through to its end. Yuna wanted to believe that she, too, could be that brave.

“My mind has been made up since the moment I left home. I’ve known my whole life what a pilgrimage would mean. I’ve never…” she faltered, pausing to compose herself, “I’ve never allowed myself to imagine living a long life. If I had, that would only make it harder to let it all go. That was easy enough to maintain until I met you. And then I allowed myself to wonder –” she broke off, averting her gaze.

These were not things she ought to be saying right now. Of all places and at all the times – this was not something Yuna could allow herself to speak aloud.

“But I’ve known all along what I would be sacrificing. I don’t need to turn back now, because there’s nothing to return to. It’s truly okay, Squall,” she tried to reassure him, blinking back a few tears before they could run down her cheeks.

“There’s no shame in deciding to stop. No matter what anyone else would say. You’re the only one who can decide what’s right.”

[climhazards]

a few headcanons about aerith in my tactics verse

in the (extremely small) cameo she gets in fft, we know she’s from zarghidas and her and her mother owe a debt of 30,000 gil to a group of presumably shady crooks. she’s doing her best to sell flowers in order to repay the debt but at 1 gil per flower, she isn’t making anywhere near enough to do it. 

she’s certainly not the only one in ivalice who’s having trouble making ends meet. it’s probably the biggest reason why the people she borrowed money from are around to harass her about it at all. being poor and without hope is enough to turn a fair amount of civilians or past soldiers into criminals. 

even though she’s listed as a chemist in the game data (which is basically useless since she’s unfortunately never a playable character) i definitely headcanon her as a cleric instead. alma’s also a cleric, so while they have similar abilities, i headcanon aerith as having a somewhat wider range of knowledge in magic -- although she’s similar to alma in that holy and healing-based magics are her strong suit. 

i’d love to write her in a plot where she breaks out of the financial and emotional rut she’s found herself in. instead of the hectic life of ivalice simply happening to her, aerith works to discover who she actually is and how she can regain control of her life again. i think a large part of her is afraid of the helplessness she feels, and she’s nearly convinced herself that inevitably it will always be that way. but with the right encouragement or circumstance, she could break away from that cycle.

[plotbunnie]

Nonverbal RP Starters

I’m finding it difficult to find memes for nonverbal characters ( be they mute, or just not fond of talking ) so I thought I’d make a few!

Neutral

☝️ Tap my muse on the shoulder

👉 Point to something for my muse to see

🤙 Bump into my muse

😊 Sit down next to my muse

🤨 Sit down across from my muse

📓 Push/Slide [an object] across a table to my muse

✍️ Pass my muse a note

🙄 Roll their eyes at my muse

🚪 Tap on a table/door/wall/chair to get my muse’s attention without speaking

Aggressive

🐺 Growl at my muse

😬 Snarl/show teeth at my muse

😠 Death Glare at my muse

🙌 Push/Shove my muse

👊 Punch my muse

👖 Kick my muse in the shin

👠 Stomp on my muse’s foot

😵 Knee my muse in the gut

💀 Knee my muse in the groin

🔪 Point a weapon at my muse

🖕 Flip my muse the bird/a similar gesture

👔 Roughly pull my muse down by the collar

💢 Bang on a door/wall/table to get my muse’s attention- angrily

Angst

👩‍⚕️ Put pressure on my muse’s wound

🌡 Push my muse down to give them medical attention

🥣 Bring my muse soup/medicine when they are sick

🤢 Hold my muse’s hair back/Rub my muse’s back while they are sick/throwing up

👐 Hold my muse when they are badly wounded/dying

👁 Wake my muse up during a nightmare

🐱 Hold my muse after a nightmare

😭 Hold my muse when they are crying

😢Touch my muse’s shoulder while they are crying in secret

💧 Wipe away my muse’s tears

💥 Try to calm my muse during an overwhelming emotional moment

⛈ Find my muse after some kind of trauma

Soft

👕 Tug on my muse’s sleeve/shirt/skirt

🐈 Lean against my muse’s side

🤝 Hold my muse’s hand

🤗 Pull my muse into a hug

🐕 Rest their head on my muse’s shoulder/knee

🐶 Nuzzle my muse with their nose [specify a location]

