#Starlight Ballroom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starry-bi-sky · 8 months

Text

(Part of this post with older brother danyal al ghul)

...Okay, look. Sam knows she's staring. She knows very well that she is staring. And that if she doesn't stop staring it's gonna draw her unwanted attention, and that will only have to make her explain why she's staring. Which she doesn't want to do.

She's trying not to stare, which she thinks she should get brownie points for. She tries to look away, to find a spot on the wall to stare lifelessly at, maybe she can burn holes into some of these annoying socialites' heads. But eventually her eyes drift, and suddenly she's back to staring again.

Can you blame her though? Damian Wayne looks like a very close mini-me of her fucking best friend. Seriously, it's like looking into a mirror to the past. If that mirror to the past had green eyes rather than blue and a distinctive lack of a facial scar.

The first time she sees him when her parents drag her over to Bruce Wayne to butter up to him she has to do a doubletake. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take, just for good measure that she was seeing what she was actually seeing. She was sure she looked like one of those stress toys that when squeezed had their eyes pop out comically like a Saturday morning cartoon, that's what she certainly felt like anyways.

Look, Danny's come a decent way from being that scowl-y, jerkish little ten year old she first met when he arrived like the wind to Amity Park five years ago (even if he was still occasionally scowl-y and jerkish), but one thing that's stayed the same is how reserved he is about his home life prior to being taken in by the Fentons.

He doesn't talk about it much, and Sam's come to know that he's very good at changing the subject when it gets brought up. Even after being friends for nearly four years, the only thing she and Tuck know for certain is that he has a little brother that he refers to as 'starlight', whom he cares a lot about but left on really bad terms with. And that he's never met his father, but wants to and knows who he is.

He's never told her or Tucker who he was though, and glancing at Bruce Wayne, Sam is realizing why. She can begrudgingly acknowledge all the good he's done for Gotham, but... well, if Danny told her that Bruce Wayne was his dad, she wouldn't have believed him at all.

But she's starting to see the resemblance, as subtle as it is.

And she sees the resemblance to Damian Wayne, her eyes dropping back down to him as he wears a very Danny-like scowl on his face, arms crossed behind his back as his eyes swept around the ballroom. He was five years younger than Danny, and god it was so, so weird.

His eyes turned on to her, and they locked gazes for a moment.

Involuntarily, Sam makes a startled noise and looks away. Fingers tap against her purse, black and purple and unfortunately a clutch that only held her phone and her wallet in it. She would have kept a knife on her, but her parents put their foot down and there was a security detail at the door. Only in Gotham.

Silently, she was hoping that the little Danny-me didn't say anything. Or at least, he hadn't noticed her staring. Which was a tall order if she ever heard one -- and unfortunately, her silent prayers went unanswered as her mother's eyes dropped down onto her.

"Did you say something, Samantha?" She asks in a sickeningly sweet voice, a sound that makes Sam's skin crawl. Her dad and Bruce Wayne's attention also turns onto her, and she glowers at her mom from the corner of her eye.

"I didn't say anything." Sam says, barely keeping her tone polite as she turned her head away. Her mother clucks her tongue, disapproving, but from her peripherals doesn't pester her more

Bruce Wayne, the bastard, takes that time to turn to Sam and grace her with his dime-a-dozen billboard smiles. "I've been talking with your parents this whole time, Miss Manson, you must be terribly bored. How is your schooling going?"

Sam eyes him up and down. On one hand, she immediately wants to be snarky. It's none of his business what her school life is like, she doesn't care for his fucking small talk.

On the other hand, this was Danny's whole father. Someone who she knows that Danny has wanted to meet for, what she's assuming, his whole life. He's never brought it up much, but she remembers that very quiet, solemn conversation she and Tucker had with him where he admits to having never met his dad. But god does he want to.

And... wait. Sam's eyes narrow, and she meets Bruce Wayne's eyes. Does this man even know Danny exists? She drops her gaze down to Damian, who was staring at her suspiciously, and then back up to Bruce, and she alternates between them.

Why was Damian living with Bruce, but not Danny? Why hasn't Bruce done anything to reach out to him - what was going on with Danny's biological family that Danny had to be separated from them, but not Damian? Danny's always been kinda mysterious, but now things weren't adding up.

Was Danny given up? Does Bruce just not want Danny, but wanted Damian? Why the fuck does Bruce Wayne know about Damian but not her best friend -- or does he know and just not care? He's fought for custody for his adoptive kids before, does he just not want to fight for his other biological son? Does he think Danny's not worth it?

She's never cared much about the Wayne family before, other than to hear about the advancements on WE's eco-friendly tech, but Sam thinks she's gonna have to look into why Damian Wayne was living with the Waynes.

Slowly, with a protective anger beginning to burn in her gut and crawl up her throat, a scowl slowly curls at the corner of her lip as she redirects her glare from her mother onto Bruce. "It's going fine," She says curtly, jutting her chin out defiantly. "Me and my friend Danny started a petition to fix the leaky faucets in the girls and boys' bathrooms in order to conserve more water for the rest of the city."

She eyes his face, waiting to see if anything like recognition flashes through it. And- and nothing. Sam breathes in slowly through her nose, trying to quell the red that's blurring the edge of her vision -- does he just, not know where Danny is?

Her parents however, make vaguely displeased expressions. "Our Samantha is... quite passionate about her pet projects." Her dad says, laughing low and nervously, "she's very vocal about silly things like that."

"Her friend Daniel is perhaps even worse than she is sometimes." Her mother adds on, fanning her face with her perfectly manicured hands with a sigh. "I swear, he's the one that keeps dragging her into these things."

Sam's anger turns on its head, and she whirls on her heel like a fire-breathing dragon. "It's Danyal." It rolls out like instinct. Danny's told them both that he hates the Americanized pronunciation of his name, but in a rare moment of restraint, puts up with it for reasons unknown to her. "And Danny doesn't make me do anything, it was my idea."

