#me <== has no ulterior motive to red and blue. 100% just colors i like that have no connection to characters of hs.

[agent37]

GRUB SCOUTS GRUB SCOUTS

10/30

[romillys]

hi everyone! so glad this is back!

romilly ‘mila’ van der woodsen was spotted in the fashion district adorning the jimmy choo thyra 100 jewel-embellished suede heeled sandals , with some airpod pros on . they’re most likely listening to blinding lights - acoustic by victoria voss . you may know them as romillys or as that casimere jollette lookalike . their twenty fourth birthday just passed . while living in  the upper east side , they’ve gained a bit of a reputation . they’re known to be defensive but on the other hand hard-working . wonder if they’ll be the next person to hit the headlines . ( cis woman / she/her + elle / 23 / she/her )

* character questionaire .

01. if you have three words to describe yourself , what are they ?

focused, daring, confident.

02 . what is your favourite alcoholic drink ?

it’s definitely wine. i used to only drink white but i’ve become really fond of red. my grandpa gave me a bottle of  1982 latour for my twenty first birthday and that was easily the most impressed i’ve ever been with wine. i’m not going to be basic and say dom perignon.

03 . what is your favourite season and why ?

i’ve always loved winter because of the associations of ballet and the performances of the nutcracker. it’s always help a special place in my heart and i continue to feel the same after all these years. plus, i love the parties and dressing up, feel like i can go more glam with more diamonds and sparkles than in the summer.

04 . what’s the most spontaneous thing you’ve ever done ?

it would have to be when i drunkenly booked a vacation to dubai for myself and a few friends after a wine and movie night. i spent a ridiculous amount but the trip was fun and i can safely say my friends and i still talk about it.

* character biography .

the only grand daughter of olivier van der woodsen, romilly would grow up surrounded by luxury olivier was the founder and controlling shareholder of woodsen enterprises, a company has investments in various industries including auto parts, energy, metals, rail cars, casinos, food packaging, real estate, and home fashion. it was more than enough for him to provide for his son and daughter-in-law and now his grand-daughter. like her parents before her, romilly was born into privileged and lived comfortably in an upper east side penthouse where she was waited on by endless nannies and housekeepers. her father was involved in the family business, hoping to be handed olivier’s shares one day but the other showed no sign of willingly stepping down any time soon; her mother a self-absorbed socialite that had her own ideas of how to dominate society meant that childcare did not land with either of them.

her parents were difficult to communicate with and this lead to many nannies leaving just when romilly had started to become attached. they were the closest thing to love that she had received but as they left constantly she would grow up with a great sense of inadequacy. they weren’t in love and it seemed the both of them only valued their own sucesses, not each others. as she grew up, she would become her grandfather’s favourite and it would leave both her parents with green eyes...

romilly always liked dancing and had a special connection with music. every time she heard it she wanted to move. she was too young to understand it but she had natural musicality. when they realised that it was harder for the help to stay, they pushed her onto olivier with the hope that she’d be a distraction to pressure him into taking a step back. The man, although one of the most powerful people in New York City, did have a soft spot for his granddaughter. he was the one that saw potential in her dancing as a child. he was quick to enroll her when she was six and everything else followed.

from that moment on, she would only look forward to dance and seeing her grandfather. he was the only one who understood her passion and was the one encouraging her at every stage. however, her parents were quick to criticise performances or her facial expressions when performing. no matter how hrd she tried, it wasn’t enough to impress them. she started distancing from them after that, only talking to her grandpa and looking to him when she needed emotional sport.

being accepted into the summer intensive programme for the school of american ballet was a game changer for her. she made good friends and loved breathing dance and being surrounded by people who had the same passion. she attended the same intensive two years running and her place there just felt right. the next year, she was enrolled as a full time student at the school of american ballet and moved into halls. it was a freedom she never had before and felt like it was her very first chance to have a real sense of community and support.

romilly worked extremely hard and was definitely one who focused on her success; that had seeped its way through from her parents. she was one of the lucky ones to become an apprentice at new york city ballet and the staff definitely took note. her skill level had almost been at prodigy level and she always maintained a ‘can-do’ attitute. she wouldn’t simply bend into the background.

this year, she became one of the youngest principal dancers in the company and it was the best day of her life. she had become a successful professional ballerina. she has also assisted with some choreography as her creativity has blossomed over the years. now her parents wanted to be proud of her and they did make an effort to see her, although it felt really strained from their side. they had ulterior motives but she wasn’t sure what.

