B E A U T Y

Affiliated Kuja from Final Fantasy.

[ultimatime-blog]

iniquites:

      No pawns at his disposal; but perhaps a Queen would do. Cinderella may not be a nation’s worth of soldiers and blood, but the people beneath them certainly are. And soldiers or not, armored or not, they are all little more than set pieces for Cinderella’s opening act.            “Worried about me, Master?” Like she’d believe that even if he agreed. She’d be an idiot to think there was an ounce of caring for her beyond what entertainment she could provide. She ignores, haughtily, heatedly, that part of her that warms at even the very idea of being cared about. That isn’t who she is anymore– and who cares how many others care for her? In the end, she’s learned the only one she can rely on is herself. “Don’t worry; I’ll be sure to make it worth watching.”            Turning in place, her skirts flare, and she lifts up two of the sides in a mockery of a curtsey.            “Then, if I may– enter Cinderella, stage right…!”

Keep reading

A smile twisted the man’s lips as he watched the woman fall backwards from his mount. He would be sure to stay low to the ground. He didn’t want her dying, after all. While he didn’t particularly care too much about the girl’s well-being, he had to admit that he hadn’t cared for many like he did for her. There was a shred of sympathy for the girl who had been forced to live through someone else writing her story. She’d been restrained by the path set for her by someone other than herself.

Something he could identify with all too well, being a pawn in Garland’s game and on the cusp of being replaced by another, likely stronger Genome. Zidane. Jaw clenched at the mere thought of the plucky thief, though there wasn’t necessarily only malice within those feelings. Truly the other  had made  him feel something more than negativity toward others. Something he hadn’t felt  for anyone or anything before.

Icy blue eyes darted toward Cinderella as she flew into action, a low chuckle rising from his throat. “Well... I can’t let her have all the fun, I suppose.” He let out a light sigh. With grace he stood up on the back of his steed, waving his hands through the air like a conductor about to orchestrate a masterpiece.

“Allow me to prove that Servants aren’t the only powerful beings in this land.”

With a sharp swing of his hands downward called down electricity from the heavens. Two bright blue bolts streaking down onto the heads of two separate entities, the grunting of muscles seizing, of flesh bubbling and of bones snapping beneath the sheer strength of those seizing muscles. Smoke rose from the armor, creating a veritable oven for which to cook the bodies. With the sizzling scent of cooking meat hanging in the air and the crackling of electricity still in the air.

With a great sweep of his arms outward, another series of lightning bolts struck in a line, as though dividing the enemies between Cinderella and the rest of the battlefield, daring them to cross such a line. This, of course, yielded a similar result to the first one he’d sizzled, leaving the men or creatures...whatever they  were within the armor, not but smoking, twitching hunks of burned meat and metal.

[ultimatime-blog]

iniquites:

🔔 || @ultimatime

      ‘Death’ they said– real and proper death; one that would make sure they stayed dead, provided the mission failed. It was a tempting thing, to try and see how many of their number could succumb to it but…            The call of the battle is too strong.           Cinderella doesn’t think she’s above things like bloodlust; she, more than anyone, knows the pleasure that sating it can bring. The anguished, panicked noises of the dying– they’re a symphony she does so enjoy. From atop her Master’s steed, the princess watches the carnage and hums, swinging her legs in preparation for what’s to come. It’s too chaotic to set up anything like a proper stage– not without clearing some space first. Even then, there’s the lack of reasonable (and frightened) participants. All those below, she can tell, are touched by the madness overrunning this place.           It’s almost charming.           “Then, Master…” Hopping to her feet, she perches, birdlike, on the precipice– a sway away from a fall. “Shall I save you the last dance, if you want it?” 

The smell of battle lingered below, a familiar scent of sizzling magical energy and blood. Typically, he would have pawns to fight wars for him. Foolish Kings and Queens that were hungry for power. Hungry to spread their land further and dominate the world. If there was one thing that the Genome knew how to do, it was to sew the seeds of greed and tyranny. For he, too, knew what it was like to want more. To seek it out and hope for nothing more than to feel something. Though perhaps that was not the way the kings and queens felt. Emotions did not come to  him very naturally. Least of all sympathy. It was why he had been so engaged in plays and books. They brought him some form of feeling that he would normally never feel.

The look of the battle down below was clearly inviting to his Servant, who was on the edge of her seat with anticipation. Well, as ‘on the edge’ as one could get on a flying dragon. His lips couldn’t help but curl into an amused smirk as he watched the beauty eye her position.

“I should hope that you do intend to come back to me, dear Cinderella. I’d happily dance atop the mountain of dead that you leave in your wake. I only hope that you don’t disappoint me and truly make it a mountain worth gazing upon.” He crooned to her, chuckling. Fingers idly grazed the spine of the silver scaled dragon they were perched atop and the creature began a steady decline in order to make it easier for her to get down. “I’ll support you from above. Do make sure you put on a good show for me.”

[ultimatime-blog]

“...Some of us are trying to rest.”

