Multiverse, multifandom OC 18+ Only. Original character and writing are mine and not for reproduction without permission. I do NOT consent to having any of my original writing or artwork used in any way with any form of AI generation.
Multi-fandom OC.
(Fandom based, but with original lore.)
(Full list of fandoms and AUs on the link below.)
This blog is now Mutuals Only (26th Dec 2025)
(Unless we have already been writing together! Sideblogs please message and let me know. I may take a little while to follow back!)
1. Mun is 40+. Victoria, Australia (Australian EST). 21+ partners preferred, selective with 18-21. No Minors.
2. Please read rules before interacting.
On the readmore below.
Last rules update: 23rd April 2026
3. Muse Info, all verses and AUs.
Some AU verses have different versions of the muse.
Marvel, Dune and Tolkien verses are movie/TV based.
4. Policies on this blog.
Not 'rules' but how I do things here.
5. Memes - please donβt reblog from me if youβre not going to send one. Reblog from the source instead.
Memes - Ship Memes - Headcanon Memes - NSFW Memes / NSFW HCs -
Munday Memes - Open Starters
6. Muse Stats
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue-Grey
Age: In AU verses, usually 30+
Place of Birth: In her main verse, Cornwall, England
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
7. Rules under the Readmore below.
Basics
Original character and writing are mine and not for reproduction. (2012-2026). Likewise original graphics on the blog.
I want nothing to do with AI generated content.
These rules may seem harsh, but they're the result of people ignoring them when they've been put 'nicely'. If I've blocked you on your previous blogs please don't refollow on new ones.
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I do NOT RP with:
Minors. No-one under 18 years, selective with under 21. No age mentioned, no follow.
Personal (non-RP) blogs. Please let me know if you have RP sideblogs.
Blogs that don't have rules somewhere, unless I already know the mun.
Blogs that are only writing instant/only smut (you do you, but we are not compatible).
Only dead dove, toxic ships and similar (again, you do you, but it's not for me).
Blogs that expect rapid-fire replies all the time (see below).
HARD NOs:
Instant smut/only smut.
Infidelity/cheating plots.
Non-con, dub-con (including A/B/O) or sexual assault.
Incest.
Pregnancy threads.
Animal abuse and cruelty.
Child muses (under 13). NPCs are OK, but not children who are the main muse. Any threads with older teens will be strictly platonic.
Very selective with (basically I need to know and trust you);
βUnrequited crushβ threads need to be talked about first, and boundaries set.
Manipulation/mind control threads.
Villain muses (case by case basis).
βFightβ threads where itβs Thera against someone elseβs muse. Her vs random NPCs is fine.
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OK, if you're still here ...
Activity I can be slow. The muse is fickle lately and I'm in a different timezone to most of you. I cannot give rapid-fire multiparagraph replies every day. Short replies (up to one paragraph) I might manage sometimes, but anything longer will take time.
Verses Are separate unless otherwise agreed, or for silly shenanigans.
Interaction I give the energy I get back. This is a hobby, but itβs a hobby we should both enjoy and itβs not enjoyable when somethingβs all one-sided. Busy happens, favourites happen, but if Iβm doing all the sending and messaging and you donβt do any, then after a while Iβm going to move along.
Post length Iβm good with any, as long as weβre putting in roughly equal effort. Longer threads will take longer to reply to.
Memes Please donβt reblog memes from me without sending me one. You don't have to send me something, but if you donβt please reblog them from the source.
Shipping/Smutting Not automatic or guaranteed. Thera is multiship, male-attracted, and we enjoy shipping, but it takes writing together before we decide to ship, to see if we and the muses are compatible. It also needs to be talked about OOC first, to make sure we both want the same things from the ship. Just because Thera is nice to your muse doesn't mean she's romantically interested!
Smut will only happen in the context of an established ship. If your blog is entirely meant for PWP smut writing we are not compatible.
I don't write toxic ships. I've lived one IRL and while it's not triggering for me I don't want to write it in my RP.
Triggers and Tags I tag potential triggers as '[thing] tw'. If you need anything specific tagged, let me know (if you have a tag already blacklisted, tell me and Iβll use it).
No God-Modding I write my muse, you write yours, and if in doubt, ask. Please donβt decide for me what she does, thinks, says or feels (or did before the events of the thread), that your muse has done something to her, or put her in a certain situation, without asking first.
Ignoring what Iβve just written and continuing as if Thera never said or did something counts as god-modding, too.
Meta-gaming is giving your muse OOC knowledge IC. There are muses out there powerful enough that they could know things, but please talk to me about it first.
On those last two points, I also reserve the right to say no.
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Welcome to a new masterlist for active, indie Final Fantasy roleplay blogs! If you are an indie Final Fantasy RPer and would like to be added to a masterlist of active RPers to help make it easier for people to find partners, please either like/reblog (though reblogs are preferred) this post or send us an ask.
Multimuse blogs are welcome as long as at least one main or secondary muse is from a Final Fantasy game. OCs that are based in a Final Fantasy game, or who have a major verse for one, are welcome as well!