romilly was hit hardest after the announcement of the death of olivier van der woodsen, her grandpa who she had loved so much. after the loss and added pressure, her personality has somewhat shifted. she’s out a lot more in clubs now, making out with people and deciding to lessen her control over herself. besides, she’s now a billionaire in her own right but can even comprehend how much money she actually has. she is more defensive and snaps at her co-workers a lot more. she’s secretive and does keep most things to herself. she’s embarrassed that she’s involved in family disputes over money that she never asked for and now worried that stories are leaking on the internet about her and have the ability to tarnish her image in the ballet world. she feels like if she doesn’t fix it soon, she’ll be on her way out of the company. still, she doesn’t help herself and continues to party and drink a lot more than she should do which leads to easily avoidable drunken stumbles that hurt her...

* extras .

profile:

Full Name: romilly annabeth van der woodsen

Nickname(s): mila, tiny dancer, ro

Age: twenty four

Date of Birth: december 19, 1996

Hometown: new york city, new york

Current Location:  new york city, new york  

Ethnicity: white

Nationality: american

Gender: cis woman

Pronouns: she/her

Orientation: bi romantic & bi sexual

Religion: none

Political Affiliation: none

Occupation: principal ballerina at new york city ballet

Living Arrangements: upper east side penthouse previously owned by olivier van der woodsen

Language(s) Spoken: english, french, chinese

Hair Colour: blonde

Eye Colour: blue

Height: 5′4″

Build: slender

Tattoos: none

Piercings: ears

aesthetics

a fully stocked wine cabinet, diamante earrings, chanel pumps, silk crop tops, crystal embellished stilettos, a pile of pointe shoes discarded in the corner of the main room, marble flooring, roof to floor windows, bobby pins gathering at the bottom of her purse, quickly applying glitter eyeshadow with her fingers, a collection of nude palettes and diamante earrings, deleting emails without reading them, golden chandeliers, rejected calls from parents, tops with puffed sleeves, berets, nineties colored purses, twenty hour days and booking trips aborad while under the influence.

[edream93]

Sneak Peek of the Greatest Showman AU

So I had been itching to write a Greatest Showman AU for awhile now. Here’s just a sneak peek of what I have. Let me know if you’d like to see more of it.

The smell of pixie dust, rolled and smoked in big cigars, hung heavy in the air, the smoke curling up into the air in magenta and lavender colored smoke that glimmered briefly like stardust before disappearing. The smell alone burned CJ’s throat as she sat down unceremoniously at the bar next to the familiar red clad frame.

“Whatever yer doing here, I want no part of it, Calista Jane.”

Pouting at the use of her full name, CJ made a small hand movement in front of her and a glass of shimmery brown liquid, flecks of gold and iridescent blue shimmering a top, appeared before her. A small ball of light hovered expectantly over the drink, hindering CJ from taking it before she tossed a handful of coins and a few old thimbles onto the counter in payment.

Once the little fairy had moved onto another customer down the way, CJ took a long sip before speaking. The drink was a strange mix of bitterness and sweet to her half fae tongue. She could only imagine what it tasted like to her human brother. Then again, she doubted he was drinking for the taste. Fairy liquor was drank by non-faes not for the flavor but for the high. “Can’t a girl want to see her dear old big brother without there being some ulterior motive?”

“Not when she’s a grubby little half pixie that I haven’t seen since she stole my boat, five years ago, she can’t,” he murmured refilling his shot glass with an already half empty bottle of clear liquid that was probably the strongest drink the bar had before hitting it back with little reaction, refilling the glass again like clockwork.

“Still mad about that. I did eventually return it.”

Harry snorted. “Aye. In pieces.”

CJ took another sip of her drink, a little more prepared for the bitterness in a poor attempt to hide her scowl. 

At least some things hadn’t changed, she thought as she took in his appearance. His dark hair way messy as always and the usual kohl around his eyes was thick - though on purpose or accidentally done was unclear. Nicely tailor pants were tucked into nicely buff black boots and though his shirt looked wrinkled, as if he had slept in it, CJ knew with just a look that it was probably made with the softest material imaginable. The only piece of clothing that was familiar was the red leather trench coat that seemed to clash with Harry’s much finer clothes.

He’s still a sentimental sap, despite his new patronage. I can work with that.

CJ finished the rest of her drink, ignoring Harry’s impressed whistle as she downed most of the glass in one go.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Hook family drinking habits!” he giggled self deprecatingly around his own drink. “Da would be proud to see how he fucked us up.”

Things were heading in dangerous waters now. She had to get things back on track.  