The name, Danyal, seems to ring some kind of bell in Brucie Wayne's head, because she sees him and Damian quietly perk up like two cats pricking up their ears. Her eyes flick onto him immediately, something dangerous rearing its head. So Bruce Wayne knows about Danny. And he's not reaching out to him. Is he? She's not sure.

She does know that she's gonna rip his throat out if she finds out that he's known about Danny this entire time and has been ignoring him while favoring his little brother. She'll hunt down Aragon herself and steal his dragon-shifting amulet and wreck house on Bruce Wayne if that's the case. Batman and his league of vigilantes be damned. Her parents don't notice her slowly turning head towards Bruce.

But Bruce does, and she makes direct eye contact with him. His smile doesn't falter, he just tilts his head like a curious puppy and looks at Sam's parents. She hopes Bruce can read minds, she hopes he can hear her threatening him.

"Danyal?" He asks, and Sam doesn't know if she hates the fact that he said it correctly or not. She just continues burning holes into him and hoping he might spontaneously combust.

Her mother waves her hand dismissively, tilting her nose up poshly into the air. "Our dear Samantha's little... foster friend from school," she says, not even bothering to hide her disdain, "a creepy little boy with the most garish scar on his face. He's a rude little thing, not good for polite company."

Scratch that, Sam mentally alternates between ripping into her parents and Bruce. She whirls on them. "Do not talk about Danny that way." She all but snarls, and they all but ignore her.

(She's tearing up the upholstery when she gets home. She's going to paint over the fine china. She's going to do something to make them pay for this.)

"Oh yes, he was taken in by that freaky Fenton family a few years ago." Her dad continues in lieu of her mom, and they both shake their heads disapprovingly. "It's just what our city needs, another menace."

"Danny is not a menace." Sam continues, raising her voice while her hands shake with rage. Her parents finally look at her, but she can already tell that they're going to scold her for raising her voice. She bulldozes over them and jabs her black-painted finger at them. "He's got a bigger heart than the both of you combined."

"Samantha, please." her mom says, exasperated. They both give her disapproving looks, Sam thinks about grabbing champagne off the tray of a nearby waiter and throwing it in their faces. "You defend that boy far too much. What do you actually know about him and his family?"

Sam sets her jaw, puffing herself up like a dragon protecting its hoard. She steps into her mom's space. "I know that he loves the stars; you can ask him anything about astronomy and he could give you an entire lecture on the formation, class types, and various gasses that stars are made up of. He can tell you how the Earth was formed, he can tell you about the visible light spectrum and about light curves, and a whole ton of other stuff that I don't really understand. But Danny loves talking about it."

Her face twists and scowls, "I know he cares a ton about the environment and about fixing light pollution, and preserving the forests and natural habitats of animals." She nearly jabs her finger into her mom's chest, "I know he loves dogs, and that there's one he feeds every day on the way to school that he calls Cujo, its a St. Bernard puppy and Danny carries him around whenever he sees him after school, and is in the middle of training him."

It's not a total lie, but it's not the whole truth either. Cujo doesn't need food, but Danny gives him it anyways. "I know he likes spicy food and loves movies but specifically only sci-fi and horror, and he hates most martial arts movies. His favorite superhero is the Martian Manhunter, but Batman comes in at a close second." For reasons to her that were pretty unknown, but it didn't matter.

"I know he loves wordplay and making puns, which I would have never expected from him when we first met, but it's so unbelievably Danny-like that I can't imagine him not making puns." And she smiles a little to herself, she remembers the first time Danny intentionally made a pun once and it got startled laughs out of both her and Tucker.

Her smile suddenly falters, and she swallows. Her lips purse up, wobbling, and she very quickly glances over to Damian Wayne, of whom is watching her with a vaguely bewildered expression alongside Bruce.

She turns her eyes back onto her parents. "And I know that he worries a lot, even if he has a shit way of showing it. I know he had a little brother that he hasn't seen since he was adopted by the Fentons, and he doesn't talk about him often but when he does he he calls him 'starlight'." From the corner of her eye, she sees Damian jerk.

"So- so, so what if he's not 'good for polite company'." Sam's voice, embarrassingly, cracks down the middle. But she's so angry over Danny's behalf that she doesn't really care. "Or that he can be mean, and critical, and stubborn. He's learning, and he's becoming kinder by the day. That's more than I can say about you."

(She remembers when Danny finally admitted to her and Tucker being his 'closest friends'. It was sometime before the portal incident, and it felt like a milestone because beforehand he only really referred to them as his companions or allies.)

(At the time, he'd looked unsure of himself. Skittish like a stray in the back of an alleyway, almost shy in his own way. It had come out stilted, slow, like an infant taking its first steps, and it would have been endearing if it hadn't been heartbreaking.)

Her parents rear back like she'd struck them, and her mother holds a hand against her chest in aghast. Sam doesn't care, she blinks the sting out of her eyes. "Samantha." Her mother starts.

Sam cuts her off, "I don't care what you have to say, you-- you pricks." she snaps, around her, there are gasps. Belatedly, she realizes she's grown an audience, but again she doesn't care. "Danny might be an asshole, but he cares. And I'd rather be around someone whose mean but cares, than someone whose nice but doesn't."

With that, she whirls on her foot and turns on Bruce Wayne, who has been silent the entire time with a surprised expression on his face. He starts to shake out of it when Sam turns to him, but she doesn't give him the chance to speak. "Enjoy your party." She snarls, and then stalks away.

