#or will they fall in love with the neon lights and the nonstop action and decide they were meant to be a city dweller?

[gonksinlove]

started a nomad playthrough last night, meet my new V. I already love them so much 🥰

[guiltswept]

WE'RE  MAKING  OUT  INSIDE  CRASHED  CARS  /  WE'RE  SLEEPING  THROUGH  ALL  OUR  MEMORIES  /  I  USED  TO  WASTE  MY  TIME  DREAMING  OF  BEING  ALIVE  /  (  NOW  I  ONLY  WASTE  IT  DREAMING  OF  YOU  )  —  MEET  BABE  MORI.

...content warnings for... parental & familial death, mentions of a car accident, night terrors, stalking, harassment, implied gun violence, and drugs.

profile.

full name — paloma mori.

nickname(s) — babe! that chick over there. friend :)

place of birth — blue harbor, illinois.

date of birth & age — august 13th, 1997. twenty7.

gender / pronouns — demi woman, she / they.

sexuality — bisexual.

occupation — stripper at tba. amateur taxidermist. scene queen. professional raver. PLUR princess.

astrology — leo sun, leo moon, leo rising.

residence — her family's apartment above their beer & noodle shop in cardinal hill. the apartment is a mix of fratboyisms ( liquor bottles as decor, beer boxes as wallpaper, led strip lights half - falling off the walls ) and babe's... everything ( random crystals and band posters, cheetah print, loose plastic beads in every corner because none of them vacuum enough... so many taxidermy projects ).

interests — stick and poke tattoos; giving and receiving. edm. "scenecore". bright, neon colors. never washing her eyeliner off. pop punk. whiny vocals. nostalgic cartoons. fun and silly taxidermy. cooking for her friends; cooking as a release. dancing, in all forms. candy. glittery stickers. cheetah print. sex and love, and sex without love. skateboarding. reacting impulsively. demonias. fishnets. graffiti and vandalism. adrenaline rushes and cheap thrills. doing what she's told not to do. living her best life even if it's doomed. beer. her grandfather's recipes. mdma. loud, crunchy, static.

aversions — admitting that she has a god complex. taking responsibility for her actions. the way she can't stop when she cries. being dismissed. not being adored and loved. being alone for too long; long periods of silence. people who take themselves too seriously. being shamed. taking her medication. sleeping; her night terrors. thunderstorms, though she says she loves them. muted colors. art museums. bras. when she's not the one to end the relationship. being confronted with the truth, or reality.

quirks — falls in love and/or lust too easily, and will spend weeks fantasizing and obsessing over one person at a time. never lasts long in relationships except for one that's constantly on the frays. has no volume control in public and speaks without thinking. can be insensitive at times. loves convincing others to get matching tattoos with her. kicks in her sleep ( when it occurs ). always says she can handle her liquor but is always the first one drunk. is minorly allergic to alcohol but it will not stop her.

most played — IN MY MOUTH by black dresses.

notable features — straight black bangs and even straighter hair that's always tangled in the wind. a collection of glitter that never leaves her face. a few lovingly placed beauty marks and a full bottom lip that's always bitten raw.

general disposition — electric, energetic; a nonstop force until she's simply not.

character study — ilana wexler ( broad city ) & juliet starling ( lollipop chainsaw ).

background.

parental death / car accident; she's raised by her maternal grandfather and uncle, smack dab between her two brothers - their parents died in a car crash when her younger brother was just a baby, babe still too young to remember them much, or the accident that took place.

they live in a small apartment atop their grandfather's restaurant - a small noodle & beer shop that welds just enough profit for them to get by.

has been called babe her entire life - sometimes her grandfather says its because after her older brother had watched the movie of the same name, he thought she looked so pink and pig - like.

night terrors; is diagnosed with night terrors at a very young age - her cries and screams wake their household nightly, tiny limbs thrashing about like undergoing an exorcism. every night, on repeat - again and again. sleep paralysis becomes common - strange figures always lurking in her doorway, fingers curling over her doorframe - insomnia after that, because babe can no longer stand to sleep.

as a kid there's only so many explanations to her diagnosis - none feel right, a girl always in denial - settles on the belief that maybe she's a medium. that maybe what she sees are just spirits reaching out for her - wanting her help. she's so young, her family just thinks she'll grow out of the belief - but she never does. it's better than acknowledging the truth - of the deaths she's tethered to.