✋ Touch the back of my muse’s hand

🤝 Reach for my muse’s hand to hold it

👗 Fix/Straighten my muse’s clothes

😴 Stand by the bed to see if my muse will let you under the covers with them

🛌 Crawl under the covers with my muse

🥪 Set a plate/tray/bowl of food down for my muse

😚 Kiss my muse on the cheek

Playful

🌸 Put a flower in my muse’s hair

✨ Playfully shove my muse’s shoulder

💃 Pull my muse onto a dance floor/up to dance

🤞 Come up beside them and tap the shoulder opposite where they’re standing

😈 Jump out of the shadows to scare/startle my muse

😛 Stick their tongue out at my muse

😱 Make a silly face at my muse

🤭 Tickle my muse

👃 Poke my muse’s nose

💪 Pick my muse up

Sensual/Sexual

💘 Pull my muse in for a rough kiss

💕 Pull my muse in for a tender kiss

💞 Pull my muse in for a messy/desperate kiss

💖 Lean in to give my muse a sweet/chaste kiss

❤️ Lean in to give my muse a tender kiss

🔥 Pull my muse down by the collar/by their clothes - in a sexy way

😉 Pull my muse in by the hips

😲 Smack my muse’s butt

💋 Kiss my muse’s neck

👌 Push my muse down and give them a massage

👙 Pull [an article of clothing] off my muse

👀 Push my muse down on the bed

👄 Pull my muse onto the bed

[starprompt]

QUESTION STARTER SENTENCES

“Am I dreaming?”

“Are you an angel?”

“Are you asleep?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Are you mad at me?”

“Are you okay?”

“Can I leave now?”

“Can you hear me?”

“Do you know what you’ve done?”

“Do you want to get something to eat?”

“Does that make sense?”

“Did it hurt?”

“How are you?”

“How are you doing?”

“How did I get so lucky?”

“Is that a threat?”

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Is this the end?”

“Is this really happening?”

“Is all this necessary?”

“May I have this dance?”

“What are you doing?”

“What is that?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“When are you leaving?”

“Where are we?”

“Where are we going?”

“Where are you from?”

“Where are you going?”

“Where did you come from?”

“Who are you?”

“Who are you, really?”

“Who is this?”

“Why are you like this?”

“Why did you lie?”

“Why do you have to leave?”

“Why don’t you understand?”

“Will you be quiet?”

“Will you marry me?”

[climhazards]

wutaibandit‌:

Trapped and trussed up like a Chocobo.

The Ivalician thief sneered at the former squire’s plight now becoming evident before his very own eyes—savouring every delicious morsel of expression showed within his captive’s facial contours. Uncertainty, confusion and self-doubt clearly running rampant inside that cranium of his with the startling feeling of truly being helpless. Marthe took his time in lapping up Ramza’s attempts to sway his mind, only to find that they fell upon deaf ears, not a single word would persuade them from their course of action. Just like he had stated, much to his goading had created a stir within the captive male’s whim.

“Such self-righteous words! More the greater Beoulve hypocrisy that you’d so easily dismiss yer lineage to save yer own skin,” Marthe rebuked, souring his disposition. “Save yer venerations. What kind of fool do you take me for to believe such webbed lies so easily from betwixt those lips upon silver tongue spoon-fed by noble hand? So, not only are you a Heretic, but a traitor, too? Ha! The jest is the absurdity of what you speak of with such farce to think that I would believe you and I are alike in blood. You would sooner spill the milk of others to worm yer way outta those ropes.”

Slim appendages shielded by leather grappled the twine that served as Ramza’s bindings around his legs as his captive pulled his face away awkwardly to avoid contact. It was an attempt—although not a very good one—at putting up resistance. Course twine bit into leather of Ramza’s boots. Tightening the restraints to add further discomfort in solidifying whom was in control right now. He wanted to see Ramza squirm; beg for his life, feel how t'was to feel like to be so helpless at the whim and mercy of those whom held you in the palm of their hands.

Detecting a sense of salt within old wounds as pools of cerulean gazed at the prisoner. A visible difference in stature was noted from the moment he held, almost apologetic for the demise of the Corpse Brigade. Notwithstanding his reticent countenance, not a single trace of leniency returned. He simple stood, scrutinizing the older blonde.