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dpxdc crossover #dpdc #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #sam is one protective gal. this scene went differently in my head. way differently. but alas. i am not complaining.#sam: if bruce wayne abandoned my best friend i'm gonna physically transform myself into a dragon and incinerate him. how dare he.#bruce and damian got to watch in real time as a random girl who knows danny suddenly realizes he's related to them. which is comical to me #because she suddenly goes from being disinterested but weirded out by damian. to suddenly looking at bruce like she's gonna kill him #which is very funny to me bc from their pov at first its like this random girl just speedran hating bruce. and then her parents bring up he #friend danny and then she calls him danyal. and suddenly its starting to click into place like 'oh fuck wait we may just have a lead on --#-- finding danyal and his whereabouts.' especially after sam's mom mentions the scar on his face. like wow. what a crazy ten minutes.#not seen but def happened: sam gets her phone out to go text danny in the corner. she's not gonna bring up the bruce thing yet. she needs #a pick me up. related note: danny and tucker know she's gone to some gala thing with her parents but not to a wayne gala. if danny had know #he may have told her that he was related to damian wayne. just to prepare her for that. not so sure on the writing in this one folks #but i also dont wanna go through and edit anything its like half past one in the morning and i also dont wanna wait until morning to post #when i can just do it now. and get instant serotonin. i thought of this scene in various ways. like sam calling damian 'danny' out of shock #and then quickly correcting herself. and then excusing herself very quickly. or her mentioning that damian resembles her friend danny a lot #so she was just thrown off by him. because i def think that could happen if sam has no reason to think that she needs to hide danny from th #waynes. i also thought about her parents mentioning that damian resembles danny a little bit. only for one of them to go 'oh no no couldn't #- be. how insulting to damian since the daniel they know has this horrid scar on his face.' and then go from there. either way i thought #a scene like this would be fun. get to also kinda explore how danny looks like from his friends' povs. of which he is #'our lovable jerk who is an ex-cult member and whom we will maim someone over.'#not a scene that was added but i wanted to: sam mentioning in parenthesis that she and tucker think danny was part of a cult prior to the #fentons. and that sometimes danny will say something alarming and sam and tucker will stare at him until he frowns and goes #“that... isn't normal. is it?” and tucker will clap his shoulder and cheerfully go “no buddy. no it isn't” bc i think the idea is funny.#sam is so focused on the idea that bruce abandoned/ignored/was unaware of danny's existence that she momentarily forgot that bruce may have

1K notes · View notes

kenmung · 4 months

Text

STARLIGHT BALLROOM — Day 1

#ken #lee jaehwan #vixx ken #n #cha hakyeon #vixx n #vixx #haken #starlight ballroom #day 1 #THEY WERE HAVING SO MUCH FUN ☹️💗

4 notes · View notes

unofficialvixxarchive · 3 months

Text

#vixx #4vixx #VIXX STARLIGHT 6TH FANMEETING #STARLIGHT BALLROOM #KEN

10 notes · View notes

galaxymagick · 4 months

Text

@vixx_stargram

[20240518] VIXX ST★RLIGHT 6TH FANMEETING [STARLIGHT BALLROOM]💙💛 함께 있을 때 가장 행복한 #빅스X별빛 오늘 무도회에 와주셔서 감사합니다👑 내일도 함께해요❣️ #빅스 #VIXX #STARLIGHT #별여섯 #별여섯_팬미팅 #STARLIGHT_BALLROOM

Happiest when together #vixxXstarlight Thank you for coming to the ball today👑 Let’s be together tomorrow too❣️

#vixx #taekwoon #jung taekwoon #vixx leo #leo #jaehwan #ken #lee jaehwan #vixx ken #hakyeon #cha hakyeon #vixx n #240518 #starlight ballroom 6th fanmeeting #*vixx_stargram #*v:p #*elbow scar

45 notes · View notes

jaehwaniee · 1 month

Text

240518 KEN • VIXX 'STARLIGHT BALLROOM' FanMeeting •

#vixx #ken #lee jaehwan #fm: starlight ballroom #jaehwan #240518 #fantaken #may 2024 #fave

8 notes · View notes

already-taekken · 4 months

Text

youtube

Yall I'm crying!! I wish Hyuk could've been here so we'd have 4-Vixx but that's ok! I'm sure we'll get to see them all together soon!

P.S. Can Ken STOP making those faces while he's dancing?!? Especially the ones around 2:39?! Because I really can't take it!

#may 2024 #youtube #vixx #fanmeeting #vixx 6th fanmeeting starlight ballroom #vixx leo #vixx ken #n #jung taekwoon #lee jaehwan #cha hakyeon #hyung line #this made me so emotional #you have no idea #get ready for more post #it's been a long time #shouldn't have left you #without a dope beat to step to #Youtube

0 notes

elfy-elf-imagines · 1 year

Text

To Meet Under the Stars | Thranduil

▹ Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!Reader

▹ Genre: Fluff

▹ Words: ~3k

▹ Summary: In light of the stars, Thranduil finds himself entirely enchanted by a mysterious masked woman.

▹ Notes: I love masquerade balls, that is all. Unedited because we die as men.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The light of starlight was something sacred to the elves.

In the times of old, before the moon and sun had been created, Varda placed the stars in the sky, illuminating the world for the elves to see. For all other races, stars were just light that guided their way at night, but they were so much more for the elves. They held the promise of life unsullied by the evil of Morgoth. A beautiful display of glistening diamonds that held the light of creation. To honor the stars was to honor Varda herself.

Under the canopy of stars, the wood elves of Eryn Galen celebrated the first night of the autumn equinox. The moon was full and high in the sky as lords, ladies, and commoners alike gathered for the party. The echo of minstrels ensured there would be no corner of the kingdom not lit with joy. Dragonflies darted across ponds, and crickets hid in the forest, chirping to the beat of the lute. There were festivities all throughout the kingdom, but the main attraction was the masquerade ball held within the palace of King Thranduil. Only guests of high esteem were invited to dance under the lush canopy in the company of the royal family.

And there you were, with summer in your hair and winter in your eyes. Dancing through the crowd, illuminated in the silver light of the moon, you were the vision of a goddess. A soft halo shone upon your silver-gold hair, pinned in an updo with stray pieces that cascaded down your back. Flowers in purple, blue, and silver hues were placed upon your head like a crown, creating the silhouette of a queen. A silver mask encrusted with enough jewels that it glittered under the light concealed the top half of your face, two holes allowing your eyes to glow in the dark. A grin born of pure ecstasy was outlined by the lipstick on your lips.