The label used sustains the curve of a smile, willing to dictate their next move, as soon as he made up his mind! "Let's get them all, shall we?" That was with oregano and basil included, additions that bring their basket close to full capacity.
Before then, though, there remained the act of actually making a purchase to complete, a job that sees Miguel pre-empt Thera's pitch to pay the bill by intercepting her hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring pat. "No worries, I've got this." On foot of this claim, wallet is retrieved from a rear pocket, a cheap, flea market number, home only to green bills for the time being, given his aversion to leaving a digital trace in this era.
"I put in a few more hours this week, so I have some extra cash on me." Pre-empting a question that may or may not come to her mind, the sum required is handed over to the shopkeeper, with the change received in return inspected briefly before he stows it all away. "Should we start to head back now, or is there anything else you'd like to pick up on the way back?"
Cash is becoming a bit of a cryptid in the modern world - Thera's version of 'modern', she can only imagine it's even more so in Miguel's - but Farmer's Markets are one of the places it lives on. Cash boxes still sit under tables, pockets on stallholders' aprons still jingle with coins, several of which are handed back to him with a nod.
"No, I think we're good. We can get up to all sorts of trouble with this haul." Not to mention finding out whether Miguel had remembered his mother's technique as well as the ingredients list!
She chuckles, slips her arm through the one that isn't balancing the basket as they turn along the aisle that will take them to the car park, "Extra hours, hmm? Sounds like you're impressing your boss out there." Probably a more reasonable boss than Tyler Stone ever was, but she doesn't go on to say that; Miguel mentioning one parent without flinching is a breakthrough, and Thera doesn't want to push her luck.
"So you'll make the salsa verde ... What do you want me to make to go with it?"
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π (oh no time to find out Boba's a bookworm)
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"I hope you're not here to kill somebody." Thera kept her voice low, a glance cast up to that impervious faceplate. Her hands, meanwhile, were busy with the stall-holder's goods, leafing through the holobooks on the table and ignoring the sudden freeze that took over the stall at the sight of familiar Beskar.
She could also add a flippant, we have to stop meeting like this, even if she had noticed Slave I in one of the docking bays when she flew in. Working in the same circles and sometimes for the same Hutt it was inevitable that they'd cross paths, but it occasionally felt like the Galaxy (or the Force, if you put stock in such things) was having a quiet joke.
She was also giving him the benefit of the doubt that he might go anywhere for reasons other than a job - even the most feared hunter in the Galaxy needed down-time now and again. Even if she hadn't figured he'd be looking for that at a market bookstore.
On the other hand, he probably hadn't expected to find her there, either.
"Looking for something in particular, or just clearing your head?"
Anakin admires people like Padme and Bail who can craft long winded but eloquent arguments. He admires how they can patiently talk in circles time and time again. Anakin isn't a man of words, but rather actions. He needs to feel like he is making a change, to craft that change with his own hands. Still, there's only so much he can do when the politicans have the ultimate say regarding the end of the war.
At her remark, he can't help but emit a low, weary laugh. "It's been a long time, hasn't it. Too damn long. Too bad we couldn't just get a bunch of the Seperatists to agree to throw down their weapons and desert." The organic humanoids loyal to the Seperatists would rather die than give up. As for the droids, they're programmed to be loyal even after the battle has already lost. "I hope it ends with us coming out on top. I really don't like the idea of some random Seperatist politican tell me what to do with my life."
"Sadly enough," Thera exhales, "I'd bet a lot of Separatists think the same about us." A second's pause, hands diving into her pockets in echo of the way her thoughts stare down the worm-burrow that's just opened up in front of them. Yes, the war needs to end, but she simply hasn't allowed herself to consider that the Republic might lose. Gods above and below, what will happen if they do?
The Republic as a whole treats the Troopers like droids, expendable cannon fodder, not actually people ... if their own side, save for those few strident voices treats them that way, what would the Separatists do? For a moment, her heart threatens to beat out of her chest. She's seen the result of a losing army before.
And ... the Jedi? What will become of the Order, the Padawans, the younglings? Anakin? Presuming the Hero with No Fear hasn't gotten himself killed before the end.
"They'll probably line you up as war criminals, something like that. The winners write the history, after all."
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Xena nodded. That wasn't too crazy of a request. It was logical. Realistic. It was better than any plan Xena had not thought of yet.
"Yes. Alright," Xena stepped forward. She stopped a distance from Thera. Enough to keep space between them. It was a warrior's instinct to stay wary. She gestured towards the village. "Lead the way. The people here deserve to rebuild their home. Waiting until morning is a good call."
The village was in ruins. It would take more than an evening to rebuild everything. But temporary shelter? That could be built in a few hours. Some heavy lifting, fresh mud, and a fire could go a long way.
Xena offered Thera a promising smile. The warrior hoped it brought more comfort than it did fear. She knew how people held her to her past as a cruel warlord. She knew her tall appearance brought many a sense of discomfort.
In Thera's experience, bandit armies tended to celebrate their victories - or more accurately drink and boast while patting themselves on the back - and then sleep it off the next day. If that held true and they had a bit of luck on their side, she and Xena might find themselves presented with a bunch of hungover fools rather than a fighting force.
