#starlit:intro

[celestialinked]

--- hey, you hear sweet dreams by børns playing over on the 3rd floor? that’s where elsie roland lives! i heard they moved in from portland, maine exactly 3 months ago. they’re very ambitious but also pretty reclusive. maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the bibliophile. starlit is full of people, but this twenty-two year old is really going to liven things up around here!

hi i’m jae and i’m nineteen and a freshman in college !! i haven’t seriously rped in a hot while, but i’m really excited for this rp and to bring elsie to life. down below you’ll find her bio and some  connections you’d potentially be interested in !! i’m gonna be out when we open, but i’ll be on mobile so please message me !!

aesthetics

here’s a board. rolled up sleeves, wrinkled silk, faded pages on sun-kissed books, messy brunette hair, moth-eaten sweaters, a knowing smile, sneaking a treat when you aren’t supposed to.

the beginning

elsie was born in portland, maine via surrogate for couple clark and ethan roland. clark had lived in portland his entire life and worked for his family in a nearby small town where elsie spent most of her childhood. they weren’t poor, per say, but they weren’t living a luxurious life either. they were comfortable. ethan worked with clark’s family when they needed the help, otherwise he was a stay at home dad and focused on homeschooling elsie. 

elsie was always considered bright. her dads always treated like her as they would treat an adult, leaving her a very mature child. she only ever hung out with her family, but the rare times that she did hang out with children her own age, it always felt weird. she never seemed to connect with them. as she grew older, this worried ethan and clark, and they decided that they’d send her to the public high school in the small town where her grandparents lived.

high school

oh no. truth was, elsie was terrified. it wasn’t a particularly large school, only about three-hundred kids. she even knew a few of them from her ventures around town, but she was still considered new. being a small school, she was quickly put in the spotlight, but almost immediately forgotten once a new kid from rhode island joined them her second semester freshman year.

spotlight off of her, elsie took to a small group of friends and the library. she wouldn’t have considered herself a prude by any means, but she didn’t care to go out to parties with her friends, instead choosing to stay with her dads on the weekends and play games or go to the movies with them. though they appreciated that she wasn’t a difficult teenager, they started really pushing her to leave her comfort zone junior year. as hard as they pushed, she wouldn't bend and would stay at her grandparent’s home when her dads would kick her out (lovingly, of course).

all throughout high school, elsie worried about two things and two things only. her job at a local grocery store and school. and because of these few worries, she was able to graduate top of her class and basically got to choose whatever college she wanted. problem was, she didn’t know where to go.

the party / the accident ( tw: drinking, death due to drinking and driving )

everyone wanted to see the valedictorian wasted. everyone. she wasn’t unpopular by any means, just quiet. with social interest and pressure increasing on her as high school came to an end, elsie finally agreed to  attend the big last hurrah party hosted by the local theater kids and attended by everyone.

long story short, elsie got sloppy. when i say sloppy, i mean she had to be physically carried to the car. her friends were drunk, but she was wasted. by three am, they decided to leave the party and stay at a friend’s, and she and her three friends piled in the car. by three-thirty, she was in the hospital with a concussion and a very broken arm and collarbone. the friend in the back seat was miraculously unharmed, but her two friends in the front sadly passed away.

moving home

due to the nature of the accident and the small town in which it happened, elsie was able to walk away from the accident with only some broken bones and a titanium screw in her collarbone. despite the lack of major physical injuries, she did face many mental and familial repercussions. she moved back home with her dads, who felt incredibly at-fault for the entire situation, lost her scholarships, and found a small, undemanding receptionist job that required no degree.

the next few years were uneventful. she aged, worked the same job, lived with her dads, just lived low and kept to herself. 

on her twenty-first birthday, a coworker that she had grown close with asked her if she wanted to quit and move away. in the heat of the moment, she said yes.

leaving

it’s so hard to leave, until you leave. she high-lighted that quote in the passenger seat of her friend’s car on their way to las vegas. she was afraid and wasn’t sure why she had said yes, but she wasn’t turning back.

starlit

what was it about the motel? she couldn’t put her finger on it as she booked a room. her friend helped her load her clothes and books into her room, and asked once more if she was okay to be by herself. for the first time in a long time, elsie felt confident in saying she would be fine.