No one could recall who you were nor when you’d arrived at the celebration. It was as if you were always there, lying in wait and dancing with the ghosts of the open-roof ballroom. A laugh rivaling the minstrels' songs hung in the air where you stood and followed your every sweeping move.

From the high table, with a glass of wine precariously hanging in his hand, Thranduil watched you. He couldn’t help it. It was as if you were weaving some sort of spell, casting it upon all who watched, paralyzed by your song and enraptured by your dance. You were beautiful, quick as a whip, and light as a feather. Each step seemed calculated and purposeful, yet so loose it could only be natural.

Thranduil couldn’t recall ever meeting you, so certain he’d know your laugh even if he couldn’t see your face. His advisors tried to make idle conversation as Legolas spent his time with the other members of the guard, drinking and laughing. Thranduil couldn’t be bothered to even pretend to listen, intently focused on the way your summer blue dress flowed like water around you. It nearly felt sacrilegious to directly look at something so beautiful, like staring at the face of Varda herself.

“It is a beautiful--” his advisor beside him began to speak, talking so slowly it made Thranduil’s lips curl in slight irritation that was hidden by the goblet he held. He watched as you threw your head back in laughter, finding amusement in whatever the elf lord you were speaking with said. It took all his willpower not to roll his eyes as he drank more sweet wine.

The elf lord offered you his hand, which you gracefully accepted. Instead of dancing through the crowds alone, you twirled in the arms of another man. It made Thranduil’s stomach turn in a way it hadn’t for centuries.

You and the elf lord you danced with would flit in and out of his vision, yet the merriment never left your expression, and when the face of your dance partner would face Thranduil, he could see just how enchanted the man was by you. His grip on the goblet tightened, knuckles turning white.

The song seemed endless, drawing out the end of it for as long as possible. Part of Thranduil was tempted to bark at the minstrels to begin a new one in hopes you would once again be left alone, but he didn’t. A king needed to maintain his composure, even if everything inside was screaming not to. It seemed silly to be so taken by a woman whose face he couldn’t even see.

“Have you tried one of these cakes yet? They’re quite--”

“Galion.” Thranduil interrupted the man previously speaking, gaining the attention of his butler. The advisor that had been interrupted scowled yet said nothing else as Galion stepped closer to Thranduil.

“Yes, my king.”

Thranduil pointed at you, Galion’s eyes following his finger. “Who is that?”

His eyes narrowed as Galion leaned closer to try and get a better look at you. Yet not a glint of recognition twinkled in his eyes. Did anyone here know who you were?

“I’m afraid I am unfamiliar with who she is. Would you like me to fetch her, my king?” Galion asked, his attention returned to Thranduil, whose eyes furrowed in mild annoyance.

“That will not be necessary, Galion.” He waved his hand, and Galion returned to his previous seat. It would be easy to bring you to him, he was the king, after all, but he didn’t want your meeting with him to seem forced upon you. He already had enough of a reputation as a cold, unfeeling man; it wouldn’t do any good to give you a reason to believe them.

The song ended, and you stepped away from your partner, lowering into a curtsey that he returned with a bow. Thranduil stood, the legs of his chair scraping on the floor; he didn’t bother giving a weak excuse for his exit. If he doesn't act soon, you might slip from his fingers. Thranduil took long strides down the platform and disappeared into the sea of elves.

He pushed his way through the crowd, most too lost in the magic of the music to pay their king any mind. He could see you, dancing alone with your eyes shut. The grin on your face was wide, never wavering in the slightest. The distance separating him from you was dwindling, the anticipation making his palm sweaty. The crowd parted, and he could’ve pulled you into his arms if he wanted to.

But as he opened his mouth, you disappeared into the crowd, so preoccupied you never saw him coming. Thranduil’s eyes narrowed, his misty eyes searching the crowd for you, but you were nowhere to be seen. Had you merely been a figment of his imagination conjured by the trickster spirits rumored to hide in his forest? Perhaps you had been, but Thranduil was determined to comb through the crowd hoping to see you again.

Then, a flit of blue brightened the corner of his eye. He turned, seeing you dart from dance partner to dance partner, now on the other end of the room. A cat-like grin appeared on the edges of his mouth; he’d found you. Once more, he pushed through the crowd, not moving his eyes from you for one second, afraid you’d disappear without a trace if he did.

The crowd would pulse, and you would get closer to him before suddenly spreading out towards the treeline. Thranduil would get close enough to smell your floral perfume, but you'd dart in another direction before he could take your delicate hands in his. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was on purpose; you probably hadn’t even noticed him. Your eyes never locked with his that never strayed from you.

But the gods seemed to smile upon him that night, and as the crowd came closer, Thranduil snatched your hand. Your body twisted to face him, the grin on your face never faltering. The perfume you wore was distinctly jasmine, vanilla, and something sweeter, tantalizing enough to bring him closer to you. His hand was rough in comparison to yours, much larger too.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” His voice was velvet smooth. Thranduil stood out like a sore thumb as the only one in the crowd without a mask.

“You may, my king,” you curtsied before placing your other hand on his shoulder as his hand found its place on your waist. Wasting no time, the two of you twisted and spun through the crowd in an airy waltz. You had the grace of a swan, maintaining a poised elegance with a child-like grin. Thranduil felt himself falling deeper into whatever spell you had cast.

A witch, that’s what you had to be. There was no other explanation for the hammering of his heart or the delight your touch elicited.

One step back, one step forward, one to the side, and repeat. Another spin, extra flourish added for flavor, and the movements continued. Neither of you spoke, eye to eye, unable to look away from one another. Thranduil found himself counting the flecks in your eyes, convinced they held a thousand little stars in them.

Perhaps you hadn’t been an illusion placed to taunt him but a gift from the Valar themselves.

All too soon, the song ended, and the dance was finished. As he watched you do before, you stepped back from Thranduil and lowered into a sweeping curtsey. He wanted to ask you to stay with him, not only for the night but the rest of eternity, but he found himself tongue-tied.