grows up the weird girl - the girl who talks to nothing, the girl who says she's really seen bloody mary in the mirror - the girl who's always bruised from taking a fall from her skateboard, over and over again - the girl who never learns. the girl who set the robotics club room on fire, and was banned from competitions from there on. always plenty smart - but terrible at utilizing it.

death; her grandfather dies shortly after babe's high school graduation - and college seems like a distant memory. she'd been serious about it, once - but now she needs to help out where she can. her uncle's taking over the restaurant with her oldest brother in tow - her youngest already picking up jobs when he should be studying. babe hates to see them struggle - hates how palpable the grief is in the air, how thick it is - how she can barely breathe.

she gets a job at the strip club as a dancer - she's young and charismatic, muscle built from years of roughhousing - it reels in plenty money, enough to help out her household and have some leftover. she picks up taxidermy classes, because college still seems so far away - babe knows how to move forward, but not how to pick up the pieces and continue where she's left off - dozens of projects left half - finished, plenty of relationships dropped without warning. the only constants are her best friend since diapers, practically, and the boyfriend she breaks up with, but never truly leaves. she's known him for so long - it feels impossible to ever really part.

stalking / harassment / gun violence; years later - babe's a known face at the club with a plethora of regulars, customers who adore not just her body, but her personality, who respect her - who pay her plenty. a new customer begins to get a bit too - affectionate towards babe. too close, too interested. the club's good about discomfort - and he's escorted off premises after he tries to follow her into the dressing rooms. it doesn't end after that - an obsession that carries outside of the club, that follows her - he follows her, to and 'fro - the police useless, because he hasn't touched her - and when her oldest brother finds out, he decides to take matters into his own hands. the man doesn't die - but he comes close to it, and when the police come knocking this time 'round - it's babe's uncle who steps up; who confesses to the crime. a crime he hasn't committed - but will protect his family from.

it's been a year since then; her oldest brother's taken over their family's restaurant - and the guilt swallows babe daily. she's only semi - recently gone back to work, much to the protest of her brothers; her oldest brother still upset about her decision, and still not talking to her.

facts & temperaments.

has unironically called herself an empath and in her defense she sort of is. feels emotions so so deeply that they hurt. a big crier, can't help it. tends to let them get the best of her - an irrational thinker who always jumps to conclusions, whether it's about you loving or hating her.

a little performative, dramatic - feels like she needs to be, like if she's not a caricature of sunshine then she's just the girl with a should - be - dead stalker and an incarcerated uncle. the girl with the dead animals, and the profuse swearing of mediumship.

a big - time partier, a known raver; self - proclaimed scene queen. always wearing rave attire, even in the cold - loves big, bold colors, the more neon the better, her arms consistently covered in kandi that she gives out like candy to her most favorite people of the week, sometimes the hour.

drugs; big big big on psychedelics and like. party drugs. loves poppers. will never admit that she has a problem - thinks she can always just reel it in.

has probably said rawr :3 in the past 24 hours.

loud and bold and talkative - isn't afraid to point out things that others may not; doesn't get the hint when to shut up. a bit of a blabbermouth, but she can't help it.

needs to be validated often that she's still liked and loved and adored, it's a bit of a problem. tends to latch onto others and form the occasional obsessive attachment. it's no big deal. sometimes it lasts for days, sometimes months. she finds most people interesting, and sometimes the most random things draw her in. thinks there's more beneath every person and she wants to know Every Layer.

a little hypersexual - a coping mechanism to deal with. Everything. but also just loves love! will also get incredibly jealous at times, but it's almost as a joke? but only babe finds it funny, and only after everyone's like babe wtf? then she's like omg jk haha im not that possessive :3 (kind of is)

once again, a big crier - at minor inconveniences, at sad movies, at misunderstandings; even when angry, it's just more tears. purposefully wears mascara that runs for the aesthetic. has probably never taken her eyeliner off.

big on adrenaline - seeking and cheap thrills. loves the idea of overcoming danger. believes in ghosts and cryptids and probably wants to fuck mothman, experiences medium revelations like several times a day.

has several tattoos that are just the @'s of people she's fucked whether it's their instagram or twitch or what. she thinks it's funny. and it's like, girl? kind of matches how her shitty little honda civic that's always falling apart is covered in bumper stickers on the outside and like. actual stickers on the inside. like she's just vomited lisa frank.

