VORTEX.

the storm is coming; run for your lives. affiliated and indie friendly.

[danielsarmand]

001 character aesthetics: nathan prescott

i’m sorry

i’m so, so sorry

my life is   h e l l

[caligariedarchive-blog]

Throwing up an ad here, feel free to like if you’d like a plotted starter. This is moreso an invitation for me to send you a message regarding a thread. This’ll be uncapped for the meanwhile and I advise that you read this page before you consider liking this.

[caligariedarchive-blog]

“Despite everything, it’s still you.”

“I wish--”

“...Ha. I wish it wasn’t.”

[caligariedarchive-blog]

“The internet! I’m quite popular there!”

“Uhuh, pretty sure you have to be 13 or older to make an Instagram, kid.”

[ofhotheads-blog]

UNDERTALE starters

“…But nobody came.”

“I… I’ve changed my mind about all this. This isn’t a good idea anymore.”

“YOU! You’re standing in the way of everybody’s hopes and dreams!”

“I don’t want to break their hearts all over again. It’s better if they never see me.”    

“Despite everything, it’s still you.”

“Ah, the cactus. Truly the most tsundere of plants.”

“Go ahead. Prepare however you want. But when you step forward… I will KILL you.”

“It’s me, [name].”

“Wow! We haven’t even had our first date and I’m in the friendzone!”

“It pains me to say this, but… you should probably never come back here.”

“Maybe looking at this nice lamp will help you.”

“There is nothing left for us here. Let us erase this pointless world, and move on to the next.”

“They thought that he had killed the child.”

“Quit looking at me with that stupid expression. You’re pissing me off.”

“We’re all counting on you, kid. Good luck.”

“Nice day today, huh? Birds are singing, flowers are blooming… Perfect weather for a game of catch.”

“You can certainly find better than an old man/woman like me.” 

“I do not know if this is pathetic or endearing.”

“Oh. My god. I didn’t expect you to show up so soon! I haven’t showered, I’m barely dressed, it’s all messy, and…”

“You’re way better at dating than I am.”

“Get dunked on!”

“This is the power that the humans feared.”

“They must be here, playing a joke on me. I’ll just wait until one of them admits it…”

“…You really like hot animals, don’t you?”

“It was nice to meet you. …Goodbye.”

“On days like this, kids like you should be burning in Hell.”

“Remember. DON’T kill anyone. …I can’t believe this is a REAL thing I have to remind you.”

“…Why are you still here? Are you trying to keep me company?”

“You should be smiling, too. Aren’t you excited? Aren’t you happy?” 

“Don’t worry, my little monarch, my plan isn’t regicide. This is SO much more interesting.”

“What makes you think you’re in control?”

“Never come back here. You are not welcome.”

“Why does someone as great as me have to do so much to get recognition?!”

“You made your choice long ago.”

“Don’t you realize that being nice just makes you get hurt?”

“So you finally made it. The end of your journey is at hand.”

“I didn’t cry! I just… caught something in my eye!”

“You know what would be more valuable to everyone? IF YOU WERE DEAD!”

“Look. [Name] didn’t come to the meeting today. Say what you want about him/her/them. H/She’s/They’re weird, naive, self-absorbed. But [name] has NEVER missed a meeting. And no matter what time you call him/her/them on the phone… Night, day, afternoon, morning… He/she/they ALWAYS answers within the first two rings.”

“Anything you want to do is important enough. Even something as small as reading a book, or taking a walk… Please take your time.“

“[Name] hated humanity. Why they did, they never talked about it. But they felt very strongly about that.”

“WELL? Are you CHERISHING?! CHERISH HARDER!”

“If you… If you think I’m gonna give up hope, you’re wrong. ‘Cause I’ve got my friends behind me.”

“Perhaps we can reach a compromise. You still have something that I want.”

“Always wondered why people never use their strongest attack first.”

“No matter the struggles or hardships you faced… you strived to do the right thing. You refused to hurt anyone.”

“This is why I never make promises.”