“It was an honor to dance with you, my king.” Your voice was soft and warm, like the spiced tea he would drink before bed. He wanted your name, to lift the mask you wore and lay his eyes upon your face entirely. He needed to see the face of the woman that would surely haunt his every dream.

Thranduil blinked, and in the brief time, his eyes weren’t on you, you’d disappeared. He half expected for there to be stardust left where your feet had been, but the only proof you’d existed was the imprint of your heels in the grass. His eyes scanned the crowd, twisting his body and craning his head, yet you were nowhere to be seen. But this time, instead of seeing flashes of your dress or silver hair, you were nowhere to be seen. You’d disappeared entirely.

Thranduil stood in the crowd a moment longer, hoping for a glimpse of you before deciding to return to his seat at the table. Perhaps from the high crowd, he could ascertain where you were. Thranduil returned to his seat, acting as if he hadn’t suddenly rushed from the table to dance with you, ignoring the questioning glances from his advisors. His goblet of wine in hand, eyes on the crowd, Thranduil sunk into the music and lost himself in thought. All of them were plagued by you.

And there he stayed as the hours ticked by, seemingly in a trance. No one at the table bothered to strike up a conversation with Thranduil anymore; it was like trying to converse with a brick wall. So they settled in silence, occasionally remarking about the party with the other guests.

“My king,” Galion returned to his side. “The lady you danced with has stepped away to the gardens.” Galion’s tone was even as if he were merely commenting on the weather. Thranduil side-eyed him, noticing the tinge of mirth on Galion’s smile. Thranduil tilted his head to the side, then slowly nodded.

“Perhaps I should ensure our guest is enjoying the festivities.”

Thranduil stepped away from the table and followed the path toward the garden’s you just slipped into. He took long strides to reunite with you sooner. This time he was determined to get your name and to peek beneath the mask you wore.

When he finally stepped into the garden, he saw your back turned to him, fingers dipped in the fountain's water. Your posture was relaxed, hair loose and flowing, no longer pinned in the updo it once was. It flowed like liquid silver, furthering his conspiracy that you were a celestial being born of the gods. Precariously hanging in your hand was the mask you’d been wearing, thumbs rubbing against the ribbon that tied it in your hair. The minstrels were now a distant hum, the flowing water, and the chirp of crickets the only song in the gardens.

He stopped a few steps from you, trying to find the words to say. It’d been so long since he’d been made to feel like a shy elfling, nervous about approaching his first crush. A king should be dignified and confident, but he felt all of that crumble in your presence.

Your ears twitched as Thranduil shifted in his spot, head raising at the sudden intrusion. Slowly, you turned, unsure who to expect would intrude upon your solitude. But of all the people you imagined stepping into the garden, you never anticipated it would be the king. He nearly seemed awkward and unsure in his place, fingers smoothing wrinkles on his robes that weren’t there.

Immediately you lowered into a curtsey, but the king didn’t acknowledge the movement. His eyes were wide and mouth slightly agape as he stared at you. As he looked upon your face, this must’ve been how the first elf to gaze upon the stars felt. The curves and lines of your face were soft and delicate, the vision of beauty. Your eyes seemed even brighter in the dim lighting, an unsure, shy smile curling on your lips.

“My king.”

He remained silent, too wonderstruck to speak.

“If you require to be alone, I can--” You began to walk towards the exit, but as you passed Thranduil, his hand reached out and caught your arm. You turned to face him, uncertain. Thranduil’s hand trailed down your arm and intertwined with yours, a soft smile on his lips.

“Of all the people who desire my presence, yours is the one I desire most.”

You swallowed thickly, your mouth suddenly dry. You’d been close to the king only hours ago, sharing a dance with him. Yet the privacy of the gardens and the sweetness of his words, it all felt much more intimate.

“Then I shall stay.”

Thranduil’s grin widened as he guided you further into the gardens. The flowers were vibrant and lush, a true testament to the skills of the elves. A canopy of trees diffused the moon's light, reflecting off the fountain and casting a spotlight on you.

“I have a confession.” Thranduil suddenly stopped, eyes intently watching your face, noticing how your lips slightly parted and your eyes glowed with curiosity. “I have found myself quite enchanted with you, my lady. It seems foolish, not knowing your face until this moment and not having your name.”

“It’s Y/N, my king.” You interrupted, a charming smile curling your lips. The hammer of your heart matched the tempo with Thranduil’s.

“Y/N.” He muttered your name quietly, your name on his lips making your stomach curl. Of all the ways you anticipated this night's end, strolling the garden with the king was not what you could’ve predicted in your wildest dreams.

“Y/N. If I may be so bold, I would like for this to not be the last time we meet. I desire more of your company.”

Thranduil stepped closer, the heat he radiated warming your chilled skin. Gossebumnps followed where his hands touched, a shiver rushing down your spine. Subtly you pinched the back of your leg, convinced this was nothing more than a dream. Yet you didn’t wake; this moment was real.

“If I may speak freely, my king?”

Thranduil nodded his head. “Please, you may call me Thranduil. No need for such formalities.”

You tipped your head at him as the smile on your face brightened.

“If I may speak freely, Thranduil.” You corrected, with an almost mischievous lilt to your voice. “I would much desire more of your company as well. I have heard many rumors of your cold and detached demeanor. I’ve heard of how harsh you can be, yet I have seen nothing of that.”

“I’m glad the whispers of the court haven’t scared you away, my lady.”

The smile on your face curled into a teasing smirk, eyes illuminating. “You’ll find it’ll take more than malicious rumors to scare me away.”

Thranduil's finger twirled around a lock of hair that framed your face. He seemed relaxed and more at ease than you'd have imagined.

"A strong will and a fair face, Varda herself must've crafted you."

His words made your face flush red, so deep it was seen in the dim lighting of the garden.

