Final Fantasy Tactics - Tumblr Posts
I have to say, I'm kind of jealous of all the great monsters that are coming out of the 30 characters challenge this year. I kinda wish I'd picked a theme like that, but oh well. By way of compensation, here's one of my favorite monsters from the Final Fantasy series: the Malboro! So cute. :3
Characters #15-17 are coming along nicely, and should be done tomorrow. It's gonna be awesome. :D
the fact that if i wanted i could play final fantasy I-‘IV: the after years’ on my phone is bone chilling
i could spend 70$ and play them all on the go, but that just,,,doesn’t feel right, feels slimy
the fact that if i wanted i could play final fantasy I-‘IV: the after years’ on my phone is bone chilling
HOMESTUCK WILL NEVER TAKE THE ZODIAC AWAY FROM ME
NEVER
Inktober day 2
Another character from Final Fantasy Tactics fanfic. This little girl is actually a re-imagined original character, and if you played FFT you probably know who she is!
Final Fantasy Tactics / War of the Lions: Jesus Is Really Satan And Your Best Friend Gets All The Credit (And The Kingdom And The Girl) For Stopping Him
Final Fantasy In A Nutshell
Final Fantasy I - Four Heroes Break A Time Loop
Final Fantasy II - Star Wars Where The Emperor Dies And Then Comes Back As The Devil And Then Dies Again And Then Comes Back As God And Then Gets Killed By Obi-wan
Final Fantasy III - Four Orphans Fight A Man Who Threw A Hissy Fit Over His Inheritance
Final Fantasy IV - Star Wars But The Emperor Is A Space Ghost On The Moon
Final Fantasy V - Evil Giving Tree And His Gay Lover Fight A Confused Harem Protagonist And His Princesses
Final Fantasy VI - Star Wars But The Emperor Is Killed And Replaced By The Joker Halfway Through, Racism is Bad
Final Fantasy VII - Eco-terrorists Recruit Man With Padded Resume, Discover Corporate Greed Has Caused Giant Meteor To Be Elected, Hold Recount
Final Fantasy VIII - A Group of Cadets Find Out They All Lived At The Same Orphanage: Amnesia To Blame, Lead May Be Dead
Final Fantasy IX - Star Wars But The Main Characters Are Either Clones Or Princesses
Final Fantasy X - Daddy Issues, the Real Sports Story, With Special Guest Christian Guilt Complex
Final Fantasy XI - Giraffe And Friends Stop The Writer From Erasing This Game
Final Fantasy XII - Star Wars But Half The Bad Guys Aren’t Actually That Bad. Except Judge Bergan, That Guy Is A Dick
Final Fantasy XIII - Being The Chosen One Will Kill Your Dating Life
Final Fantasy XIV - Heroes Saved The World From Bad Gameplay, Bugs
Final Fantasy XV - A Bachelor Party Goes Very Badly
The Nail
[This story is dedicated to everyone who follows or followed me here as I’ve worked on this project, and to everyone harmed by the changes to Tumblr policy, but is especially dedicated to @ipsens-castle, @lioncid, @adalheidis and @livvyplaysfinalfantasy who have been kind, generous, entertaining, and enriched my life on this site and let me know that despite being overbearing, self-satisfied, and at times too-clever by half, I had a home here amongst people who cared about these characters, and the others who fall adjacent, just as much as I do – but moreover the authors and their themes, which is what make those characters what they are.
This story is also inspired by user @ink-splotch, who doesn’t know me from Adam, but whose fiction surrounding a property that I don’t even like has been endlessly engaging and a constant reminder of the power of fan writing.]
What if it had gone the other way?
***
Gragoroth had been many things in his day; a veteran of countless campaigns in the final years of the war with Ordallia, an adequate campside cook and a miserable painter, a younger brother and a son. He didn’t know that his bloodline was one of few that stretched back centuries, to before the Cataclysm, to other lives and worlds. Gragoroth was an incurious man, and that had mostly suited him, because his was a life that had focused on survival. It was for this reason that the Templars had sought him out, had used him to play the Corpse Brigade against the White Lion’s forces. “Survival above all,” in the long-ago days of Archades, had been writ on his family’s crest, though to a man none in his line had ever been good at it in the long term.