“ …Why? Why are you being… so nice to me? I can’t understand. I can’t understand! I just can’t understand… “

“Honestly, fighting you IS pretty fun… So even if you ARE a sicko, I’ll take it!”

“Maybe you’d be better… at not killing anyone? Crazy idea, huh? Let me know how that one goes.” 

“Did I ever tell you about the time [name] flirted with me?”

“STOP PETTING THE ENEMY!”

“Now, I understand acting in self-defense. You were thrown into those situations against your will.”

“You’d better watch yourself, kid. Things are lookin’ real bad for you.”

“Are you ready? If you are not, I understand. I’m not ready either…”

“Oh my God! Will you two just smooch already?”

“Don’t you get it? There’s no such thing as happy endings. This is all that’s left…!”

“The internet! I’m quite popular there!”

“Do you think even the worst person can change…? That everyone can be a good person if they just try?”

“Don’t worry about it. Most of us have tried to kill [name] at one time or another.”

“Wowie! You did it! You didn’t do a violence!”

“Not everything can be resolved by being nice.”

“Don’t kill, and don’t be killed, alright? That’s the best you can strive for.” 

“Oh no! You’re meeting all of my standards!”

“Anime is real, RIGHT?!”

“Maybe you’re wondering if I ever get tired of winning… Wanna see my answer?”

“Sorry, I do not have much to say. It was nice to hear your voice, though.”

“This is all just a bad dream… and you’re NEVER waking up!”

“Down here, it’s kill or be killed!”

“I can’t come back. I just can’t, OK?”

“I so badly want to say, ‘would you like a cup of tea?’ But… You know how it is.”

“Would you smooch a ghost?”

“The truth is… [Name] wasn’t really the greatest person.” 

“Well, if I were you, I would have thrown in the towel by now. But you didn’t get this far by giving up, did you?” 

“You’re not really human, are you? No. You’re empty inside. Just like me.”

“Are you bored? I should have given a book to you. My apologies. Why not use your imagination to divert yourself?”

“I’ll hold victory in front of you, just within your reach… and then tear it away just before you grasp it.”

“Come on! Step forward and let’s end this!”

“Don’t you get it? This is all just a GAME.”

“Are those two robots…?”

“If you have some sort of special power… isn’t it your responsibility to do the right thing?”

“Stop plaguing my life with incidental music!”

“Self-defense? Please. You didn’t kill them because you had to. You killed them because it was easy for you. Because it was fun for you. Do you think it was fun when I found out…? Do you think it’s fun when people’s family members never come home? Is that fun? No. “

“I wish I had eight legs… so I could wear FOUR pairs of hot pants!”

“The more you kill, the easier it becomes to distance yourself. The more you distance yourself, the less you will hurt. The more easily you can bring yourself to hurt others.”

“RUN. INTO. THE BULLETS.”

“I can’t go to Hell. I’m all out of vacation days.”

“They just sort of showed up one day and…asserted themselves. The town’s gotten a lot more interesting since then.”

“Our king is really bad at names.”

“If it weren’t for you, I would’ve never gotten past him. But now, with your help, he’s DEAD.”

“Then why’d you kill my brother/sister?”

“I’ve done everything this world has to offer. I’ve read every book. I’ve burned every book. I’ve won every game. I’ve lost every game. I’ve appeased everyone. I’ve killed everyone.”

“What did you do to him? …What did you DO to him?!”

“…I don’t have the heart to tell her what you did. Do you know how she’d react?”

“You didn’t even need my help, which is great, ‘cause I love doing absolutely nothing.”

“I’m smiling and I hate it!”

“Do you wanna have a bad time? ‘Cause if you take another step forward… you are REALLY not going to like what happens next.”

“If we’re really friends… you won’t come back.”

“Did you really think I was gonna be satisfied… killing you only ONE time?”

“I remember when I first woke up here, in the garden. I was so scared. I couldn’t feel my arms or my legs…”

“Even after all this time, you’re still the only one that understands me.”

“Why do I always get the freaks?”

“It’s possible that you may have a problem.”