"Pretty words you speak, my king; I'm eager to learn if your words match your heart."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

#thranduil imagine #thranduil x reader #thranduil #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit one shot #the hobbit #lotr imagine #lotr oneshot #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings imagine #middle earth imagines #lotr #tolkien #lord of the rings #lord of the rings oneshot #mirkwood elves #lord of the rings fanfic #king thranduil

815 notes · View notes

sakkiichi · 1 year

Text

YOU’RE A CRISIS OF MY FAITH.

You meet him under the brightness of ballroom lights and the vibrant colors of his mask. However, is it a good idea to let yourself be lead by infatuation?

feat. Childe, Kaeya, Kaedehara Kazuha, Lyney, Albedo x gn! reader.

cw/genre: romance, fluff, slight angst in kazuha’s and lyney’s, royal masquerade au. reader wears a dress, mildly suggestive allusions on childe’s (very soft).

i would like to dedicate childe, kaeya and albedo’s part to my dearest @bunny-rambles <3 albedo’s part is dedicated to the sweetest @ssilversiren too !

if you enjoy this, reblogs and comments help more than likes !

✧ CHILDE

Crossed arms over his chest and a sharp edged smile peeking from underneath his mask. The prince is certainly amused, and not precisely by this gathering he himself hosted.

It’s this feeling. Being unknown; just another face amidst the ebb and flow of a sea of profiles.

What would it be like, to converse with others, with them being none the wiser about his royal status?

Running a hand through his ruddy locks, Childe leans off the wall, something, or rather, someone having caught his attention.

The person is standing on the opposite corner of the room, their skirts as if weaved out of seafoam and tides, cascading to the floor in silky waves of sky. They’re alone, the ornamented wall behind them making them look as an extension of it, a painting without frame; for they stare longingly at the swaying crowd, their frame still, anchored, yet without a harbor.

“Fancy a dance?” A voice you swear you have heard somewhere before asks, causing you to turn around.

Striking sapphire eyes lock with yours, the cheeky smile he sports weakening your knees for a second. He’s dressed finely, in white and red, silver accents decorating the lapels and shoulders of his jacket, matching with the scarlet mask partially concealing the constellations of freckles dusting his handsome face.

You swear you know him. But you don’t at the same time; a crystalline pond at night, argent starlight swallowed by the depths of its abyss.

“Quite the bold request, considering you haven’t even introduced yourself, don’t you think?” You prompt, the stranger’s magnetizing grin drawing one of your own from your painted lips.

“Oh, come on, humor me?” He pouts, drops of cobalt glinting in the previously dull ocean patches of his gaze.

“Hm,” you ponder, bringing a finger to your chin. “How about you give me your name first?” You suggest, tone taking on a playful lilt. He watches the light quality of your dress, sweeping around you, tendrils of a spring wrapped around the delicate curves of your figure.

“A name, huh?” He smirks, and no matter how much you know it’s a bad idea, you find yourself hoping to call his name often in the future.

He knows what he’s about to reveal is an equally bad idea as you swimming in the currents of his pull, and still, he finds himself uttering the appellative he hasn’t heard in ages.

“Ajax. My name.” He whispers, those lips that only promise trouble brushing the shell of your ear.

You smile, your stare glinting not unlike the azurite shimmer that decorates your disguise.

“Very well, Ajax,” you draw out the last word, your voice directing the incognito royal’s heart wildly against his ribcage. “Come and find me.” Is the lingering echo of your words, a seashell’s melody, as Childe watches shades of aquamarine mingling with the crowd.

Perhaps this was not a good choice; but maybe you like the rush that comes with wishing he asks your name, with wishing his hand catches yours.

From the corner of your eye, you spot a wisp of red as you turn a corner down the busy corridors of the palace. You certainly wouldn’t mind if you happened to take Ajax’s half cape off later tonight.

✧ KAEYA

Rows upon rows of glinting masks and flashy clothing fill the luxurious room, the space practically painted in molten gold.

If anyone were to ask you, however, you’d reply this place is hell. The palace’s corridors are labyrinthine as it is, twisting endlessly, the frozen images hanging on their walls unchanging to your widened eyes.

And certainly, the shoves and pushes of a too excited crowd are not helping your mood at all. Exasperated, you grunt for the thousandth time, bunching up the skirts of your lacy white dress, determined to elbow and step your way to the damned ballroom.

Alas, the distant stars had other plans for you tonight.

Just as you were going to decidedly advance a particularly rowdy crowd, a force collides with you from behind, sending you and your unstable high heels against the polished tiled floor.

Except when the impact comes, it is not hard at all.

“My, a beauty like you should be more careful to watch where they’re going.”

You rise your gaze to meet the owner of that smooth teasing voice.

Hair weaved of icicles at midnight, braided to one side, falling over the spotless bronze skin of the stranger’s pretty face. His eyes, or rather, his visible eye, is chilly blue, the biting touch of a sunny morning after a snowstorm. And, unlike the rest of the guests, he’s not wearing a mask. He doesn’t need one either, his mystery-exuding aura, paired with the eyepatch on his right eye, somehow disguise enough.

You clear your throat, trying to act as if you hadn’t been blatantly staring at the man in front of you.

“Why, thanks.” You let out, tone crisp. “I was watching, but apparently someone with no manners wasn’t.” You add, with disdain, glaring at the advancing multitude.

“I don’t disagree.” The enigmatic stranger smiles, a sliver of moon, icy eyes following over your figure as you straighten your skirt.

Then he hums, the crescent of his sultry lips morphing into a smirk.

“Why don’t I accompany you for a while?” He offers his arm to you. “I was just leaving, but seems I’ve found a reason to stay, at least for a while…”

You match his smirk, conflicted at how attracted you don’t want to admit you are to this man.

“Oh? Does it outweigh the reason you were planning on leaving for?”

“I’ll take the risk to find out.” He grins, looping his arm with yours.

In silence interrupted by the joyous multitude, you make your way to the ballroom. It’s odd, the way you feel comfortable next to him, despite secrets and starry nights concealing the truth of his nature. You don’t even know his name…

“Call me Kaeya, by the way.” He murmurs, as if reading your thoughts, his tan hand, adorned in gold and midnight, lacing with one of yours, his other around your waist.