[ultimatime-blog]

iniquites:

      No fear.            Avenger looks into those eyes– so blue, bluer than her own, even– and sees not a lick of anything resembling fear. Not of her, and certainly not of the bullet she’s threatening to use to splatter his grey matter across the walls. That much makes her thumb ease away from the hammer, but his reply– that makes her lift the barrel toward the sky. He’s not afraid and he seems, for some reason, to think highly of her attitude.          The confusion flickers in her face for only a moment, and then she eyes him, wary, as he continues speaking.           Moments later, she finds herself absolutely dumbstruck, as her Master professes to loving a good Story. Fingers squeeze around the pistol’s grip, the other hand coming up and across her mouth, gripping tight at her cheeks, her jaw. It’s almost painful, almost pleasurable; Cinderella’s arm drops, curls around her partly-bared stomach, and she pitches forward, bent double as she begins to tremble. The sounds come quietly at first, soft and muffled, scattered and pitched enough that they could be mistaken for sobs. Really though, she’s as far from crying as she could get, and as she straightens, she’s nearly quivering with delight, strangled noises escaping between her clenching fingers.            “–aha…haha…hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHA!”           Cinderella veritably howls with delight, her fingers dragging from her jaw and down her neck, head thrown back for the barest instant, mirth overflowing.            “Master… hahaha, oh, my Master– if you love a good story, then you’ll love what I’ve got planned…!” Arms unfurling, they spread wide, and Cinderella feels delighted at the idea of someone who so immediately understands that no one knows better how her story should go than she herself. “This Avenger– this fallen Princess, this tainted, ash-covered girl…” One arm sweeps across her stomach again, this time to move into an overwrought, theatrical bow. “No one knows a story better than a fairy tale, after all! So trust that more than anyone, Cinderella, will give you more than any of those paltry vehicles for morality could ever hope to accomplish!” 

Slowly, the genome raised a brow as the woman began to laugh at his words. Though he hadn’t quite thought he’d said anything funny. Kuja wasn’t one for comedies. He preferred drama and tragedy, as past events would prove time and again. Regardless, his brow furrowed just slightly as she seemed to be laughing, perhaps not out of something humorous but out of...giddiness? He wasn’t a very good judge of emotions.

He opened his mouth, ready to ask what exactly was so funny...but then she finally stopped her incessant laughter and spoke once more. His frustration simmered and he let a quiet hum rumble within his throat. Slender fingers find their way to his chin and he raised a brow, bright blue eyes looking her over quietly as she bowed theatrically before him.

“Oh, good. If you bore me, my dear Servant, I just might sever your connection to my mana completely. I doubt you could do much on your own without it. Believe me, it’s in quite the abundance. I’ll expect you to be doing great things whilst you use it.” He couldn’t have someone sapping his vast energy without putting it to good use, after all. He certainly also wasn’t above threatening anyone, especially not those who claimed to be allies. Though he wasn’t entirely confident he could win against her, he was certain he had the mana to erase these damned seals should he so choose.

“Your name is Cinderella? An Avenger, was it? I do like the sound of that. You may call me Kuja...though Master does have a lovely ring to it. To have a Princess at my behest is a step down from what I’m used to...but I sense great power within you. I look forward to seeing how you’re capable of using it to my entertainment. I would hate to draw the curtain over you too soon.”

[ultimatime-blog]

iniquites:

🔔 || @ultimatime​ 

      Ah– there he is. Her ‘Master’ is present now, and Cinderella resolves to introduce herself posthaste. After all, it’s what a good ‘Servant’ should do, and she’s never been less than an exemplary one in her life. Lives. Whatever. Those details don’t matter anymore; they aren’t so different now regardless. Like in Library, there is a goal to meet, a prize to claim. Only here there is no Author to rely on to make things as she wishes. No, here she has a chance to do it all herself; to set every little detail up as she pleases, without giving that man any room to slip in his ‘good intentions’.           She wonders if her Master is afraid, but not for long; the sight of him is familiar, the bearing of someone used to their way, haughty and proud. She thinks she might hate him. Or maybe she admires him. After all, if she had learned to use the gifts she’d been given sooner, wouldn’t she be like that too? Ah, but does it matter? They must surely be enough alike now.            A low click breaks the relative silence around her master, followed by her smooth voice humming the sound of a tolling bell; Cinderella appears as if unveiled by smoke, the barrel of a pistol pointed at her Master’s forehead.             “My dear Master,” she begins, derision in her tone and bloodlust in her bright eyes, “give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your brains out. It’s nothing personal, you know– but I kind of like the idea of a wish as powerful as this. I don’t care for the thought of some chump trying to tell me what I shouldn’t do the entire time I’m trying to take it.” A flick of her thumb, sending her revolver’s chamber spinning. “Hurry, hurry now– don’t you know? Clock’s always tick-tick-ticking!” 

He’d been contemplating things since his arrival. A red mark marred his skin, desecrating the sanctity of his own beauty by sullying his flawless skin. He only had one scar on his body and it was hidden by his fluffy locks of hair. A gift from Bahamut. Eyes narrowed slowly as he felt a strange fluctuation in the air. As though the magic was growing thicker. A tug upon his consciousness caused him to turn his head slowly.