Watching this Beoulve born maggot made Marthe’s blood stir all the more with each waking moment. Blood curdling, forcing resent that had been built upon from decades of oppression from the highborn over the poor. They had all been once farmers, merchants, and such  before the war began. Before the nobles began robbing them of more resources to that they could barely survive.

“Say if I even believed you,” Marthe played along coyly with Ramza’s words, for now. “—that you had indeed turned yer back on your house. A man cannot prosecute a war alone nor stop the tyranny of the nobles. Forget this bootless struggle. You are stripped of armour, sword and title now. Heh…You amuse me, Beoulve traitor. What can YOU possibly do?” Slender phalanges swept against his unruly-hazel dishevelled tresses, tilting the head quite humoured by this engagement of conversation with the person he despised so much for the first time. Marthe had never met a Beoulve face-to-face. Crossing paths with Ramza had been an unexpected turn of events that happened to play into their favor, if only they could deliver his head to the Church, now.

Mahogany brows lowered to knit in a junction as the mien upon his visage was embedded with bemusement. “Spare me the bleating, you aught make a poor liar. You are a Beoulve, self-dethroned or not! Long have we danced on stage of Ivalice so that you might stand high upon walled castles while we, the commoners, are crushed with neverending plights. Are we nothing but puppets to you? A dance that serves your ends, to be sure to befit some grander play that you might take amusement..” A momentary pause furthered the bandit’s pressure to stomp out what little hope he might’ve had in being rescued. Idly, an arm gestured to the empty space surrounding Ramza in the confines of the room that had become his prison. No windows. Just hallow walls of stone with the only light emanating from the open door. “Then this is now yer stage.”

“What can you mend with no position, station, bound in ropes as my bounty? The only delusions are that which spill from that wretched mouth. Save your highborn breath. Your words are like vile wind, and no amount of prattling will see you free!” He hissed with bitterness swept between clenched jaws.  "Sincerity? What would you do were our roles reversed? You would have me in those ropes, dragged to the beat of your boots. False words sound ever sweet, but they are a siren song. Once a noble, always a noble.“

Performing a pivotal of the heel, the manoeuvring of his left foot coerced his physique to turn in a clockwise position to where he reached down with gloved appendages to snatch a hold of the collar of Ramza’s jerkin—jerking him away from the floor slightly onto the toes of his laden boots. Leather bound digits squeezed into the fabric of the former squire’s clothing, hearing the stitching whining in the process of the rough treatment.

"You mock us! You are in no position to think we will ever share the same blood or strife. Even now—you think me to lick yer boots in servitude of releasing you with dreams of granduer promised at the end.” Parting incarnadine folds to express a stern verbalization with callous syllables hinted within the bandit’s vocals, the curvature of his lips narrowed into a scowl before they simmered into a sly-hitched grin. “…Tell me: how does it feel to be stripped away from everything you have ever known, to be held so… helpless, hn?“ Vibrant eyes glowered into the Ramza’s own optics, searching for the slightest slither of fear within his shaken stature. Holding the Beoulve heir, struggling upon the toes of his boots—bound tightly together at the ankles, fighting to keep his balance with only the bandit’s grip upon his rugged attire stripped of his armour and unable to use his own limbs to counter the strenuous hold.

If only this man knew that being a Beoulve the likes of Dycedarg was the real traitorous lifestyle, he wouldn’t be carrying on in this way. But Ramza lacked both the energy and the motivation to explain such a thing to him. He imagined that from the outside, all of the nobles appeared equally corrupt -- himself included, despite being removed from them now.

The nuances of it were completely lost. He knew there was no use in trying to explain it, either. Still, he felt a lurch of his stomach every time he was referred to as a traitor to his house. Dycedarg had been the one to upend the Beoulve name, and their father would be ashamed to see how far they all had fallen. For all his own faults, Ramza refused to take the blame for this.

“I can try,” he answered, knowing full well how meager and impotent his reply sounded. But it was the truth, and therefore all he had to offer. “I can try to make a difference for the better, which is more than most would attempt. Is that not worth the time, to try? Would you prefer that I stand back and watch this country implode? Does that seem to be the nobler, more brave thing to do?”