The thought amused her, tacked itself onto the other more solid reasons for putting off their pursuit until morning. But meanwhile, the solid reasons still waited. They walked the short distance back to the village, the smell of smoke and blood growing stronger as they did. Some villagers gasped and flinched at the sight of the tall warrior, but the dogs, who had been following Thera, bounded (or limped) forward with reassuring wagging tails. That didn't immediately calm everybody's fears, but gave pause long enough for explanations.
"Maybe we should focus on the biggest hut first ... that's still standing." The second quality narrowed the options down quite a bit, "Room for more people and for the wounded."
And then perhaps they could help with the dead, who were being gently arranged along one side of the place with relatives weeping alongside. Thera exhaled, looked down at the torn and muddy ground. She liked to pretend she wasn't overly touched by the troubles of humans, and yes her priority had been tending the animals, but confronted with the raw reality she felt something begin to simmer in her gut.
"We should also get an estimate of how many raiders there were."
βAh, does that bribe no longer work?β
(( from Khan lol ))
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"Starfleet officers don't accept bribes." That's bullshit, or at least a selective truth, and they both know it. The knowledge lives and breathes underneath the words, in the particular primness layered in her tone, the look she absolutely doesn't shoot Khan but rather projects to mid air directly ahead.
But she says it just the same, because they also know that the two of them fall under random bouts of scrutiny, of monitoring by people who would rather enjoy finding evidence against them. So if there happens to be a bug in Khan's cabin today ... well she can't be bothered searching, she'll just be careful not to say anything that can be taken in deliberate bad faith.
"I think we've been doing this long enough that we both know where the lines are. However ..." A turn, studying him with a raised brow, "If you were to try bribing me, I'd love to know why."
" You've seen me at my worst but you're still here... "
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And here, expected and not, came the most delicate kind of footwork Thera possesses. Not in battle or when called to dance, but in the Duke's quarters by lowered globes. "This surprises you?" Light, but not too much so; the careful tread between taking his lament seriously and not encouraging the shadows to deepen.
She sighs, uncurls legs that have been tucked up beside her on the couch so she can reach for the bottle of wine; a full-bodied Caladan red, the Atreides crest in gold below the name of the vineyard. Thera pours, refilling her own glass before raising both gaze and bottle toward Leto, offering the same to him.
"You're going to have to enlighten me," She adds once the task is done, "What exactly was 'the worst'? I grant I've seen you a long way from your best, but nothing so terrible that I'd choose to flee."
"Lethbridge-Stewart is taller so naturally I would go behind you. I don't see why you have to push the seat that far back. It's not like you need that much leg room. Bessie is my car bought by, well, it's my car. I will not have it registered as a official UNIT vehicle." Yes it's his car. A car that the Brigadier purchased with UNIT funds and buried in the budget.
"Thank you for apologizing." The rest of her statement caught his ear. "What do you mean not flexible? I'm quite flexible, as flexible as any of the young fellows at HQ, much more in fact."
Thera spent a moment on a casual glance over their surroundings, took a sip of her store-bought coffee. Were she and the Doctor on decent, even friendly terms these days? Yes, and she was glad of it. But did she still know the location of his 'how dare you?' buttons and have no compunction about pressing them? Absolutely.
The coffee provided cover for the twitch of her lips, the fact that it was still just a shade too hot only serving her right. But kidding aside, his complaint wasn't complete nonsense, and she'd take it on board. "I have been told that my legs deserve their own postcode, but I'll be more considerate in future."
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"Aw, poor baby!" Thera knows she's tempting fate, that the taunt curving her lips is practically an invitation for the 'luck' to turn on her instead. But the split second blink on Poe's face after her knuckles came through is worth the risk.
"You're lucky I pulled the punch. I'd hate to end up putting Bacta on your lip again." She nearly adds something else, but but leaves it to the glimmer in her eyes, the one that says this is just a friendly spar rather than 'the real thing'. Not really just 'in fun', but ...
Oh alright, it is. Thera's enjoying herself, it's working some tension out of her muscles ... and she has to admit, the scenery isn't half bad. Even if he's pouting for a moment after that hit. She settles back into stance, hands loose, smile lingering.
There's something beating under Thera's skin. Not anxious, not even agitated, just a steady thrum in time with her pulse. It's like the bass-note of a nightclub from the other side of a closed door.
Everything else echoes a little, from their footsteps to their breath to the minuscule clink of the buckle on her blaster belt as she turns for a slow survey. Part of her wants to take her cue from General Organa, wants to believe that the Force will alert them to any danger. The rest ... well, the rest is following the habits ingrained over many years. Can't let a mild case of hero-worship lower her guard.
The library itself doesn't seem big enough to carry sound the way it does, muffled in dust and the smell of a room that doesn't feel fresh air for long stretches at a time. It smells of ... her nostrils flare, knowing before her eyes register what it is they see. "Are those ... actual books?" That breaks through the caution, the sensation under her skin, inspires a spark of whispered awe where the plain fact of visiting a Jedi Archive had failed.
" ... Did somebody tell you I used to be a historian in my spare time?"