“Well then I’ll get straight to the point,” she turned to full face him. “I want you to come on as my partner, Harry.”

He paused, hand holding his refilled shot glass frozen half way up.

Good. Caught him off guard.

“I need someone with your flair for dramatics and eye for detail,” she added the last part warily as she watched him unfreeze, throwing the shot back easily as if there hadn’t been an introduction. “The show is good. More than good, but it can be better. It will be better. With your help.”

Harry snorted. “Ye don’t want my help. Just my influence. Influence that brings a lot of heavy pockets with it.”

“Well you said it, not me,” CJ leaned forward with her best smile, the same smile she gave to soothe the few customers from asking for a refund on their ticket. “But since you’re offering that kind of influence would be extremely beneficial for my-”

“No,” Harry cut her off, raising the bottle to pour himself another shot only to see that the bottle was empty. He looked down at the empty bottle as if it had betrayed him. 

“No?”

“Uh huh,” Harry responded distractedly, looking up and down the counter for their fairy barkeep only to not see the telltale ball of light. “In this context, I believe it means, ‘to deny’,” no barkeep in sight, he rose to his feet and jumped over the counter, eyes glued to the bottles of lined spirits - some pixie, some regular, all costing more than CJ has ever made even during their most successful shows so far. “‘To put an end to before it even begins’. ‘No chance in hell in happening.’” He paused to look over his shoulder briefly at her. “Shall I go on?”

He returned his attention back to his search, seemingly picked a bottle indiscriminately, reaching somewhere under the counter for a clean shot glass with little searching. (Well that answered CJ’s wondering about how often he frequented this establishment.)  

“Trying to follow old Da to an early grave?” CJ sneered when after two times of refilling his shot glass he pushed it away and drank directly from the bottle. The fairy barkeep appeared, chiming angrily at him before seemingly giving up and going back to their other customers when Harry merely laid across the counter, bottle dangling precariously from his fingers. “Or trying to forget the touch of all those uppity old fairy bitches you’ve been kissing up to. Tell me, is that Fairy Godmother’s bosom as saggy as they say?”

“Awa’ an bile yer heid!” he drunkenly waved her off. “Who gave ye the right to start meddlin’ in my life?” He leaned towards her, his eyes bright and focus despite his obvious inebriation. “I said no. I don’t want anythin’ to do with yer silly little freak show.”

CJ pouted, pulling out her final card.

“Harriet would have helped me.”

It was a testament to how long she hadn’t seen her brother, to how their paths had greatly diverged, that she found herself caught off guard when his hands darted out quickly and grabbed her forcefully by the collar. Harry brought her face close to his, all previous tired irritation gone and replaced by pure 100% Harold James Hook fury.

She thought back to the children she had seen playing outside and realized what the feeling she had tried to hide actually was: jealousy. The Hook siblings had never been those children. They had never been so united, all three of them, together. Their father made sure of that.

“Harriet. Is. Dead,” Harry spat with deadly fury. At that moment, he looked so much like their dead father that it nearly frightened her. “All because of you and your silly dreams.”

[birdfrenchforbird]

this 100% spoils the next arch in what makes a god B U T all i could think about was writing this.

ana'druil belongs to @lycheemilkart and sylaise + vena belongs to @feynites (however sylaise has some small personal twists)

____

Falon’arla draped her cloak over the arms of an attendant at the door, smoothing over the front of her dress as she surveyed the room. Each guest was wearing an outfit similar to her own, identifying features limited to their face. Not that she would recognize many in attendance. In fact, Falon’arla was hoping to recognize only one person that night. She knew it was foolish, wandering so deep into Arlathan, only for a party. But Sylaise had been kind enough to extend an invitation. It would have been rude to refuse.

Waving away an attendant intent on announcing her arrival to the room, she descended into the spacious ballroom. Lights glittered from the ceiling, a band playing quietly in the corner, everyone moving and whispering as one. The sole disagreement was from the host herself. A gorgeous sight, she swayed against the motion in dazzling colors. Sylaise had rules, when it came to her parties. Everyone must look beautiful, but she must be more so. She was the centerpiece. Her guests were merely accompaniments.

It didn’t take much to catch Sylaise’s attention, wearing a dress hand-picked by the Lady herself. With all the grace a woman like herself should have, Sylaise crossed the rush of the dance floor and took Falon’arla’s hands into her own.