“Pleased to meet you, Kaeya.” You find yourself whispering back, entranced by the mysteries frozen in that shady stare of his.

Perhaps this is wrong, to let your heart out in the falling snowflakes around the flickering spark of this igniting infatuation, and yet, maybe just this once, you feel like you can fly with wings made of ice under a blazing sun.

You don’t regret it. Not when you know you’ll dream of Kaeya’s voice for nights on end. Not when he twirls you around the room, a flurry of snowy clouds outlined by gilded twilight. Not when he pulls you aside, hiding both of you into an alcove, his smooth hand pressed against your mouth, as some guards pass asking for “the prince”.

He definitely looks like one, you think. You don’t have time to dwell on iit as you both run off, hands still laced, into a narrow torch-lit corridor, the night air beckoning you towards the exit.

Danger had never felt so right.

✧ KAEDEHARA KAZUHA

You should have known better.

Better than to trust that bastard.

The nobleman that was supposed to be your date tonight.

It’s not like he didn’t show up, oh, he did alright.

You wish he hadn’t.

Seeing that asshole arm in arm with someone else makes your blood boil, a cold, cruel anger seeping into your bones, its chill enough to burn white-hot.

And yes, perhaps stomping out to the too pretty rose garden was a childish decision, but maybe it was you just exercising self control.

Best to brood than let your tempestuous wrath strike the whole place down.

Storms were only beautiful from a distance, after all.

You heavily sigh, removing the bejeweled mask covering the upper half of your face.

No point in keeping it now, you observe, running a thumb over the faux diamonds embedded over the indigo surface.

How ironic, you laugh, humorless, for your mask to look like a bright starry sky, when all you see the moment you rise your gaze heavenward are dark clouds gathering.

“Pardon my intrusion,” a pleasingly gentle voice begins, just as you were plucking the fading petals of a dying rose, “but are you not feeling up to joining the ball?”

Suddenly, the gloomy night dyes moonlit and crimson: twin pools of sunset regard you, a soft flame, soothingly warm in the chill of the inauspicious night; threads of starlight seem to constitute the man’s hair, almost angel-like in the way it frames his candid face, in the tender way the locks fall over his shoulder, tied in a bright red ribbon, akin to a bouquet of lily of the valleys. Like you, it seems he has discarded his mask, a splash of vermillion held in between svelte fingers wrapped in pale silk.

You greet him with a smile, the previous gales of fury receding, replaced little by little by the nurturing caress of an early autumn wind through maple leaves.

“I could ask you the same question.” You offer, turning your body in his direction, the faint touch of moonlit clouds brushing against your skin.

He shakes his head, tendrils of silver swaying with his movement.

“Let’s just say I prefer the peaceful nature of the outdoors.” He chuckles, sincere, the sound almost transparent in its quality, tiny ripples by a dawn breeze over a mirror-like stream. Then, he tilts his head to the side, silken strands caressing the smoothness of his cheek in ways you know you shouldn’t be dreaming of so soon. “However, I do believe it could prove romantically irresponsible of me to deny someone else this dance, no?” He asks, extending a hand to you.

And you know you shouldn’t feel your face heating up at the protruding tendons over the callous softness of his skin.

“My name is Kaedehara Kazuha,” he finally introduces himself.

Kazuha. You can’t quite tell just yet why you somehow wish that to be forever the name on your lips, nor do you know yet why you find your eyes naturally drifting off to every lash and diminutive freckle so temptingly touching his cheeks.

You don’t know if it’s right either, to take this leap of faith. What if the jump ends in you downfall? Again.

But what if you could swim in a pool of starlight instead? Is the voice whispering in verse into your ear, when you find one of your hands entwined with Kazuha’s, the other resting over the shoulder of his black and red suit jacket.

“It is my pleasure to meet you, Kazuha.” You find yourself smiling back, before introducing yourself.

As your dance partner twirls you around, the warmth of his hand lingering on the small of your back, the overcast skies seem to part. Like a wrinkle in the mundanity of human life, endless sparkling stars cast their gaze over you two, even their moon coming out to take a peek into the couple’s hearts yearning for the fated romance to be.

Splashes of cotton candy pink and cherry crimson sweetly bloom under the argent lights of the enchanted night, even the wilting rose you had been tampering with earlier dyeing in shades of life anew.

Though, to you, in this moment, the only life that matters is the one held in Kazuha’s autumn stare, his tenderness tethering you to the gentle comfort of your head resting against his heart.

Maybe it had already started beating for you, much like yours.

Perhaps some charms begun at midnight.

✧ LYNEY

Throngs of people gather around the Opera Epiclese building and yet, you had never felt so alone.

A sinking feeling settles in your heavy heart, as you pat your now lackluster gown, check your purse, only to come up empty handed.

Your ticket for today’s masquerade ball, seemingly vanished.

Defeated, you sigh, turning on your heel.

What use will be lingering around, with no way to get into the opera house anyway? Things couldn’t have turned out worse.

Or so you thought.

For, seconds later, you would find yourself tripping over the hem of your long dress, ripping it in the process, one of your delicate high heeled shoes slipping off, clattering to the concrete ground, a few feet away from you.

The ruby tear embedded on your mask seems like a mockery right now, salty crystalline tracks streaming down your cheeks.

Luckily, no one will pay you any mind and you’ll save yourself the embarrassment, you try to console yourself.

Alas, the fates didn’t even want to concede you that small salvation.

“Are you alright?” a pleasant voice questions, causing for you to turn around.

And when you do, the man standing right before you is not unlike a spell himself. Violet eyes concealing the secrets of a lifetime spent on the edge of light and shadows regard you through his cat mask, the disguise leaving a maroon tear-shaped mark visible on his cheek, similar to the one on your own mask; his top hat is decorated in shades of rose and night, a purple ribbon around it, its hue almost in tune with the magic of his gaze. Silvery strands sweep over the stranger’s pale visage, slightly ruffled in the ebb and flow of the night’s balmy breeze. And in his hand, he’s holding the fine shoe that caused your fall.