Though Ramza tried to stay alert for any sudden movements from the thief, he was caught off guard ( quite literally ) when the other man pulled him up, the toes of his boots just barely grazing the floor. Every part of the ropes around his body tightened, coiling and biting into fabric and skin alike.

He wriggled fruitlessly, searching for any sense of balance on his toes but it only took a few seconds for his body to sway off kilter again. If the bandit wanted him to feel helpless, it was certainly working.

Once again Ramza was struck by a surge of anger that he rarely ever felt comfortable harnessing. But it bubbled up within him regardless, unwise and uncomfortable though it might have been. Glaring at the bandit, he gathered up a glob of saliva and spit it right into his face, then making a rash move and attempting to kick his joint legs out.

He knew that if this would probably only garner more ire from the man, but Ramza couldn’t help leaning into his own rage at the moment. He swung with his feet as hard as he could in the direction of the man’s legs, hoping to at least land a hard hit -- even if it didn’t grant him any freedom. 

[climhazards]

wutaibandit‌:

Minutes had passed since his departure from the isolated shack in the middle of the wilds. Far, far away from the Merchant town of Dorter where the former squire would remember being last before he lost consciousness. Determined to check on his hostage, Marthe took the first steps into the building, testing his weight on the floorboards that had been worn through time and long since abandoned in the waking sands of the Zeklaus desert that now served as a refuge for this band of brigands. Outlaws of society.

The wood creaking beneath his light-laden boots as he ventured into the shack, looking from side to side, searching for any sign of life that might had dared to enter since his exit. Marthe inhaled a breath, sidestepping what could have been a fallen beam, to continue towards the northern direction where he had securely locked their captive safely inside. Detecting the fient sound of movement beyond the door that made the right brow crop into the bandit’s forehead.

Had his captive roused?

The corners of his lips turned down at that thought. Booted feet came to a dominant halt just outside of the room that had kept his prisoner secure. Reaching toward the closed door; deft fingers delved into the shoddy articles of his clothing to pilfer a key from the confines, plucking the metallic object from its confines to slot into the hole, twisting it sharply to unlock the door. Worn hinges whined in protest to the bandit’s entrance, breaking light into the darkened room which held nothing but thick-stone walls and a lone body propped against the opposing surface.

Ramza Beoulve, heretic to the Church, former squire to the House Beoulve, laid there with legs stretched before himself, slowly coming around to the world once again with grogginess clearly from the impact of being rendered unconscious earlier. The after-effects from the vicious blow to the head from the dull end of a dagger, too, despite Marthe tending to the wound whilst he was out cold. He didn’t want a dead bounty for a captive, now. T'would only pay half the amount due for his heretic head.

Marthe perked at a few soft questions coming from the bound male at his immediate side, piquing his intrigue. Sauntering into the room gingerly with light footfalls, he glanced at the bound captive—meeting his gaze with narrowed sights. “Mornin’ sunshine. I see that blow to yer head didn’t relieve ya of yer common-sense.” Sassy syllables filtered out to the awakening captive aware of his current predicament now.

“Don’t make me gag ya now, noble-maggot.“ Sharply, the thief backhanded Ramza across his face, snapping cranium in unison with the vibrant resounding of leather impacting against flesh from his glove. "You mock us! You are in no position to coddle me with such words guided by noble tongue whilst standing upon highborn heels in such fancy riggin’s as those.”

Reddened tint was evident across the ashen pigmentation of the Beoulve’s ashen skin from where the thief had hit his captive query, tarnishing his chin where the brunt of the violent blow had left its mark, leaving a bloody trail of dried blood from the lower lip. Mayhaps he had hit him a little too hard?  Marthe exhaled in frustration, moving to check the ropes binding his legs were tight. T'would do no good if the rabbit escaped their trap. “You think I do this for them? The Church!? Hah! We are not chattel to be sired by anyone. Neither Noble nor Church—we are humans, no less than you despite you treat us like rats to be gutted much like the Corpse Brigade. I know exactly how YOU treat people like us, Ramza Beoulve.“

"Save yer highborn breath. Do you even know what it means to hunger being brought up behind walls of stone with nary a whim nor want not taken care of by bloodline? T'ch…you know nothing of our plight to survive, ser.” Pivoting around to crouch before his captive audience, knees bent to allow the thief to sit proudly upon the haunches of threadbare boots as his loose-attire matched his stance to meet the level of his captivated query eye-to-eye beneath the green bandanna that covered his head. “Comfy there?” Sarcasm bled into his baritone. It was an impossible notion, especially considering he was laying on the floor. His arms were pressed firmly against his ribcage, wrists bound tightly behind his back and at the ankles of his thighhigh boots.

