#scourgeaccursed

[worldly-diversity]

@nightfeared / @scourge-accursed ○ 𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕪𝕟 𝕒𝕤𝕜𝕖𝕕 𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕤 ○

          ⤷  『  ❝ all i see is a boy meddling with things he doesn’t understand. ❞  』

That burned and burrowed under his skin, if only because the bastard was right and he couldn't refute it. Not like it isn't something he'd been thinking about when he couldn't sleep in the early hours of the morning and everyone else was knocked out cold, looking more peaceful in those moments than he's seen them in weeks…

He'd see them and wonder what on earth he was doing. Niflheim had attacked Insomnia, killed so many people and here he was, on a fucking road trip to Altissia, to get married to Lunafreya, as if an alliance like that on paper was worth anything after the mockery Niflheim had made of the one with Lucis.

To some degree he's become aware that his father sent him away just before the ceremony, despite it being both abnormal and a social faux pas, in order to keep him safe, but… Well he hasn't exactly been feeling safe. If anything he just wishes desperately that he could go home, and that if he did he wouldn't be seeing the destroyed buildings and burning castle, but that his father would be there on the steps just as he'd left him, gentle scolding words already on his lips because Noct went back instead of moving on.

That's the thing, isn't it? He's refusing to move on, or maybe it's just that he doesn't know how. Not really… He's never been good at the political intrigue game, Ignis is much better at it, the subtleties and nuance just go over his head. That's also part of the reason he doesn't like dealing with the Chancellor's little trips of interference, he doesn't know how to act or react around him even if part of him wishes he could just shove a sword through the man and be done with it.

"Funny, I could've said you're the one who's meddling." Is what he finally shoots back, the insecurity and doubt hidden behind a thin layer of hatred which he uses now as a shield, glaring at the man and hoping rather fervently he'd be gone soon so he could just. Not have to deal with this for a while.

That's all he wants, really… To not have to deal with it. Any of it.

[areapermostcapricious]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒. | Accepting!

@scourge-accursed​ sent:  [ MASSAGE ]:  with their hands buried in the receiver’s hair, the sender begins to gently massage their scalp.

“Ah---”

The sound hadn’t meant to slip so coquettishly from parted lips, but the way Ardyn’s fingers worked so skillfully through long, wet silvery violet locks, then pressed down, tips gliding smoothly along his scalp---it simply could not be helped. And given his position within the giant clawfoot bathtub, basking in the warmth of the water, with Ardyn seated on the back edge with both legs propped up on each side---still fully clothed, alas---it wasn’t as though Kuja had any reason at all to stave the openness of his delight.

In fact, he hoped so very fervently that his dearest had fully heard him---and was, in some sense, basking himself.

Humming softly, eyes closed in rapturous contentment, he finally managed to speak, a pout surfacing from his tone:

“Are you sure you wouldn’t wish to join me, darling?” Then, one glistening shoulder shrugging provocatively, a single eye managing to capture Ardyn’s face with the slightest crane of his neck--- “I am more than capable of making room for you, of course.”

[areapermostcapricious]

random (chaotic) dialogue starters. | accepting!

@scourge-accursed​ sent:  sometimes, everything shifts in the snap of a finger.

Legs clad in silken stockings crossed from where he was situated upon his lavish seat, arms slung casually upon the rests, Kuja gazes upon his companion that calls up to him from the bottom of the staircase with pursed lips---expression unchanged by the comment.

At least, at first.

A few moments of contemplative silence, then, “Now now,” he coos down to him, features appropriately donning that ever-so patented regality, the smirk well-honed and rehearsed over centuries of practice, “if you even think that the snapping your fingers will do anything to remove from me from where I sit, you’d be quite incorrect in such an ignorant assertion,” then, shifting himself further into the plush cushion, exaggerating how utterly comfortable he was, punctuating it all with a catlike stretch of his long, lovely limbs---“for you see, I’ve taken quite the liking to such a sumptuous position.”

Lifting his arms to rest behind his head, fluffing his already voluminous cascade of hair, he reclines back as far as he can, eyes slit to mischievous crescents.

