the last great dynasties — julian &. paris [jb]

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napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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the last great dynasties — julian &. paris [jb] Jun 6, 2021 9:43:30 GMT -5

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jun 6, 2021 9:43:30 GMT -5

and they said
"there goes
the last great
american dynasty."

He was surprised to see the paintings hung on the walls of the Justice building.

If their intent was helping children learn how to admire art before they are sent off to a hellscape, it … strangely worked. Hands clasped behind his back in a formal knot, Julian’s back was turned to the door as he traced an artwork depicting a ballroom full of dancing, graceful shapes, frozen in bold black strokes and softer, gentler gold paint. From afar, it had looked majestic but now, standing close to it, he saw the smorgasbord of brushstrokes more than the image they constructed altogether.

And that was when the door creaked open.

He turned slowly, steadily, hoping to see another sibling or cousin on the threshold between the hallway and this room, between their world and his new one, but then he saw Paris there and felt a flutter of surprise in his chest.

She was, as always, beautiful. He was certain that was the first trait men and women alike noticed when they took her in and looking at her now, her face colored in by the warm glow of the firelight from the hearth, he had no doubts about it. But Julian had come to know the way she carried herself with grace, or how ruthless she can be at fights. Paris Vanburen had beauty draped all over her like a loose veil but underneath it, she was something far more interesting and admirable. She was so much more than her pretty face.

Julian found himself smiling as she strode closer. “Did you get the flowers I sent for you?” he asked, letting his pearly whites show before he pressed a kiss to her cheek. Even now, she smelled nice, expensive notes of some tantalizing perfume. “They were supposed to be a reaping day gift, but now they’ll have to do as a goodbye present.” He arched a brow at her playfully. He felt afraid but he couldn’t let that show. So instead of letting Paris see what fears dwelt in the depths of his eyes, Julian turned back to the painting. “Such masterful work, isn’t it? Very ...” he chuckles, “very district one. Beautiful and a little gauche. Maybe the color palette took champagne as its muse.” Champagne. He could use a glass of it right now.

But back to the matter at hand –

“If I screw this up, do not let yourself play the role of the grief-stricken girlfriend. Bag another big name instead. Lumiere. Reigns. Maybe even a Fray. They can help you build the dynasty you want.” He cast her a sidelong glance then, letting enough of his smile peek through as he shrugs a shoulder and tilts his head to one side. “Or, you could build it yourself. We both know you’re much more than capable of it.” More than capable. Out of the two of them, it was Paris who would be more successful at carving out a name for herself and only herself. It was Paris who could escape her old dynasty into a newer, grander one.

His smile was a slick of white paint on his canvas face when he took her hand in his own and winked. “Just remember the lion prince you might have made your own.”

lyrics: the last great american dynasty, taylor swift.

堕落天使

umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]
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the last great dynasties — julian &. paris [jb] Jun 6, 2021 11:10:30 GMT -5

Post by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] on Jun 6, 2021 11:10:30 GMT -5

It made sense. He was strong, he was eighteen, he was from an affluent family, he was from District One. It made sense. And she kept telling herself that over and over, arms crossed over her chest, mascara running down her face the instant the crowds weren't around to see her anymore. She'd played her part in public, of course: cheered louder than anyone else standing in the Square that morning. All while there was a sinking feeling in her heart and a heaviness on her shoulders.

Was it love? She didn't know. It made sense. She'd finally allowed him to start calling her his girlfriend when she realized the next best thing would have been Trylle Fray, (No thanks,) and he was definitely nice to hold hands with walking down the school hallway. They looked super cute in pictures together. She was annoyed that he'd done this - what would people say if he went in there and lost - and she was scared, if she was being honest. Because... well, because she cared. There, she said it.

By the time she got to him, she was absolutely theatrical in her sadness, grasping the peacekeeper escorting her by his arm- "Thank you, Pascal," she said, smoothing out her Colt Royale custom gown just outside the door, "I couldn't have made it here without you. And you should definitely tell your wife how you feel. She's probably already entertaining the idea of having an affair, if she hasn't started one already." She smiled, perky, pinched his cheek, stepped inside, and immediately resolved to being woeful again.

She took his hands in hers, forlorn and devastated as tears began to stream down her face in a dramatic fashion. She'd worn the mascara that wasn't waterproof just for the aesthetic appeal in the event that this happened.

"I did get them! I'm assuming you meant to send me pink ones and they accidentally brought me yellow ones, but that's okay- I had them take it back and come back with the right order next time. Oh," she sighed. She was trying to make light of the situation, so many emotions warring within her that she was probably just coming off as a bit insane. She was crying because she was sad, but also because she felt like she was supposed to. She thought, probably, if she wanted to, she could stop crying any time now. So was she actually sad at all, then? Or was she forcing herself to cope because she couldn't come to terms with what caring might mean?