i know this is rly dramatic, but dfljhfgjkg. i love her.

she lives on the 3rd floor, living off of the money that she made throughout high school and the years following, she'll get a job soon, she just isn’t interested right now and wants to focus on existing. she’s extremely reclusive and private, but if you manage a peek into her room, you’ll see an incredible collection of books flooding the floors and chairs, and you’ll wonder how she got them all in the room. catch her occasionally leaving her room to go to the pool, or even hitching a ride to the mall. despite being a recluse, she prides herself on knowing most things and knowing a large amount of people’s names, even if they don’t know her.

connections ??

neighbors !! they could be good friends, or maybe they just knock on each others walls to make sure they’re alive each day. 

literally her ride or die. elsie hitched a ride with them to the store once. it was nice. now it’s just a thing they do.

#starlit:intro

[maliaroux]

HELLO, ALL YOU BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE! first of all I just wanna say I am so fucking stoked for Starlit, and to get to write with you all! Anywho back to the task at hand, under the cut is a little bit about my hot garbage child Malia Roux, she’s an old muse but a goodie and I can’t wait to develop her more with you all! If you want to plot just like this or hmu via direct message and I will eagerly respond, i’ll be sure to include any trigger warnings below! Oh also, I am Mon, love me.

TW: domestic abuse, statutory rape, abandonment, prostitution, drug abuse, alcoholism, car accident, implied murder, death. 

AESTHETICS: 

lipstick-stained menthol cigarettes, empty spray cans, fake smiles, and humorless laughs, glassy dull eyes, dirty knees and whispered secrets, acrylic paint and empty canvases, unwavering loyalty and bruised knuckles, paint-speckled backpack full of clothes, tight dresses and high heels, hushed compliments and chipped nail polish, night terrors, and paranoia.

( her actual aesthetic board on pintrest here !!! )

BACKGROUND:

malia’s always been a lost soul. she grew up in phoenix, arizona, living in a tiny little suburban community, raised in one of the copycat cookie cutter homes just the same as the rest of the kids she went to high school with. when she was about five-years-old her dad walked out on her mom ( an aggressive & unloving woman who preferred her wine bottles to sippy cups ), leaving malia alone with her and her older sister ( who was eight years older than her ).

after her father left her mother got worse, now full of resentment and alcohol, she took everything out on malia. malia was too young to understand why, it wasn’t until years later she figured out the truth, that the reason her father had walked out on her mother was that he had found out that Malia, his pride, and joy, wasn’t even his daughter, but that’s neither here nor there.

as her mother’s rage grew, the more malia got in trouble, the more malia was ignored. by age ten the girl felt like a ghost in her own home, living in the shadow of her perfect, beautiful, older sister alice. no matter what malia did, what sport she joined, what trophy she won, what prize she brought back home to her mother, she still treated her like an invader, like a pest she had to put up with until the girl was finally 18 and she could kick her out.

eventually, malia stopped trying, stopped caring, shut off every emotion, every feeling she ever had towards her mother and turned it all into an apathetic gaze. she hated her mother, she hated her sister, and rather than try to be perfect, rather than rebel, she put herself into the role her mother wanted. she was a guest.

by the time malia was fourteen she was hardly home, spending most of her time at friends’ places, out partying, hanging out with boys way too old for her, doing things with them that were meant for people way too old for her. she didn’t care anymore. she played her role as the ghost in her own home, but she was tired of feeling sad... of feeling numb, and at least they helped her feel.

she figured she’d go through the rest of her life filling the void until she could finally leave… that is until her mom remarried. her step-father was an interesting man, loud and charismatic. boastful, charming, demanding. he took malia and her mother in. he was a man who put her mother in her place for being cruel, for being uncaring… and that was something malia liked… something malia exploited.

it truly didn’t take long for malia to tempt her step-father into sleeping with her, he wasn’t a good man after all… and rather than hide their dirty secret, malia rubbed it in her mother’s face. let her call her a whore. let her call her disgusting. she didn’t care because at least it got her mother noticing her finally.

malia didn’t really care for her step-father, she never really cared about anyone romantically, they were a means to an end, just like he was. but he didn’t like that… he didn’t like malia being with other boys, other girls, and after a while things began to get violent. he was controlling, and abusive, and malia wasn’t the type of girl to put up with it, even with all the traumatic reminders she had to. and her mother? didn’t care to help… even told her she deserved it.