“Thus, if you expect to see any sort of vacancy upon this very throne, you’ll have to come move me yourself.”

[praeniiteo]

@scourge-accursed​:  “  i  don’t  think  you’ve  got  it  in  you.  you’re  like  a  little  dove,  never  wanting  to  get  your  hands  dirty.  ”  for ignis

don’t have it in him? murder was never a part of ignis’ idea of escorting his liege to his wedding with lady lunafreya. this entire plan was set up from the beginning to just be a way for ignis and his two other companions to support noctis and keep him safe while the daemons patrolled the night. now, the mastermind of it all stands there, ripping apart every hope the four had, and ignis was left to face the malice alone - away from his friends and liege.

hand twitches in anger, words were spiralling in his head on how he thought about the accursed spectre before him, but ignis was a man who valued his demeanour being proper. saying what he thinks is one thing, but he knew that ardyn would just pull apart and criticise that alongside his reluctance to become a murderer.

“i hold on to my word of only raising my blades to defend noct. my hands are dirty, killing your toys and maiming your men. the imperial army couldn’t leave us alone because you’re bitter over noct’s history. he isn’t to blame for your issues, ardyn, his family’s apparent crimes against you are not his burden to bare, now leave him alone or i will raise my blades.”

[areapermostcapricious]

PROMPT: Put your muse’s zodiac sign in Kuja’s inbox and he’ll say what he has to say.  |  Accepting!

@nights-fear​ sent:  Taurus. / Ardyn 🗡

“Ah, the raging bull that is Taurus---always rampaging forward, headstrong, with horns first and foremost, to gore any that might stand in his way.

“But is it truly any wonder why these creatures must go forth through the world expressing such intensity, despite when, left to their own devices, they can prove to be just as docile and down to earth as any other animal of the land?

“How history has prodded the sweet Taurus into such abysmal status: forced to serve as livestock, fought and gouged apart for sport, chained in pens, and exposed to such cruelty---left to suffer at the hands of masters that gladly turn a blind eye to such a heinous destiny. Upon obtaining freedom, is it any wonder that such mistreatment has left the bull to continuously sharpen his horns, when behind those pointed lengths, there lies a patience and devotion that has been so tragically squandered?

“Wander the lands with steadiness, dear Taurus---but be cautious in what you seek. Is your ultimate goal truly your desire? Or has the blood in your eyes blinded you to the answers you need to find, lying right in front of you?”

[areapermostcapricious]

𝐒𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐃𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒. | Accepting!

@nights-fear​ sent:  “ i’ll get blood on your shirt… “  ( brain went angsty what if Kuja caught Ardyn dying or injured on the brink :3 )

Ardyn will not die---this much, Kuja knows, without a doubt. His is a Fate meant for far more than a death at the hands of a possessed man, thrashing about with the Starscourge coursing through his veins. In the end, he had been successfully healed by Ardyn’s blessed touch---but the wounds those claws had dealt had remained upon his chest---four fine, red slices from each sharpened nail---while in such a weakened state.

Kuja had initially sought him out on this day with a specific purpose in mind, only to find himself assisting the healer away from the house of the healed, one pale arm clasped about his trembling waist, the other hand pressed to his heaving chest---against the injury that, stubbornly, refuses to dissipate, even in the presence of Divinity.

A part, he subconsciously reflects, of the purpose behind his visitation---but for now, a gentle guiding to the nearby tree, under which the two of them could seek shelter from the scorching, high noon sun. And then, Ardyn speaks those words with such soft reverence---the first words leaving his lips since regaining mobility, and it is all Kuja can do not to scoff in retort. Noble to a fault---how endearing.

How heartbreaking.

“You needn’t bother worrying over such a trivial matter,” for the blood would vanish when Kuja willed it, as though it had never even existed to begin with. Instead, focusing on---admittedly, far more hesitantly than would be expected of him---lifting a hand to press against Ardyn’s sunken cheek. “Speak no further---rest now.”

[areapermostcapricious]

“𝙄  𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀  𝙔𝙊𝙐"  𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎. | Accepting!

@nights-fear​ sent:  [ BATTLE ] &/or [ PRIVATE ] ( “𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙔𝙊𝙐" 𝙋𝙍𝙊𝙈𝙋𝙏𝙎. (𝙎𝙁𝙒 𝙑𝙀𝙍𝙎𝙄𝙊𝙉.) ) / from Ardyn for that pre final battle idea ahahaha

Kuja holds Ardyn’s hand tight---and he refuses to let go.

There is, upon that rugged face, a form of amusement---one that is familiar, yet in this instance, tainted with an exhaustion that the former Messenger had always hated to see. The sort of expression he’d constantly sought to wipe away. He loathes it---despises it.

‘Recall when it was once I that had to grasp your hand, to place upon it a kiss of reverence?’ Ardyn’s voice had been but the sliver of a murmur, amber eyes cast down to their clasped hands. ‘Back when you once glowed like the sun? And now, here you are, pale as the moon, holding fast to mine. How things change---and yet, how they remain the same.

‘How I desperately wish to not let go, my love---if only that were an option.’

Kuja feels a sinking within him. Those are the words of a man who has resigned himself to Fate. Who has offered himself willingly unto Oblivion. And Kuja knows that he has grown so tired---so very tired. Those are the words of surrender---but Kuja will not allow it.

“So, this is how you leave me, then?” yet still, Kuja refuses to let go---claws gripping tighter, until he can feel their very pulses combined underneath his squeezing touch. “You do as that wretch Bahamut commands you? You fall, simpering, to his whims, and you choose to combat that measly little king, so leaving me to perish? And thus, you perish without me?”

Abruptly, his talons depart Ardyn’s hold---only to fling dramatically against his chest, to grasp at his clothes, as though to tear at them in a fit of rage and despair.

“If you truly adore me, as you insist, and yet you nonetheless choose to leave me like this, you may as well simply destroy me now!” and he departs from his momentary fit against Ardyn, to stumble towards the throne upon which the two of them had enjoyed their combined wickedness for the entirety of a decade, kneeling against its side with head thrown against an armrest into folded arms, silvery hair cascading across the seat. Only after a few moments does he turn his face in Ardyn’s direction, daemonic golden eyes glittering with blackened ichor---akin to streaking tears of despair.

“For if you go, and you ultimately accept death---so, too, must I.”

[areapermostcapricious]

Raw Lines From The Internet  |  Accepting!

@nights-fear​ sent:  “I am a monument to all your sins.” — from Ardyn

It is truly a sight to behold---abhorrent, yet completely breathtaking.

The Starscourge: the blackened ooze of lore that gushes forth before his very eyes, a full display of the dripping deluge of darkness---and Ardyn, its very source.

Kuja had known an atrocity of this nature would come to pass, of course---had known, two millennia ago, the whispers of the gods foretelling this destiny. That the crown would not rest upon Ardyn’s head---that he was fated for following a far different path. And though Kuja had attempted to approach the healer himself all those centuries ago concerning these cruel murmurings, knowing it would be blatantly betraying his very makers---Kuja had been intercepted by Bahamut, had his tongue bound and his powers suppressed, damned by the God of Blades that Ardyn’s path had been chosen from the very beginning---that this was how it was to be.

How cold Kuja’s essence ran, seeing the results of their tribulations. Both of them Fallen. Scorned. Cast aside to suffer, feasting bitterly upon the rotten vegetation they had sown.

Did Ardyn blame Kuja, then, for his very Divinity? That he’d not done more to prevent this occurrence? Is it simply that finding a being to blame for this tragedy is all that Ardyn has left? Or is it merely Ardyn’s turn to be as cryptic as the Gods themselves?

Whatever the case, upon this visual revelation, Kuja paces closer---undaunted, unafraid---and lifts his hand up, daring to caress his palm against a rugged, dampened cheek.

It burns. The sinister muck, upon contact, hisses the very instant it touches his flesh---but Kuja would not be discouraged so easily.

So gruesome their combined fate, so utterly tragic---and yet there is an inexplicable beauty to be risen fresh amidst the ashes of their agony.

“But are they truly sins if, in their commitment, they are not regretted?”