…He doesn’t care. He couldn’t care any less even if he tried. They had lost everything to the War of the Lions, everything that meant anything to them anyhow. Such things meant nothing now, living beneath noble rule devoid of meaning. Revenge. It’s all he desires with any measure he could obtain to survive. It’s all he needs. It stands as the sole proof that he still lives in this cold, rotten world of the nobles.

On the whole, Ramzs didn’t consider himself to be an arrogant person. Of his family members, he was probably the kindest with the exception of Alma. Even now, with his name sullied and his life turned on its head, he hoped never to become so bitter that he would treat others with such disrespect. Even those he didn’t see eye to eye with deserved decency.

But this situation was testing his patience.

The words ‘noble-maggot’ stung instantly, hitting Ramza in a way he never would have anticipated. He was so utterly divorced from his family and the Beoulve name now that it was laughable to consider himself among their number. Whether in name or affiliation, Ramza was seeing now that he hadn’t been a Beoulve in quite some time. 

The words were punctuated by the backhand to his face, which came like a blistering shock to Ramza’s cheek. The pain was a bright burst and then a lingering ache -- one that rattled both his body and his dignity. 

“Are you really under the illusion that I have good fortune with the Beoulve name? Surely you jest,” Ramza scoffed, shaking his head. “I would believe that you’re a reasonably intelligent person. They want nothing to do with me and I with them. I’m no more noble blood than you at this point.”

When the man came closer to inspect the ropes, Ramza hastily pulled his face away to avoid contact. He hissed at the sudden movement, then finding a copper taste in his mouth. Evidently the hit had been enough to make him bleed. 

Another verbal hit came in the form of the Corpse Brigade -- a debacle that Ramza still carried immense guilt over. That situation was never as cut and dry as others made it out to be. He hadn’t taken lives with malicious intent; that had to make a difference, didn’t it? Ramza was blinded by naivety then, by the promises his brothers had made and their supposed good intentions. He hadn’t seen the bigger picture then. By the time he did, all was said and done. It was a matter he grappled with guilt over every single day.

Much as Ramza wanted to rebut his statement, he knew he couldn’t. And he couldn’t pretend that he hadn’t been brought up in the lap of luxury. Him and his brothers had all been raised in comfort, all of them schooled at the Academy where they learned to fend for themselves. There wasn’t a single night during his childhood or adolescence when he went to bed with an empty stomach.

“I didn’t know of it when I was younger and still coddled by my household, but now...I do. I know it, and I see it every day. I walk among it and want to end the constant struggle. I see the inequality, and not simply in theory now. Why do you think I managed to become such a pariah among the nobles? How do you believe that came to be?”

Anger coursed through Ramza, not just at the man but at the greater circumstance beyond him. There were powerful men pulling the strings at every turn and it was the many civilians just like this one who paid the price for their pointless wars. Ivalice was being torn apart, and it hardly mattered to the only people who had direct power to stop it.

“I come from a long line of privilege. I grew up knowing nothing of despair or scarcity. My understanding of it now pales in comparison to the fact that you’ve had an intimate understanding of it all along,” Ramza implored, pausing for a beat before he went on.

“But I am sincere in my attempts to change things. What little power or influence I have left, I’m hoping to use to mend this country. Whether or not you believe me -- I’ll leave that decision to you. I am, after all, the one who’s trapped here in ropes. If you decide that my life is better spent as a captive to the church for the bounty, then so be it.”

[climhazards]

💙 @Ramza, Tidus and Zidane 😁

send me “💙 “ if you would ship our muses!

dang tootin let’s do it!

[climhazards]

💙 WITH YUNA, PERHAPS...

send me “💙 “ if you would ship our muses!

siGN ME UP MAN. and especially with both of them as summoners, like there’s such pressure behind their pilgrimages and i could so easily see them leaning on one another throughout it all.

and it’s even more sad bc like, if they follow through on their pilgrimage, there’s literally no hope for them finding love and companionship in the future since.......y’know. so it’s even more bittersweet.