so rather than stay in her cookie cutter home, with her resentful mother and her abusive, disgusting step-father, she decided to leave. she had packed her bags and stolen the keys to her step-fathers range rover, planning to sneak off in the dead of the night without a trace. but of course, things didn’t go as planned.

she had managed to get in the car when her step-father caught her, she can’t completely recall what happened, but she remembered locking the door, she can remember putting the car into reverse, swinging out into the road as he chased after it, and the next thing she remembered was a loud crash, and the sound of the engine revving and the spider web cracks forming on the bloodied windshield as she sped off.

that was two years ago, two years and she still hasn’t even attempted to return home, to call, to figure out if her step-father was okay or not… she’s been living in starlit semi-happily, spending her nights partying and sleeping around just like she had back in arizona, making easy cash by selling herself and selling her art.

she’s the usual culprit for all the graffiti around starlit, an avid fan of street art and a struggling artist, she’s constantly walking around in paint covered clothes with spray cans in tote.

TLDR: so basically malia is a spray can toting sarcastic little smart ass who is an insanely good friend and self-deprecating human being. she sleeps around for fun and for money, spends her nights drunk or high, works off nights at the fremont street experience doing street art. while loyal she can still be selfish, something she doesn’t really mean to be.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

THE CONFIDANT: the sole person malia trusts. though trust is used lightly. she trusts them enough to talk freely, to share how she feels more than she does with anyone else, the one person she finds herself actively searching for, her only true friend... she’s loyal to them above all else, and she tries not to spoil it, though she figures knowing her it’ll get fucked up in the end.

THE EX: There was a period of time where Malia attempted to love another. though she couldn’t find herself falling into place like they wanted, they were perfect, better than she could’ve asked for, and yet she still found her eyes wandering and after a few mishaps, they found out she was sleeping around, they don’t speak much now but when they do it’s never good. 

THE FREQUENT FLYER: Malia tries to keep work from following her home, but after a drunken desperate night for this starlit resident and her, she found herself making an easy twenty bucks for practically nothing, and they’re not bothersome, most of the time the poor soul just wants someone to listen to them talk. 

that’s really all I can think of in detail but any sort of plot connection can work with malia, friendships or enemies, people who hate her because she slept with their boyfriend or girlfriend, people she fucked over because they liked her and thought they had something and she just ghosted, whatever your heart wants I am honestly down for.

#starlit:intro #domestic abuse tw #statutory rape tw #abandonment tw #prostitution tw #drug abuse tw #alcoholism tw #car accident tw #implied murder tw #death tw #now i need to go do dylan's cause i am trash

[dylanmoss]

Here I am finally, with Dylan’s intro. Just like last time i’ll be sure to include any triggers below, and if you’d like to plot with my glitter boy just hmu or like this and I will come to you! 

TW: manic depression, suicide atempt, drug use & abuse.

AESTHETICS: 

scooby doo band aids around fingers, scraped knees and palms, messy curls in need of a good brushing, red and puffy eyes, goofy smiles and bubbly laughter, hand clasped tightly around one of an older distraught looking woman, conspiracy theories and endless questions, tilted head and puzzled expressions.

( his actual aesthetic board on pinterest is here !!! )    

BACKGROUND: 

dylan is probably one of my favorite male muses yet, he’s just a complete angel. he grew up in california, though he and his mom moved around a lot ( typically lived out of their RV ), never really stay in one place since she had always been a bit of the hippie type, and she followed her ‘heart’ more than common sense. dylan’s never really had a real father figure, the men in his life are constantly in and out like a revolving door, each one leaving his mother more broken than she was before they were around. after a bad break up when dylan was about six his mother attempted suicide, landing her in the hospital and being diagnosed with manic depression, something she’s always struggled with, and something dylan helps take care of for her as best as he can.

because of his mother’s diagnosis and the loss of his only father figure, dylan took it upon himself to start taking care of his mother. he started working odd jobs, doing anything he could to keep money flowing into their home, to keep his mother as safe as he could. he still went to school, still had a life as best as he could, and still remained the same positive and happy-go-lucky stoner skater he was.