So it was that when he and his comrades stormed the Beoulve manse and made off with a girl, it was only a twist of fate that they got the correct one.
The twist was this: in the kitchens, one of the staff had placed a loaf on the countertop, yet steaming from the oven, and they were so immersed in their gossip that its angle was precarious. In another life, another world, it stayed – here, it fell. A mouse darted for the treat the gods had bestowed, and Tietra Heiral, who was always assisting, who knew that she earned also kindnesses from the family’s new head by being of use and out from underfoot, let out a shriek.
Tietra hadn’t much experience in being brave in the way her brother was, but she was brave in other ways, in attending classes with girls who were cruel, in enduring and believing there would be a place for her. None of these braveries came with a tolerance for mice, and one shouldn’t judge her for it; certainly Alma Beoulve did not, when she came running at the sound. Alma scooped the mouse up in her hands and made to let it outside, unharmed. She reached the hall only to find a pair of men with dirty arms and darting eyes. Alma didn’t shriek here, either – in another life, and other world, this was where Tietra cried out, this was when Alma came running, not because these men were poor or where they didn’t belong, but because Tietra knew to sense malice when it stood before her. Alma, instead, didn’t react in time.
Gragoroth was incurious; he always saw a girl, and he always punched upward into her stomach. He hadn’t the mind to judge the state of the girl’s tailoring, and anyway, Alma was always lending her dresses to Tietra, who wasn’t too proud to wear them. It was sheer… luck… when they grabbed a hostage who was actually valuable.
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June 20th is Tactics’ 20th Anniversary
[The following excerpt is more of a draft than usual; I’ll repost it on the 20th, but everyone will be busy with Stormblood by then. It likely needs heavy edits. As a draft of part of the ending, it is subject to heavy changes - some of these sequences may occur earlier in the book or in a different order. This sequence draws from the adaptation’s context. Comments are appreciated.]
And with one single, sharp backhand, she sent Ramza flying backwards to the blood-drenched deck.
“I am come once more.”
Ramza watched through eyes swelling shut as his sister’s hair rippled in a wave of silver, until it was all gray, whipping about in wind that did not exist in the necrohol’s still air. Alma—Ajora—Ultima—all of her smiled thinly, and an explosion of white fire, holy light, erupted forth, knocking everyone back, ripping the airship’s mast loose and flinging it to the sky.
He reached for his sister, grasping at nothing. “Alma, no!”
***
Alma Beoulve was drowning.
Her head would rise above the brackish water, dark and freezing cold, and she’d taste the oil and the blood of it, and then she’d be beneath it again, fingers clawing at the stone surrounding her. The way her nails split and her knuckles scraped, she couldn’t know how much of the blood was her own. It had been minutes and months, and every muscle of her groaned and split like rotten tree trunks in the worst of the storm. Her mind was numb of the struggle of it, she just kept kicking and grabbing out of instinct and impulse, a faint flicker of candlelight in her soul that pulsed live, live, live, live…
But that heartbeat’s rhythm kept skipping in the face of the other chanting, louder, echoing up and down the stone column, bubbling in the water, hob, gob, gob, hob, hob, hob, gob, hob…
When her head was above the waterline, when she could feel the hands grasping ‘round her ankles and pulling, she’d open her eyes to take in the single disc of light at the well’s mouth above, no larger than a gilcoin, and at times she’d see the woman’s silhouette gazing back down at her…
She’d heard, read stories that had said “a smile like a knife” but couldn’t ever get the vision to make sense, had even held once a dagger of Zalbaag’s in order to frame the idea of it, but only now, in seeing that grin form across a face she couldn’t make out, was it ever so real. The gasps of air and of light and of self were marred with that smile, like a scratched lens.
And when her head was below the waterline, she was instead somewhere else.
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