[climhazards]

💙 tidus and yuna, if you're interested! and uh... any others we think of.. your muses are so good!

send me “💙 “ if you would ship our muses!

ohhhh yes indeedy i’m absolutely down for this. and same to you with any of your ff muses !!! you’re such a good writer and there’s such an easy flow to our threads together :’)

[climhazards]

starter for @wutaibandit

Ramza woke to ringing in his ears. His vision swam for a moment before it focused, and when it did, he realized he wasn’t in familiar surroundings.

The next thing he noticed was a steady, throbbing ache on the right side of his head. When he attempted to lift his hand to it, Ramza was brought up short — his hands were restrained behind his back, both of them bound snug together in a rope. A second later he realized his legs had been bound in a similar fashion, rendering him completely immobile.

This situation wasn’t necessarily a surprise to him, unfortunately. With a price on his head from the church for crime of supposed heresy, it was only a matter of time until someone went after him. The last thing Ramza could recall was a circle of bandits cornering him, one brandishing a knife and another, an axe.

The hilt of either could have been the source of his head injury, but perhaps he was just lucky he hadn’t caught the sharp end of those weapons instead.

He was attempting to shimmy his wrists out of the knot when the door opened, stopping Ramza at once. Whoever these people were, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of watching him cower, but he wasn’t about to show off his attempt at escape, either.

Sitting still in his spot, he narrowed his eyes at the person entering, fighting off the persistent ache in his head so he could concentrate.

“Is this about the bounty?” he questioned, though Ramza was sure it had to be. 

“The reward must be a hefty one, yes? The church certainly knows how to manipulate the starving public. If you turn me in, you might be able to afford living for another few months. It’s a small price to pay for the church -- give the starving a reason to do their dirty work and in return, they get barely enough to scrape by.”

Ramza wasn’t sure if this would be enough to sway the other man. It was all the truth, of course, but he also knew that people in a desperate situation couldn’t always see reason. The plight was a very real, very scary one. But Ramza wasn’t about to hand himself over to authorities. He needed to get out of here in one piece, and with as few lives taken as possible in the process.

[tooweirdtolxvetooraretodie-blog]

Send me “💙 “ if you would ship our muses!

[climhazards]

pxperhearts‌:

“Strangle me?” Jecht laughed. “That’s a hell of a kink you got there.” If possible. his grin grew even more unbearable. “You think about that a lot? I ain’t gonna judge you, but I got a wife an’ brat, you know.”

Even just mentioning his family casually brought back the thought that he might never see them again. They weren’t here, wherever here was. Zanarkand was destroyed, or that’s what everyone kept telling him, but he was sure as fuck going to see it himself before entirely giving up. 

Fuck, he could use a drink. 

The blitzball star shrugged. “But hey, if it’ll get you to lighten up, maybe. Everyone’s gotta let loose some steam every now and then and you can’t do any better than the Great Jecht.” He was entirely fucking with him now and showed no signs of stopping. 

Auron liked to believe himself completely stoic when it came to comments like Jecht’s. But the man was oftentimes so crass and unpredictable that he would get through Auron’s defenses. A little more flustered than he preferred to be, he shot Jecht a glare.

“You’re insufferable,” he sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do to shrink the other man’s ego. “I’m sure I’m not the first to tell you as much.”

Though his enormous ego was a hard force to contend with, Jecht did have a lot of charisma, and Auron wouldn’t have been surprised if it garnered him a lot of fans. And now, with the mention of his wife and child, Auron found himself trying to imagine what Jecht’s life looked like wherever he was from.

“Do you mind if I ask what your family is like?” he questioned, making a sincere attempt at conversation with him. “How old is your child?”

[fragileicicle]

Cloud’s lines in Final Fantasy Tactics, 1998 The lines that Cloud utters in the game are taken from Final Fantasy VII, which refers to Aerith’s death scene and his desire to meet her again in the ‘Promised Land’ – strong themes that are recurrent in a lot of Cloud’s appearances in other games such as the original FFVII and Dissidia.