he and his mother made it through high school fine, he was on top of her pills, and she was getting better, being able to look past the fogginess, past the impulses, and be the mother that he needed, the mother that he loved. and he loved her so much in fact that the day he graduated he decided that the two of them needed to get back to their roots, back to what his mother loved, and that was to travel. 

just like before they never stayed in one place long, traveling here and there, seeing all the sights they could, expereince all they could out of life, until they finally ended up in the parking lot of the starlit motel. they both fell in love with the motel honestly, be it the people, the close knit vibes, the cheap rent, and of course the lovely man davie, who dylan’s mother was awfully fond of, they decided to stay for awhile, and so far four months have passed and neither of them seem to bothered with leaving just yet. 

dylan can often be found around the RV lot of starlit, zig zagging around on his skateboard, joint dangling from his lips that are forever painted with a smile. he’s the human form of sunshine, and he doens’t have a mean bone in his body. 

TLDR: dylan is a stoner king who’s the male version of bubbles from ppgs, he loves his momma more than anything and she’s a NPC that your muse will often see around the motel, especially around Davie’s RV *wink, wink*.

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

THE STONER BUDDY: it’s easy. careful and fun. the two just enjoy sharing quality bud. they get high, they go over each others lives like they’re studying for tests, and they share thoughts on the billions of conspiracy theories dylan’s thought up in his spacey little brain. 

THE CRUSH: dylan falls in love with any pretty girl that smiles at him. it may not be real love, but he is constantly glued to your muses side, and it’s painfully obvious, and your muse probably enjoys it, maybe even leads him on a little, because he is a sucker for a pretty face.

and honestly anything can work for dylan, past hookups, fwbs, frenemies though you won’t get much hate out of dylan he cant conjure up the attitude for it, but whatever ideas you have just fling them at me and i’m down.

#starlit:intro #manic depression tw #suicide attempt tw #drug abuse tw

[tsvndre]

so funny thing, the last time i joined this group i said i hadn’t rped in a long while and fast forward to now, i again haven’t rped in months, i am still little RUSTY, so bear with my ass while i figure out how to whip it into shape ( a dirty joke just popped into my head over that wtf ).  pls be gentle with me i’m clearly very innocent. i did this intro in bullet points and did not organise them at all whatsoever. this is either going to be genius or trash, my bet’s on trash, bc i mean have u met mi, i’m a bigger mess than my muse.

( dacre montgomery | he/him | cismale ) hey, you hear ( house in l.a by jungle ) playing over on the ( 2nd floor )? that’s where ( hale ocean ) lives! i heard they moved in from (westwood, los angeles, california ) exactly one week ago. they’re very ( perceptive ) but also pretty ( reticent ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( catalyst ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 24 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here!

aesthetic: black leather, brown boots, cigarette hanging from plump lips, dark aviators with gold rims, palo santo, plush carpets, golden sunlight reflected off dusty surfaces, matte metal flask, sleek wood, brick walls, guitar case, fat passport with fraying edges, b&w photos

i took the little song choice super seriously so he’s pretty much from goddamn L.A because of the goddamn song, i literally hate me

he is the illegitimate son of a washed up actress of yesteryear, VICTORIA MERCHANT she was the IT girl back in the day, but alas! scandal hit, and she became irrelevant save for the occasional “where are they now?” tabloid feature.

i mean she had him with a dude ( a european photographer ) she wasn’t married to while married to someone else & this was the era where everybody loved to paint women badly the moment they make one mistake.

therefore he SORT OF grew up out of the spotlight, he doesn’t look anything like the bundled up toddler in his mother’s arms the tabloid used to shade her with anymore.

if he does get recognised, it’s usually with much skepticism, and it’s easy to brush them off

he has an odd relationship with his mother — it’s certainly not conventional, it’s difficult to contend with the shadow of her existence looming over him everywhere he goes. she may be irrelevant now, but people still know her name and will talk about her like she’s some long lost lover. 

has two half-sisters ( his mother’s LEGITIMATE children ) they have an okay relationship. the world’s okay-est siblings tbh.