“What a terrible creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth…”

“I’m nineteen years old and I’ve already wasted my entire life.”

“If you’re so scared, why do you keep winking?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

[sandcvstles]

five-word sentences.

“ please just let me forget. ”

“ c'mon try to guess what. ”

“ just leave me alone already. ”

“ no, i’m not going to. ”

“ you can’t change my mind. ”

“ my mind is made up. ”

“ i’m not gonna let you. ”

“ don’t do that to me. ”

“ think about what you’re doing. ”

“ why aren’t you listening now? ”

“ i want to sleep forever. ”

“ you need to leave now. ”

“ i’ll always have your back. ”

“ now there’s no going back. ”

“ the view really is spectacular. ”

“ i didn’t think you’d care. ”

“ why can’t you trust me? ”

“ don’t even bother with clothes. ”

“ i don’t love you anymore. ”

“ i am a great person. ”

“ you are a tolerable drunk. ”

“ exactly, why are you awake? ”

“ i’m gonna ignore you now. ”

“ how is that not hilarious? ”

“ please just calm down now. ” 

“ i was already calm, asshole. ”

“ i can see your underwear. ”

“ i’m afraid you’ll replace me. ”

“ please stop losing your temper. ”

“ you can cry if needed. ”

“ you have to run away. ”

“ i just wanna be yours. ”

“ ashes, we all fall down. ”

“ i’m hoping you’ll understand me. ”

[caligariedarchive-blog]

[motherlode] mountains

[abovetheclub-deactivated2017092]

     the noises in her head are all some part of a cliche she doesn’t want to think on. the bells are tolling for him and the flutter of wings are fleeing to a place far away from here. when she closes her eyes, she can see the beach. she can hear the waves crashing down on cool sand and a voice, his voice, but she’s not there. she’s here.

     she’s still in a room with a boy she thought she knew and the devil.

Keep reading

[caligariedarchive-blog]

There is a world where she lays against the tile, unmoving and pale, those final remnants of misery in her eyes, her cheeks, her lips -- there is a world where they lay together, both having been hauled into the dark, both having failed one another. There is a world where she does this exactly, her fingers brushing against his cheek, and he unravels at her touch in a fit of sobs. There is a world where the devil lay at their feet, and he tells her he loves her.

Her hand rests against his cheek. Something stings at his eyes and threatens to flood his heart. She is the first thing he has felt in months. Nathan’s hand gradually comes to meet her own -- only to then pull away from her grasp entirely, as he decides that this will be a new world. It is a first: her living, him deciding, this not being about him.

The sunset of her smile, as small and subtle as it is, almost makes him regret it.

She says the words he’s been waiting to hear all his life -- the words that wound themselves around his neck, and brought them both here, at Mark Jefferson’s bloodied feet. He feels something, for a moment -- glances at her for 10 seconds or so.

But then he realizes, it doesn’t sway him, not this time.

He wonders if he’s grown up or if he’s simply broken.

He stands up of his own accord. Nathan’s back is turned to her. He wants to see her smile again, but he won’t -- it makes him more selfish than he already is. He is unmoving, and his gaze fixates on the metal door meters away from them both. His fists are balled against sides, and his knuckles fade white amidst the red.

“There’s a world,” he starts. 

“Where it is you.”

His voice is leveled and soft. It shouldn’t be, he thinks. But it is.

“It’s not s’posed to be. Never was. None of this...was ever supposed to be. But..but, haha, it happened. And you know why? Because I--I helped make it happen. I didn’t want to, god, I never fucking wanted to, but I did.”

The outline of the door blurs, and becomes one with the kitchen sink, the counters, the lights.

“I drugged you, Rachel. I kidnapped you. I killed him. Don’t you get it? I did this.”

This will be the last thing he says before the silence treks up his throat, before it claims him whole -- there is something warm trailing down his face and he brings the sleeve of his cardigan against his eyes.