“My, aren't you a vision! I simply knew this dress would suit you.” Her slender fingers, long painted nails, traced along the fabric. It was a stunning dress, similar to Sylaise’s in style. Barely an inch of skin shown, sleeves hugged tight to Falon’arla’s wrists and skirt trailing along the floor. The blue of the dress was akin to the ocean. It moved like waves, soft and fluttering. “I am glad you decided to attend. The invitation was an offhand one, if I am to be honest with you. But, one must be cordial to their allies.”

“I am glad I was thought of, Sylaise. And I am ever so grateful for the dress.” She pretended she didn't notice the flinch at addressing Sylaise so informally.

“Well, I understood you wouldn't have anything else suitable.” Sylaise smiled without teeth, letting go of Falon’arla’s hands. “I hope you haven't been waiting for me long. I get so swept up in it all, the beauty.”

“Not at all, I assure you. I've only just arrived.”

Sylaise nodded, pleased, but her eyes had wandered from the conversation. She seemed to have noticed someone, in the crowd, and was deciding whether or not to comment on it. A dreadful feeling sunk in Falon’arla’s core. She turned to follow Sylaise’s gaze, eyes falling upon a tall and graceful man with long black hair.

Venavismi.

“You look tense, my dear.” Sylaise spoke as if she hadn't connected the dots already, amusement in her eyes. If there was one thing she loved more than beauty, it was dramatics.

“I was not aware that Vena was going to be in attendance,” she said, hoping her voice did not betray the sudden anxiety. “I had heard he was traded to the service of Ana’druil.”

“You heard correctly. My, I didn't think Ana’druil was planning on bringing him.” Her voice stopped, grew an edge of mischief. “They must be more attached than I realized.”

Falon’arla felt her heart catch in her throat. It was the intended effect of Sylaise's words, but Falon’arla hadn't anticipated how seeing Vena again would make her feel. It had been over a year since that last night in Mythal’s court, since she had confessed and proved him a liar. She'd spent the last year convincing herself she hadn't been in love with him. It was something easy to believe, when one wasn't in the same room as him.

“Well, other guests must be tended to. Do enjoy the night, Falon’arla. We're glad to have the House of Anaris in attendance.” The departure flitted through Falon’arla’s mind with nothing more than a nod in response. It would be rude to leave now, before the sun had even set. A polite guest wouldn't even consider leaving until the third course had been served.

Falon’arla found her way to the side of the room, trying not to follow Vena through the crowd. A petite red head was at his side- Ana’druil. It wasn't hard to see that she was Sylaise’s sister, but there was more kindness behind her eyes than there ought to be in a Evanuris.

Eventually, Falon’arla let herself be drawn into the party, pushing the thought of Vena out of her mind and downing quite a few drinks. She was a spy, after all- a glorified actress. She had all night to relax and drink. There was no ulterior motive she had to remember. No secret to keep. Simply a guest, dancing to the music.

A gloved hand tapped on Falon’arla’s shoulder, gentle and cautious. She turned to find herself face to face with Ana’druil herself. Falon’arla was not considered a tall person, but she felt as if she towered about the sweet Evanuris.

“You are Falon’arla, correct?” Her voice was not demanding, only curious, as if they were chatting about the weather. “I was hoping to have a word with you.”

“Of course, my lady.” Politeness to a Creator was a rarity, but the fact that Vena was under the service of this woman had some effect. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Venavismi was in love with you.”

“I- excuse me?”

“Please do not try to deny it. My sister told me as much. I wished to ask- did you love him?”

Falon’arla stared into the open and honest eyes of Ana’druil for a long time. For a moment, she considered the fact that Sylaise's invitation had been less offhanded than she had claimed. But it wasn't long before she considered the question posed to her. Falon’arla had never loved anyone before, no one besides her mother, and the mother that came after that. She knew that she didn't love Vena now- too much had happened. He was a drunken dream, at most. But before? When she called herself Ghilana and wore borrowed dresses and danced with the first stranger who grabbed her hand?

“Yes,” she said, and found herself crying. “I think I did.”

And then Ana’druil was hugging Falon’arla, comforting her, apologizing for asking such a question, kissing the Forgotten One on the cheek. “It comforts me to know that Vena did not spend his love on someone who wouldn't have returned it. Thank you, Falon’arla. Regardless of what passed between you, you are part of why Vena is who he is today.”

Falon’arla could not answer, stunned by this treatment. Another apology, and the gentle beauty disappeared into the crowd.

---

That night, laying in her bed, with the blue dress discarded on the floor, Falon’arla closed her eyes and thought of Vena. For the first time in a year, she didn't feel guilt swimming up her throat to strangle her tongue. For the first time in a year, she thought of Vena and felt at peace.