he is also a decent cook

he moved out at 16 because why not — struck out on his own, so don’t expect him to be a glamour-freak, he’s independent, standards might be a little higher but hey give the guy a break, everyone around him was rich

but he’ll still live in a trailer eating skittles and bacon for breakfast over a beverly hills mansion any day

to be fair he had the life you’d think he’d have... teenager off on his own, the wild times, parties, drinking, sex.

it was easy to play into the dirtbag trope, steal a man’s girl for kicks, just to see if he could swing it, but that stuff gets old.

now he’s just jaded by that life, and has decided to have standards ( he has a very strange definition of standards though )

he loves being not-famous in LA (not)

very very difficult to get to know — he is reserved, enigmatic, borderline a permanent grump, but you didn’t hear that here

vindictive — this one bears grudges. selective grudges. he has rot in his bones and he allows it to consume him, stewing in resentment, building the sediment and coal, biding his time until a match is lit one day 

he’s in vegas and at the motel because he’s trying to write music and damn friends and mother won’t leave him the fuck alone, but this doesn’t mean you’ll always hear him from his room and doesn’t mean he’s trying to make it big — his reasons are a little more complicated

it’s not going very well, the desert is strange, but he’s only just got here so who knows

as you can probably see I haven’t thought this through 100%, but if you got wanted connections or wanna plot hit me up — i am literally down for anything.

#starlit:intro

[gotatext]

yo, im not gonna lie guys, im super drunk, so this bio is like.... completely ocpy and pasted but;.... pls plot with me..... im so excited to bring this baby here.... i feel it is the perfect place to write her and i hven’t had the chance to in so long ..... love me..... and greta........ please im so excited this is back, last time i played jack..... n willow??? i think....... maybe archie too...... dont even remember...... who i fuckin played..... but i was here...... and queer..... loud..... and proud..... god this dumb bitch needs to sleep.....

GRETA O'DRISCOLL

20. born in marfa, texas. luvs wearing gingham print dresses and cowboy boots. vert into art and pornography, and particularly the combination of the two. wants to do a PHD on gender studies and female autonomy in porn.

( kristine froseth | she / her | cisfemale ) hey, you hear ( young lady, you’re scaring me by ron gallo ) playing over on the ( rv lot ) ? that’s where ( greta o'driscoll ) lives! i heard they moved in from ( marfa, texas ) exactly ( four months ) ago. they’re very ( zealous ) but also pretty ( erratic ). maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the ( libertine ). starlit is full of people, but this ( 20 ) year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nora | 23 | she / her | gmt )

personality: easy-going, deceptive, manipulative, self-reliant, profound, amiable, nihilistic, self-serving, laid back, independent unmotivated, self-corrupting, charming, lazy, impulsive, alluring.

likes: art, music, philosophy, DC comics, arcade games, candyfloss, fish and chips on the beach, deep red lipstick, marijuana, dogs, Kate Moss, late-night strolls, chemistry, suspenders, cigarettes, herbal tea, gallows humour, cold coffee, long showers, brown eyes, tchaikovsky, dr. seuss, DJ sets, magnolias.

dislikes: bananas, coffee, mental mathematics, children, misogyny, the imaginary future, literature, Wes Anderson films

muse tag

pinterest

aesthetics: a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

cliffsnotes on biography

 - she’s called greta (under witness protection), and she’s a serial dater. she’s incredibly restless and doesn’t settle. before she came to seattle, she’d lived in 8 different cities in 3 years. born into a single-parent house with two older sisters so always surrounded by women and as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention  -   every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result everyone from her past views her as a completely different person depending on when she met them.   -   she’s been involved in a series of destructive relationships because when people discover she’s not who she pretends to be she often gets explosive and defensive.  -   (tw gun) she’s now under witness protection and moved to connecticut because she shot a previous boyfriend in self-defence and his family are trying to have her done for murder, but she got tired of being moitored so is now even on the run from the police / her faked identity.  - easy to get along with (provided you don’t anger, provoke or question her too much) because she WANTS your character to be entralled by her and will do whatever it takes to win them over. she wants everyone to love her   -  big into sports. big into gender politics. big into art. does a lot of art installation pieces to do with female and queer bodies. massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune. big fan of the honey bee.

full biography

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your bosom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out. 