downs several monsters or various other energy drinks a day. aforementioned car's floor is littered with the crushed cans and general. gross shit ngl. we love her though.<3

[thecutofmylove]

When You're High

Sad Alex Turner for my anon who requested

It was a warm Friday night. The sun had just begun to set over the tops of the buildings in the west, painting a pink and orange tinge across the sky as a sort of backdrop for the city. The top of the city was lifeless but down below, the concrete jungle was thrumming with life. The store windows were illuminated with neon lights and signs. The corner store with a small flickering ‘open sign’ caught your attention first before the array of color coming from a bar below. Several signs littered the windows, advertising music, alcohol, and darts inside. The other shops along with the corner store and the pub, like the tattoo parlor, the small tourist attraction, and the auto repair were casting a messy rainbow of colors onto the sidewalk while the street lamps rained a muddy brown onto the busy asphalt. People came and went beneath these lights, entering shops and clubs as the time crawled by while others climbed into taxi cabs in rout to apartment buildings and the motel six around the corner. There seemed to be no pattern to the way they all moved; not in masses and not alone. Each moving dot below had it’s own destination.

A clock displayed a dull red glow from the other side of your room. The empty apartment was partially illuminated from the light trickling in beneath the front door and you could barely hear what sounded like the murmurs of arguing from the room next door. It was an odd time for the neighbors to begin their scuffles since it was barely eleven o'clock. Most of the building’s inhabitants were awake, more than likely, and would surely give any loud occupants a piece of their minds.

You couldn’t make out what they seemed to be arguing about but you couldn’t stop yourself from comparing. It was uncanny how similar they sounded to you and Alex when he used to come home from a night of drunken escapades or when he used to call your phone nonstop at the earliest hours of the morning. They weren’t fond memories but you couldn’t prevent your mind from rolling over the usual events, or rather, what used to be the usual events.

You knew before his drinking had gotten bad that Alex was on a downward spiral. It started with weekends out, seemingly harmless until he would stumble through the door long after the sun’s gone down and trudge up the stairs to wake you from sleep. It was the same argument and the outcome each time; you would leave your shared bedroom and stomp downstairs to the bathroom where you would cry because even though his words may have been faulty, the pain was real. You would fall asleep after what felt like hours and you would clean yourself in the mirror the next morning. Alex would wake with little to no memory of what happened, he would apologize with roses or chocolates or whatever seemed fit, and you would go about the week acting as if nothing had happened.

After a couple months the drinking had escalated to every night. He would disappear for countless hours without a trace, still returning in the early morning hours, still stomping up the stairs, and still screaming but his argument intensified into wild accusations of you cheating.

Over the first few months you’d had plenty of time to swallow your pride, and so you would roll over and shut your eyes tightly, keeping a steady breath until Alex would finally give up and stumble out of the room. For those months it was him sleeping on the couch and cleaning himself up in the morning. He never stopped apologizing, but enough time had passed and his apologies began to mean very little until eventually they meant nothing at all. They became dead roses, melted chocolate, and breathy slurs.

You kept telling yourself you could salvage something and that your relationship was still manageable, but after the drinking came the drugs and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. His friends hadn’t noticed or hadn’t bothered to bring it to Alex’s attention, but he was becoming a shell of his former self. The nightly bar trips turned into a few beers and a rail of coke which Alex never lied about. He was truthful when you accused him of using drugs, he would just decline to state which ones.

It was during those drug filled months that you had stopped sleeping in your bedroom. You’d begun leaving after dinner and only returning in the morning when Alex was sober. He neglected to ask you where you’d run off to, because surely he’d noticed coming home to an empty bed, much less an empty house and you neglected to talk about it. And so, your interactions became few and far between. His touch was cold, his kisses felt hollow, the sex was meaningless, and he’d stopped telling you he loved you. Occasionally he would take you out during the day, usually to a diner and rarely would he ever take you anywhere else. It was because of this growing oddity that you began to doubt your relationship, and ultimately after you considered the options you decided it was never going to be okay. Alex was falling apart and he was dragging you down with him. It was inevitable, you had to leave and when you did Alex wasn’t there.

You had packed only your clothes into a small suitcase, leaving the rest of your belongings behind because you couldn’t bear to have the emotional attachment to who Alex used to be weighing your thoughts down. You took what money you’d managed to save and you moved into an apartment on the other side of town; no forwarding address, no goodbye letter, no attachments.