“There are so many people,” his voice isn’t cracking -- it’s bubbling. Everything is bubbling up his throat. “Who love you. So fucking much. You don’t even...know how empty this place, this shit planet is without you in it. How many people who’d be...waitin’ for you, just...wondering when things’ll be whole again. Yeah, I know -- I know they don’t know the real you, they’re too stupid to catch the fucking hint. But...Frank, Chloe, the rest of those Blackwell bitches, without you, there’s--there’s nothing.”

I love you. I love you, so fucking much. More than all of them, every single one of them.

He rubs at his eyes, sniffs the slightest bit, and steps forward.

“I’m...driving you back to the dorms.”

“I’ll deal with the rest after.”

[caligariedarchive-blog]

Throwing up an ad here, feel free to like if you’d like a plotted starter. This is moreso an invitation for me to send you a message regarding a thread. This’ll be uncapped for the meanwhile and I advise that you read this page before you consider liking this.

[brittsmemes]

Name one thing you really enjoy about how I portray my character.

[roleplayers-ink]

A quick and easy plotting guide

[14swords]

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[caligariedarchive-blog]

[motherlode] mountains

[abovetheclub-deactivated2017092]

     finally, and for a moment, nothing hurts.

     there is no blinding light or rushed steps or painful aches. everything is dulling down to the thrum of her steadying heart. its beating is flickering—thump, th-thump, th-thump, thump—and her ears are drowning in white noise. she can almost make out the conversation, almost hear an exchange she wants to pretend isn’t happening but nothing hurts. it is dark and quiet in her head but her throat isn’t letting her compose herself. her nails scratch against her skin with a twitch and the pang wakes her up: this is real. please don’t ignore it.

     and, suddenly, there is noise and light in the darkness, but she’s not letting it hurt.

Keep reading

[caligariedarchive-blog]

It’s a haze -- her voice cutting through the gale, wracking the very room itself, Mark’s hands slithering around his throat, and then hers -- lies, lies, and more lies, the shatter of glass, the putrid stench of alcohol and copper. He realizes then and there that the storm has arrived at last.

I believe you, she says at first. No, no, no, he’s lying, he’s fucking lying, please--the words claw at his throat, pounding at the backs of his teeth, but instead he stands, mortified, fingers fidgeting, legs quaking in place. Tears sting at his eyes, his cheeks swelling with a dull ache, and suddenly he’s 4 foot 7 and got black, argyle socks up to his knees.

Mark hovers over her, and Nathan’s grip on the knife buried within his jacket tenses. He lunges at the sight of Mark’s fingers trailing up her collarbone and spiraling around her throat. It is too late, however -- his teeth gnash together, and he looks at Rachel, the fire that flickers in her eyes, the dried trails of eyeliner that stain her cheeks. His chest is alight, an inferno spreading across his fingertips, bubbling up his throat.

“Don’t you dare break your fucking promise on me now, you hear me?!”

Nathan looks at her as his brows come together and his jawline tenses, and decides that he will not be the 8 year old boy who makes a home in the shadows and trembles as the world passes him by. He will not be the voodoo doll, or the scapegoat, or the worthless brat. He will be the maker of his own doom, and Mark’s, and he will claim it as his own and only his own.

“I promise.” the words slip out through the gaps between his teeth, far softer than they should be -- but there is a resolve he has never known until now. 

There are voices pulling and grasp at the cuffs of his sleeves, dancing around him, low and malicious, the eyes are remorseless in their show of spectatorship, but it is drowned out by the sea of white noise. The handle of the knife, red like the red of his letterman, sits pretty in the palm of Nathan’s hand. Mark’s face looks best from his angle -- crimson complements him well, Nathan thinks. He jerks forward in some attempt to grip Nathan by the ankle, but Nathan decides that no, not allowed, and brings the heel of his foot down, harsh and unrelenting, onto his fingers. 

Nathan stoops down, crouched over him, one foot on one hand and vice versa. The knife is swiveled between his fingers and sheer panic ghosts across Mark Jefferson’s face, for the first time in his life. 