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and daredevils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six-pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three-hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty-five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wildfire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you make your name as a downtown singer while he foots the bill with pills. they have a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you live like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self-defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to vegas where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#starlit:intro #starlit:ooc #pls plot w me im going 2 sleep but.... will reply tomorrow #spam me with ideas i LIVE for that shit x #⥂ greta o'driscoll. ╱ musings.

[isasodas]

( amanda arcuri | she/her | demigirl ) hey, you hear wannabe by why mona playing over on the 1st floor? that’s where isa sosa lives! i heard they moved in from red cloud, nebraska exactly four days ago. they’re very intuitive but also pretty blunt. maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the occultist. starlit is full of people, but this twenty year old is really going to liven things up around here! ( nomi | twenty one | she/her | est )

ayo everybody it’s ya girl nomi coming at you a second time with my chaotic bby isa! i love her and i rarely get the chance to play her so i’m honestly hype. down bellow is the nitty gritty about her! please give this post a like and i’ll slide into your dms, but tbh i’ll probably do that anyways skjdsjk

SHORT BIO isa’s actual bio is long as hell and also in a really weird format idk why I did that to myself but anyways here is the short form

isa lived in a small town in nebraska pretty much all her life. she was raised by her (horrible, neglectful) mother alone until she was six and her mother abandoned her. she was then taken by the police and given to her grandmother because her father has never been in the picture

her aunts and grandma literally never knew who this man (her father) was either??? like literally no one knew who he was and everyone was honestly convinced that even isa’s mom didn’t know for sure either if you know what i mean like? isa still doesn’t know who this man is until this day and tbh she doesn’t really care

isa was taken in by her grandmother (gemini or gem for short) and aunts ( persephone and venus) and pretty much raised by the three women above their family shop 

the sosa’s owned a fortune telling shop that also sold new age merchandise like crystals and talismans etc. isa actually comes from a family of ‘psychics’ (like her aunts are fortune tellers, her grandma was one, her great grandma was one, etc. the only one who really broke the pattern was isa’s mother) so she was always kinda surrounded by weird things and told weird things.

she worked front desk at her family shop since she was about six and would honestly probably still be working there if she didn’t move. was the worlds worst receptionist for years. 

anyways isa was bullied pretty heavily during school when she was younger because she was different. she didn’t really act or dress like the other kids did so they picked on her until isa basically put a stop to that by pretending to cast a spell on a girl who was bullying her. she used pigs blood that her grandmother helped her get from the butcher (her grandmother actually helped her come up with the fake spell if that tells you anything about their family) and some really impressive acting for an eight year old in her little performance so yeah people left her alone after that pretty much for the rest of her school career. she probably traumatised that little girl a bit too big rip

so yeah isa never really had many friends through school, a bit of a social pariah, you know how it goes uNTIL she left nebraska and made some of her closest friends, but i am waiting for said friends before i write up how she met all of them!

before finding her little crew isa’s closest confidant was actually her grandmother growing up. isa still calls her often to let her know what she’s up too. she’s one of the few people who completely understands isa in and out

isa ended up leaving nebraska for art school on a scholarship she never in her wildest dreams imagined she’d get. while she was in art school she was working as a personal assistant for a billionaire art curator who was a dick tbbh i’m not going to even lie. he was horrible to isa and everyone else, cheated people out of their money, stole art, took from charities, the whole lot of it so isa started a plot with some of her friends to rob the asshole blind, and that’s exactly what they did. now they’re here at starlit a few million dollars richer and trying to lay low. isa honestly is no stranger to stealing, honestly she’s a bit of a klepto, but this is the biggest robbery she’s ever done. she’s not particularly nervous about getting caught because they did cover their tracks really well so she’s kind of treating this like a little vacation even though she shouldn’t smh

CLIFFNOTES

born io salma sosa (yes she was named after the moon)! has gone by isa since her aunt gave her the nickname as a kid though. uses she/her pronouns although she doesn’t fully identify as a girl.

Isa true love is art. you can pretty much consistently catch her doodling. 