After you paid the first month in full you tried to rekindle your friendships but Alex had permanently severed ties and burned far too many bridges for you to count. Nobody wanted to speak to you and nobody was there to console you. You grew lonely in every sense of the word.

Sometimes, on nights similar to tonight when you were watching the people on the streets below, you thought you’d seen him walking. Each time you would feel a cold shiver down your spine and an intense stinging behind your eyes, but tonight was quiet. The people you watched showed no familiarity and showed no interest in the other bodies moving along.

You could hear your phone buzzing for the fourth time in a short span of time but you hadn’t found a reason to leave your seat on the windowsill. You ignored the message tone and continued watching. At least, you had tried. Even simple actions such as watching strangers on the sidewalk below reminded you of him. Despite your efforts to erase him from your life entirely, Alex continued to find his way back in both directly and indirectly.

It was a week ago when you saw him last. You were walking home from your favorite cafe and he had come from the smoke shop a few buildings down. Just as you walked in front, Alex had exited with his face buried in his hands and his eyes concentrating on the flame that licked at the end of his cigarette. He was maybe three feet in front of you, standing casually after not seeing him at all for what felt like years but had really only been three months. You’d thrown yourself into a state of panic and you remembered turning sharply on your heals and ducking in front of a man carrying a briefcase long enough to drape your scarf over your head. Fortunately you had made a clean getaway, but you couldn’t stop thinking about what may have happened if Alex hadn’t been so preoccupied. Would he have spoke? Would he have apologized?

Another pattern of frantic vibrating sounded from atop your nightstand. You tore your eyes away from the street and looked over to the bright light coming from the screen of your cell phone. You looked to the clock next, but the numbers appeared fuzzy. You wiped at your eyes with the heels of your hands and it was then that you realized you’d been crying. You felt stupid for having cried without remembering, but you weren’t going to think about it. You couldn’t afford to.

You inhaled deeply though your nose and finished drying your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. You couldn’t allow yourself to be upset by him anymore, you didn’t deserve that. So you wiped the tears from your hands on to your jeans and hastily pushed yourself from the windowsill to see who had been trying so hard to reach you.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the number you’d been trying so hard to forget for months. Alex was trying desperately to reach you.

-You up?

-Where are you?

-I wanna see you

-Why no answer?

-Text me so I know you’re ok

There were seventeen messages total but you couldn’t bring yourself to read any more. You had been working so hard these past few months to put everything behind you and to try and forget the year your relationship went sour, but here was Alex worming his way back into your life. It didn’t make sense. Why would he wait and why didn’t he chase you months ago?

You felt the burning behind your eyes growing and the threat of spilling tears became imminent as more messages rang through. Your phone vibrated four more times in your hand before you began to fill in the blanks. You didn’t need to read those messages to figure it out; Alex was drinking.

From the messages you did read, he didn’t seem like the same person you left and you wanted so badly to hold on to that sliver of hope. You wanted to call him and tell him that you’re safe and that you’ve been living in an apartment of your own. You wanted to tell him that you saw him a week ago, and that he looked good. You didn’t want to believe he was still using because you so desperately wanted the old Alex back; the gentleman you met at a local concert before he began the decent into despair, but you couldn’t. Somewhere in the back of your mind that little voice that told you to leave months ago was resurfacing. It was screaming for you to keep running-

More ringing and another message.

-I’m sorry

As the last message popped into your screen your eyes happened to catch the previous two unintentionally;

-Can we talk?

-Please?

A part of you, nearly all of you wanted to say yes; the same part of you that held on to hope that entire year because​ you couldn’t stop wishing for Alex to get help. You never stopped missing him, but it wasn’t the same person. He would never be the same Alex you fell in love with and no matter how badly you wanted, things would never be as they were because he was now the Alex who made you fall out of love and move out of your own house. He was the Alex that woke you up for an entire year screaming at you and accusing you of cheating with a different man each time. Alex may have been the man that once tied your stomach in knots and made your entire body tingle, but he was now the man that caused tears to spill from your eyes and a pit to form in your same stomach.

Your phone vibrated again, but this time you willed yourself not to look. So you turned it upside down and placed it on top of your nightstand, and you crawled into bed beneath the cold sheets, trying to generate enough warmth to get you through another night alone.