He was met with the barrel of a gun.

Slowly, Kuja raised his brow, eyes drifting across the woman’s form briefly. She called him ‘Master’...so he supposed that meant she was his Servant in this strange place. If he was frightened, there was no show of it upon his face. He simply raised an idle brow at the woman as she fixed the barrel of her gun against his forehead.

“Oooh. And I was starting to worry that I would have a positively boring Servant. It seems I was mistaken. For once, I’m glad I was wrong about my presumptions. Were you to pull that trigger, you would find yourself with a Master lacking in power that I do not possess. You may even find that the pitiful bullet housed in that gun would not even do me any harm.” Though he could sense it was no ordinary gun. Not in her hands.

“Regardless, I’ve no interest in controlling you. At least not for the time being. I’m weary and would love to know more about the beauty who calls me Master. Perhaps your name shall suffice for now. I am Kuja. I do so adore good stories...so feel free to write your own until I’m in need of your aid. Though I’m capable of handling myself.”

[ultimatime-blog]

dunwallwolf:

Yeah. Crushed. Daud had seen nobles, in their glistening coats, crush kids’ skulls under their carriage wheels just for standing in the wrong place. He was no stranger to such threats, born of a mindset corrupted by the idea that just because they were born a certain way, they deserved better.

Well, he never was much of a talker. Daud’s disinterested scowl never changed, never wavered. How many times had he heard talk like that? It was monotonous. The red-coated man pulled a copper tin out of his chest pouch and dismissively took a cigarette out of it, putting it in his mouth, before replacing the tin with a matchbox and lighting up.

   “Do what you want, kid. You’re not gonna make many friends with an attitude like that, though.”

“I always do what I want. And I don’t need any ‘friends’ to hold me back.”

After all, Kuja had never made friends. Merely pawns in his manipulative games. Certainly there may have been some who considered him some manner of friend but he didn’t care for them! Queen Brahne had been an easy pawn to manipulate into doing as he pleased. She was power hungry and little more than a savage when given  enough power.

A low chuckle rose from his lips, fingers coming up to brush over his own lips lightly. “Amusing how the dog has changed his tune so quickly. Seems you’re little more than a stagehand in my play.” He was unconcerned with what the other’s might may have brought. The genome had survived many dangerous ventures into the world. If not because of his strong, sturdy body  then because of the powerful magic that he wielded. He was no stranger to shutting people down when they barked too loudly.

[ultimatime-blog]

“My...aren’t you a little rough around the edges?”

Kuja hummed as he examined the girl, looking her slowly up and down and furrowing his brow. Naturally, he always looked for beauty...especially in places where there were none. Like this place. He would rather be stuck in the afterlife than deal with the drivel in this place. Letting out a soft sigh, he brought a hand up, delicately tracing his fingers over his brow. “I suppose with a little pruning you might make for a lovely girl. Though your outfit certainly needs work...”

@panthermask

[ultimatime-blog]

dunwallwolf:

Ugh.

   “Maybe it’s time to learn that just ‘cause you don’t want something, doesn’t mean it won’t happen, huh? You entitled bastards all act the same.” Though his face was an unreadable mask, even Daud understood that he was letting his feelings get the better of him. Reel it in. There was just something…disgusting about people like this. Far, far more rotten than any poor soul in the gutter. “Careful with that tone, kid. Far less forgiving people around here…you never know who’s knife you could end up on the wrong end of.”

“I have crushed people for less than what you’re saying to me at this moment. You would do very well not to underestimate me, whelp. In fact, you should be kissing the ground I walk on considering my plans for this place!” He brought a hand up to daintily cover his mouth, a quiet chuckle rising from his lips. “I’ve only just arrived and my performance is better than yours, I’m certain. If you think a mere knife can do me any harm then you’re more of a fool than I thought. I don’t enjoy getting my hands dirty but if you’re so eager to be turned to ash...I’ll gladly indulge you.”

[ultimatime-blog]

if you wish to bask in true beauty like this for a starter. uncapped. may be somewhat selective.

[ultimatime-blog]

bakusaii:

“Such is the world of humans. Always drowning in their own filth.“

“I come from a world of humans but their technology didn’t stifle the very atmosphere. The Mist did a fine job of that itself.”

[ultimatime-blog]

dunwallwolf:

Oh, good. A foppy noble kid. Daud’s absolute favorite.

   “…Get used to it. Living in the city means living in the dirt. Be thankful there aren’t any plague rats, at least.”

“I’ve no desire to get used to it. Just because you’re a simpleton who rolls about in a pig pen for fun doesn’t mean that I’ve any intentions of doing so. You look like you belong in the sewer. Are you certain you’re not a plague rat?”

[ultimatime-blog]

“What manner of hell have I been dropped into? This place smells like sewage.”

[jakface]

This will be forever known as the day Jakface uploaded a lot more art than usual.

Trance Kuja <3

[sheppardcommander-deactivated20]

Kuja in Dissidia Final Fantasy Arcade