"Such masterful work, isn’t it? Very ... very district one. Beautiful and a little gauche. Maybe the color palette took champagne as its muse."

She surveyed the room. Most of the stuff was from last season, and a few pieces were from the season before. Daddy had their house renovated once a year to stay up with the times.

"Meh."

"If I screw this up, do not let yourself play the role of the grief-stricken girlfriend. Bag another big name instead. Lumiere. Reigns. Maybe even a Fray. They can help you build the dynasty you want."

Okay, you know what? It didn't make sense. It didn't make sense to her. None of this did. Did people really not get scared in these situations? Did people really live their entire lives waiting for this moment? Had Juilian waited for this moment? Was she not enough? And now he was talking like he was going to die and she made an awful, twisted face, and realized it was a genuine sob.

She did care. She did.

"Just remember the lion prince you might have made your own."

"It would be a hassle," she said, pretending to consider his offer. The truth was, she didn't really want to replace him. "You're already so well trained..." She pulled him in for a tight embrace, stretching to rest her chin on his shoulder. When she spoke again, it was a whisper. Quiet, so that he knew it was meant only for him.

"Come back to me as a king, not a casket. Period."

She kissed him on the cheek, slow and lingering.

Last Edit: Jun 6, 2021 11:14:19 GMT -5 by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

^{I AM A GARDEN OF BLACK AND RED AGONIES}

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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the last great dynasties — julian &. paris [jb] Jun 7, 2021 7:59:55 GMT -5

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jun 7, 2021 7:59:55 GMT -5

and they said
"there goes
the last great
american dynasty."

Although Julian took all of Paris’ earlier dramatics in stride, it was her sincerity that drew an amused snort from him. Underneath that mask of the popular, pretty girl, he was glad to have found someone else, and in return, Julian lowered his own façade too by snaking his arms around her and holding her tight. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling deeply. The whispered words coursed through him with a gentle warmth. Was it love? He didn’t know. But it was something, and it was enough to make Julian try.

“Okay,” he whispered back.

They could spend hours being melancholic and dreadful, but what good would that do? He loosened his hold on her and pulled back an inch to waggle his brows at her. “I did say ‘if’—and it’s a pretty big ‘if.’ I am, after all,” he bows down dramatically at her, “already so well trained and prepared for the harrowing events ahead.” Julian chuckled. His eyes turned back to the painting to trace the dark lines over the glimmering, golden paint. Imagine how the two of them would look if they existed inside this painting, two heirs readying themselves for their waltz, the main attraction of the night.

Julian waved his hand at the painting. “I want to buy you this,” he said. “Keep it in your bedroom, or above your vanity. Consider it a second goodbye present, or a promise to come back.” Imagine if he didn’t. How morbid. Perhaps Julian shouldn’t toy with the idea of death so carelessly, but he’d rather face the prospect head on than let it sneak up on him. Come back to me as a king, not a casket. He hoped it would be a beautiful casket if the latter became real. Glided over, obviously, and open so his face was open to marvel at. John Le Roux may not win the father of the year award, but he did grant him exceptional genetics.

He sighed. The present moment sank in.

This was happening. He was leaving his glided castle walls for the unknown ahead, one he’d spent every waking moment preparing for but never thought to consider how dreadful it could be. And he could spend the rest of the days leading up to it in fear, but what good would that do? Julian loved his family and knew he would do this for them, knew he was destined to.

This was what it meant to be the lion prince.

“So do we breakup now? I would hate to keep you waiting.” He said, his tone merry and light and paired with a smile—but only some of it reached his eyes. They both knew half of it was a charade, a bait for show and status. It was the other half that was the problem, the blurred and indistinct half. He didn’t think he loved Paris Vanburen but in time, he knew his heart would learn. Imagine the dynasty they could have created together if this hadn’t happened.

His next words were a whisper like hers: “I can’t promise that I’ll come back a good king, or a complete king.”

Because he’d seen what the arena did to people. He’d seen it in Ridley’s own eyes, the darkness and that cold that roamed its depths like lingering ghosts. If he did come back a king, he wouldn’t be the golden one anymore, not in his soul. A king yes, but maybe a king of scars. A king of ruination.

God. Melancholic, again. Julian quickly sketched up another smile and tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. “Pink roses, every single day. I’ll make sure they keep up the delivery.” Even after I'm gone.

lyrics: the last great american dynasty, taylor swift.

堕落天使