Speaking of doodling, lets talk about doodling on things you shouldn’t (what a smooth transition amiright), Isa is lowkey a graffiti artist. She’s one of those people who thinks that art shouldn’t be contained and that it should be free, so she tends to spray paint and draw everywhere. She has yet to get caught but not from lack of trying on the police’s part. Isa tends to cause a fuss wherever she goes with her graffiti considering that Isa’s art tends to be creepy to say the least (she tends to go for the gory and freaky over the pretty) and people tend to take pictures of it, put it on instagram and twitter and the like. Isa’s actually made quite a name for herself in the online community, with people commenting on her art and discussing it (kind of like banksy but nowhere near as big). They tend to refer to her by a few different names (scythe, tweek, creep, etc) and they have really yet to decide on one. Isa, being the troll she is, occassionally joins the online debates for fun (if you were wondering, Creep is her favourite)

Like I said, Isa is a bit of kleptomaniac (she used to steal out of necessity, and she still kind of does when necesarry (although she won’t have to as much now considering she’s Rich), but sometimes she also does it for fun), and she doesn’t actually have the healthiest relationship with her emotions (which is what tends to happen when you know, trauma happens) but like catch this girl at therapy over her Cold Dead Body, she’ll die before talking about her feelings she really will

Like I said earlier, the Sosa family are psychics and sell new age retail (you name it they have it and they’ll at least try to con you into buying it.) that said, honestly, they aren’t real psychics. One of Isa’s aunts knows she isn’t and has gone full con artist with the whole thing, and the other thinks she can really see and sense the future which is just a whole other thing but ANYWAY isa is kind of in between them. she doesn’t fully believe in everything but she will charge you a twenty to read your aura yk

apparently chaotic evil according to a test i did one time so there’s that. also an aquarius

has the emotional range of captain holt but like if captain holt was a tiny latina yk

also only 4″11?? not even five foot?? amanda arcuri is tiny af y’all

fun facts: loves aliens, is bi as hell, is also a vegan, very liberal as you might guess, has picnics in cemeteries and might lowkey seem kind of emotionless but i promise she wants to be your friend so please hmu if you wanna plot, although knowing me i might just hit you up first

WANTED CONNECTIONS ;

exes (maybe a past hookup that’s kind of like a ?? what are you doing here situation? also maybe even a full on we dated and broke up what are you doing here situation. i haven’t settled on where isa lived after nebraska and prior to living here so this is open to everybody because isadora sosa (not her name but dfmdf) is bi as hell send tweet

a Muse (someone who  isa kind of makes isa itch for a pen yk? isa could be secretly drawing them from afar while she’s bored at the hotel.)

party friend (isa likes to party a lot more than most would expect so if anyone wants to get high and host parties in the hotel room with isa or even go out dancing with her she’s down) cliff, abba

enemies (someone who hates isa that isa is just kind of ??? about because isa doesn’t understand conflict a lot of the time tbh)

someone for isa to influence i guess?? isa kind of tends to be on the morally grey side a lot of the time sO KJDJKD if anyone wants to allow isa to drag their muse into some shady situations step right up elsie

partner in crime (isa’s already got her girls but i figure this person specifically will sneak out of the hotel with isa at night and help her tag maybe? maybe this person is a fan of isa’s online graffiti personality?? idk i feel like this could be fun) malia

fwbs, neighbours, and anything else under the sun i’m hype.

#starlit:intro #i.s. | intro. #wow this took amsms a hot minute #but here she is!

[abba-dovche]

Hello Neighbors,

Lily Maymac | she/her | cisfemale | hey, you hear going to hell by the pretty reckless playing over on the 3rd floor? that’s where abbadon lee lives! i heard they moved in from New York City exactly three months ago. they’re very bubbly but also pretty reckless. maybe that’s why davie keeps calling them the wild child . starlit is full of people, but this twenty one year old is really going to liven things up around here!

TW; drugs alcohol sex ect ------------

Abba grew up in New York City, but she didn't have the best upbringing since she never knew her father and her mother was a drug addict.

She was tossed from home to home until she was 16 and ran away.

She dabs in psychedelics, and loves to share her weed.

Flower child, feels like she is one with the universe and practices Wicca.

Sarcastic, zero filter but has a large heart once you get to know her.

Probably an alcoholic

Slightly Sadistic

Has come to Starlit to lay low from some enemies she has made in her criminal life.

Abba use to work in her local strip club ran by the mafia before she robbed them blind one night.

Please come plot with me, I can't wait to meet everyone! We can have a floor party..!

#starlit:intro #starlitshq #mynewfambam #trigger #tw