“Nathan -- Nate. You can’t, you can’t fucking do this. Aha--hahaha...! You, were so talented. So chockful of potential. You still are, doesn’t this prove it? Artists die but art never does. Think about everything we had...you’re not going to allow it to be wasted like this, will you? You fucking fa--” 

Silver drives into his shoulder, and the crackle of bone sounds beneath him. The scent of copper burns at his nostrils, and Mark lets out a strangled groan.

Nathan still trembles, even as he is above him.

“Rachel,” he starts. His gaze doesn’t meet hers -- it’s somewhere far beyond her. “Close your eyes...cover your ears.

Please.”

“Cameras...are...the eyes of god. I told you that. Nathan...Nate. I can forgive you for this -- I promise, you have...my word...! We can be together ag--”

 It drives through into his ribcage this time, and Mark heaves a pained breath, violently shuddering in his clutches. There is no white -- only red.

“Aha...haha....!” There are tears streaming down Mark’s faces, but they are not an ode to remorse or betrayal. They are a testament to fury, failure and suffering at the hands of his own puppet. He laughs with mirth, delight and torment, and tides of scarlet wash over the whites of his teeth and flow out from the corners of his mouth.

“Remember...!” He gasps, choking on a concoction of saliva and blood in the process. “That no one--” He is speaking with all that remains in his lungs, and his voice echoes against the constraints of this disgusting, dirty room. “No one will ever care about you the way I did. Not those entitled little Vortex shits, not that filthy whore, not your fucking father. No one, ha, no one--” It’s a blur. Everything is a blur, and there is something hot sweeping down Nathan’s cheeks, threatening to anchor him down alongside with them.

“Will love you the way I did.”

The knife grazes across Mark’s neckline.

“I know.”

It propels into his jugular, and the rest is a haze. The feeling in Nathan’s stomach, hands and feet have drifted out of his body and have taken residence in the air of the dark room. There is crimson -- so much crimson, and for a moment, he truly believes he is wading through a sea. It is splayed across his face, drips from his hands and stains his cardigan. The scent of sanitation and copypaper have been conquered by copper and nothing more. Nathan stands, and this time, he does not wobble back onto his heels.

He shifts out of his letterman and tosses it onto the couch. His phone is gestured towards Rachel. The white of his cardigan is red.

He will sob, and he will vomit, and he will think on how he is fated to be a monster when he has the time.

“You...can call someone. To pick you up.”

“I have,” his gaze flits over to Mark’s body, and then the floor. “Some...things...to take care of.”

[caligariedarchive-blog]

[motherlode] mountains

[abovetheclub-deactivated2017092]

     she’s surrounded by white and it hurts to keep her eyes open for too long. some part of her is aching, screaming out something filthy and vulgar because it feels dirty. she feels dirty. she doesn’t belong in this place.

     so how did she get here?

Keep reading

[caligariedarchive-blog]

I trust you, she whispers.

Her words are an empty weight, laced with a need for survival and sloped with the pain of betrayal. The room is suffocatingly small, closing in on them both with its white walls, black frames and tile. She trusts him and he knows well that she’s lying -- because at some point she did.

“Scissors,” he frantically mutters. “Scissors, I need to get scissors,” he continues. Nathan rises back onto his heels, and decides that he doesn’t need honesty right now.

His vision is blurred, the greys of the room merging together, but he clumsily darts towards the drawers, his shoulders hunched forward and his legs on the verge of giving out. Scissors, scissors -- no, knife, he sees red and swipes at it immediately, inching the drawer shut as quietly as his panic will allow him to. He is knelt before her once again, and silver slices through silver, her hands and feet coming apart seconds afterwards.

“Arms -- around me. We don’t have time,”

Rachel’s arm is wound around his shoulder, and he brings his hand to her thigh, heaving her up alongside with him. This isn’t like when they’re both piss drunk as the blindingly bright neon greens and reds of the party rain over them, this isn’t like when her legs are dangling over and across his own back in his dorm room, this isn’t like when she’s ‘too exhausted to live’ and ‘insists’ she needs help traversing that shitpit of a junkyard.

Sluggishly do they inch near the closet door -- her arm around his shoulder, her hip against his, the weight of her body secured by a single hand, and Nathan reaches for the handle. The door opens and the expanse of red binders unfold before them. This is different.