With your face burning in shame, you look to one side, mumbling an affirmative response. You can only be grateful for the crowds starting to dissipate, leaving you and this boy mostly alone.

Kneeling, he carefully slips the shoe on your bare foot.

“Are you sure about that?” He prompts further, helping you up. “You look dressed for today’s ball, however, you were heading in the opposite direction…”

Rubbing at your face, you hang your head low.

“About that… I’m not going anymore…”

“Is that so?” He tilts his head to the side, gaze of iris settling on the torn skirts of your attire.

“I just… it’s embarrassing…” You admit. “I somehow lost my ticket to enter… and well, then I fell, and now besides not having the means to get in, there is no way I look presentable for the occasion anyway…” You chuckle, humorless.

He hums. Then:

“If I may be so bold, I do believe you look lovely.” The mysterious man compliments you, snapping his fingers.

You follow his gaze to your outfit. And when you take it in, your eyes widen. Where there used to be a tear on the fabric, now it’s seamlessly weaved together, sweeping over the nightlit cobblestones. And not only that, but its shade is an even more vibrant shade of carmine now, small sparkly flecks catching the silvery ripples of Fountain of Lucine.

“Wha- Thank you…” You breathe, awestruck, admiring the revived color of your clothes.

“My pleasure.” The magician chirps, with a wink. “Now, would you do me the honor of accompanying me to the ball? It’s starting soon, and I would be very happy if you said yes.”

“I mean… I would love to, but my pass is gone…” You answer, regret lacing your tone.

“Hmm…” He muses, holding his chin in between two fingers. “Can I ask you to look closely now?” He pulls out his ticket, and right there, in the blink of an eye, he slides a second pass from behind the first one.

You gasp, eliciting a soft laugh from him.

“How about now? May I, Lyney, have the pleasure to join you for the night?” He proposes, bowing.

Smiling gratefully, you take his arm, wonderstruck still.

Together, you make your way towards the Opera Epliclese, the tickets safely held in Lyney’s free hand.

When you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the clear surface of the fountain’s waters, a Rainbow Rose adorns your hair.

The magician’s doing, no doubt.

You silently thank Lyney with a smile, and he believes no beam of moon could ever hold a candle to the sight of you.

✧ ALBEDO

Above the hall’s music, an acute faraway sound pulls you out of the forest of masked faces.

The spacious room is lit in gold, luxurious lamps and chandeliers focused on a crowd disguised in velvets and lace.

But, that melody. You can’t quite get it out of your head. You’ve been hearing it all evening, every now and then.

Akin to a gelid river, cutting through blocks of stone-hard ice, making your every hair stand on end when its notes tantalize you with the promise of the gilded reflections of northern lights over the stream’s surface.

You can’t ignore it any further, the flames dancing from ornate candles against the walls seem to murmur.

And even though the impending rushed beat of your heart may be painting danger red all over this possibility, you decide to ignore it, listening to the unknown song’s voice, beckoning you out of the ballroom.

Flecks of gold seem to hang in the air as you make your way through twisting ample corridors, the otherworldly sound welcoming you through a set of double doors, their wood snow white, their handles, crystal.

When you push them open, frozen air appears to settle all around you. It is not unpleasant, though.

In the same way, even though the music has just stopped, the sight before you is not unpleasant either in the slightest.

Amidst the room, a blonde man stands. His gaze, resembling underwater lights at dawn, is set on you. A white shirt with blue and golden accents falls perfectly against his frame.

You don’t miss the way his sleeves are rolled up, nor the tiny multicolored splashes in them.

Which brings you to take in the space around you.

A multitude of paintings line every wall: landscapes of somewhere you can only dream of stepping into; portraits of people you have never met, or have you, in the distance of sweet sleep?; abstract brushstrokes, constituting colors you had never seen before, that you know you won’t see anywhere else.

“Hello,” a soft voice that can only belong to the man in the room utters. “I am Albedo, the court’s alchemist, how may I be of assistance?”

You clear your throat, stammering an apology. He smiles, that sunny sky gaze never leaving you.

“I-I uh… I just heard music and… it seemed to come from here… I apologize for barging in so rudely.”

He gives you a sweet smile. You wonder whether he’s a prince, instead of an alchemist.

“Not at all. Music, you say?” He asks, bringing close to his lips the flute he had been holding. “Did it sound anything like this, perhaps?” Albedo starts to play, notes filling the chamber, colorful blossoms flourishing along snow-covered plains.

You get lost in the sound. In the ethereal aura the prince-like alchemist exudes. He’s as magnetic and entrancing as the melody he plays. Unconsciously, you’ve started to sway, and perhaps a part of you wishes this song was a gift for your ears alone.

At some point, the symphony stops, notes of it, still lingering in the crispness of the atmosphere, despite the closed windows.

“Beautiful.” He utters, tender, the fall of snowflakes atop your open palms.

Warmth creeps up your neck when he steps closer to you, his elegant hands hovering close to your face, to your silver mask.

“May I?” His lips say, rose-colored in the careful lilt of his tone.

Nodding is all the answer you can manage, Albedo’s cool fingertips grazing the side of your cheek.

“Yes, lovely.” He repeats, studying the lines of your mask-free face, the wave of your hair, the sparkles in your wide eyed gaze.

You wonder if he’s ever looked into a mirror, because if he’s presenting you these compliments, no words could describe how utterly breathtaking you think he is.

“Would you allow me to paint you?” Is the question you find yourself nodding to as well.

Beneath the golden lighting of fabricated starlight and with the paradoxically warm caress of Albedo’s cool touch when his hands position you for his portrait, you enter a labyrinth of emotions you only want to brave deeper.

What lies beneath the sunlit layer of snow clinging to Albedo’s every movement?

Perhaps tonight, as he renders you in watercolors, you have already imprinted yourself in his golden encased heart.

885 notes · View notes