And it will never be the same.

“There isn’t much room in here, but--” His hands shake, fingers fidgeting violently as they do. They have been for a while now, he realizes. “You’ll fit. Don’t, don’t come out. You can’t. Not until the coast’s clear.” There’s the thud of feet on the stairway. “Shit...!” And the muffled slam of the closet door follows.

It’s cool, Nathan.

You could blow this place up if you wanted to.

You own this town.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

She’s alive, it’s fine, it’s fine, she’s alive, you own this town, he is nothing in comparison to you, he is nothing--

Nathan leans against the isolated counter, far off to the side, and Mark Jefferson is in the doorway. He doesn’t remember when and how, but he’s here, and he’s chased away the feeling in Nathan’s hands and feet.

“Nathan.”

He buries his hands into his pockets. 

“Nate.”

“...What...”

“Where’s Rachel?”

Something comes crashing down into the pit of his stomach. His throat is dry.

“She’s in the bathroom.”

“...Are you bullshitting me right now?”

“She--she had to go. What was I supposed to do? Let her piss herself?”

There’s a silence, and it’s hammering away at the little calm in him that remains. Nathan slowly motions towards the center of the room, blockading Jefferson’s desk.

“I’m sorry, okay!? I really, truly am. I--I didn’t know what to do...”

Jefferson shakes his head, his features (un)characteristically subdued as he gradually approaches him. The small of Nathan’s back presses against the ledge of his desk.

“Nate. I know how hard this was for you. How hard it was for both of us. And I know you didn’t want to do it, I promise you, I--...I didn’t either. But there’s too much at stake here.”

Nathan’s eyes drop towards the floor, unrelenting in its reflection.

“I’m proud of you, you know? For pulling through and doing this. But I need you to recuperate and see this out until its end. For me, your father, for both of us.”

The slightest bit of warmth surges into his chest, and he hates it.

“Come over here and tell me where she is, Nate.”

His nails claw at the palms of his hands.

“Syringe, in your left pocket.”

“...You--”

“Don’t come over here, Mark. Haha, I’ll make you--I’ll make you regret it...!” Jefferson’s gaze meets his own, and some slew of slurs is fired at him, but that matters so little now, matters so little as Nathan looks at him, his features numb and stony, hands gripping the monitor. It comes across the room, accompanied by a stream of torn cords, and is followed by a stapler, a binder, copypaper, pencils and pens, a DVD player, a glass. Jefferson recoils, an arm shielding his face as he lay against the floor, but Nathan knows well he will rebound in moments.

“Don’t,” he breathes “you, ever, TOUCH, ME, AGAIN.”

Embraces and bruises, Jefferson is at a distance and yet the ghosts of the past wrap themselves around him -- he is terrified that they will rise from the dead. Someone in this room already has.

[caligariedarchive-blog]

abovetheclub started following you

my mama said i have to come home right now immediately

[caligariedarchive-blog]

[motherlode] mountains

3/28

The skyline of the Hive comes apart, grey dwindling and crashing against the ground.

It phases through him, the booming bass of alternative pop, the saturated, blindingly candy red lights, the sway of hips and swish of tequila.

It is 3/28, and he lays against a white tiled floor, the red of his jacket reflected in its sheen. His joints are sore and there is a weight on his back. His vision is blurred, and he finds that he can only vaguely make out the outline of a silver desk, a jet black couch, a camera and the dreaded closet that expands across the wall.

He hears her -- hears her whimpering somewhere off in the distance, the corner of the room.

His heart beats with vibrato, pounding in his ears. He realizes it then. “What,” he mutters, face coming up to meet the open space that lingers before him. It reeks of sanitation and copypaper.

“How...the fuck...--”

It is 3/28.

“...Rachel?”

Nathan motions forward, fingers fidgeting against the floor -- he claws at the tile in some attempt to stand himself up. He is slow, so fucking slow, and his head bobs down twice the speed it rises up.

Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, the words ricochet against the constraints of his mind. It’s March 28th, and Rachel is alive, and he doesn’t know how, doesn’t understand, but he is on his feet, wobbling back on his heels, his hand braced against his face.

Mark Jefferson is nowhere to be found -- his legs quake. He is watching, always watching, but despite the frigid trepidation that pumps through his bloodstream, Nathan rushes towards her. She lays against the backdrop, motionless and in the fetal position, tresses of her hair spilling over her face. Nathan comes to his knees and grips her by the shoulders, sitting her up as he does.

“Rachel -- Rachel, you have to listen to me.” It’s a whisper, hushed and urgent, and he can feel the sweat on his hands. He pats at the back of his neck -- nothing yet, thank fucking god.

“I drugged you. I drugged you, okay? I’m fucking sorry. For all of this. I can explain everything later, but I’m getting you out of here. Everything, everything’s gonna be okay, I’m not gonna let him do anything to you, but you need to hide or else this won’t work.” There is shuffling above them, and Nathan’s eyes dart to the side, his grip on her still firm. He shudders.

“You can hide in the closet. I’ll take you there, just, put your arm around me. You have to trust me. Please, please, please, you have to trust me, or else he’s--he’s gonna kill both of us. I mean this, every word, I promise, so please--” he nearly blubbers, a hushed whisper now on the verge of a sob. “Trust me.”

@abovetheclub

[thepriceoflife-blog1]

His statement cut off, and for a moment Nathan Prescott, the rich boy who always had too many words in his mouth, was speechless. Chloe couldn’t say she was surprised, but it felt… empowering to see the confusion and fear pass through the others eyes. For once he was the one who needed to be scared. There were no more guns, no more drugs…

Just them.

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[caligariedarchive-blog]

Blue fades to red.

It stains everything -- his vision, his hands, his face, her. 

Blue fades into red, just as it did in the bathroom, just as it does here.

The passerbys look on, fingers tensely wound around their cigarettes, eyes wide with anticipation. The echo of her voice ricochets against the walls -- and his heart.

You killed Rachel Amber.

He is red -- the feeling in his hands fade, drifting off into the smog beyond them. Grey tides wash over his chest, pulling his heart into the abyss--it sinks into the ocean of his stomach. Concrete is now white tile. He can’t a feel a thing, anything aside from trepidation and the beat of his heart that is.

There is blood on the cuffs on his sleeves, and a weight slams into and against his jawline. He flinches, and there’s a vague, sharp pain, a soreness in his face, but he doesn’t feel it, not this time.

It’s painfully bright, the world around them, the flash of Mark Jefferson’s camera. Nathan stands, brings his hands to his face, and does nothing more than lean forward, nails burying themselves into his cheeks.

“Rachel,” he starts.

“Rachel. Rachel. Rachel, Rachel, Rachel, in the dark room.”

He heaves into his hands, shuddering with his next breath. Light peeks through the cracks of his fingers, and god does it fucking hurt.

“She was,” he gasps. “She was -- she was screaming,” he swallows the bile building up at the back of his throat. “She was -- on the ground. I think, I think I was too. I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know...! I keep, trying to remember, and I can’t. I can’t...!”

His hands motion up and down, erratically scrubbing against his face -- his legs quake more violently with every word.

“Everything -- was a blur. He was, yelling at me, I don’t know why, no, no, I do. There’s something sharp in my neck, but I know what that fucking was, it’s--” a noise escapes from his mouth, something indiscernible, reminiscent of a sob.

“It’s the same thing, every time, always. She’s screaming, and I’m on the ground, and I don’t what’s happening, I don’t know, there’s grass, and dirt, and rain and she wouldn’t wake up, I kept telling her to wake up, and she--” 

His face is wet, like the downpour of a storm. He doesn’t realize it, not until the snot dribbles down his mouth, and his words are slurring together and his mouth is hinged close by air bubbles mucus.

“I didn’t want to do it. Bring her there, he had a gun and he was going, to pin everything on me, everything, everything--” He fades out with the storm, far beyond them.

For a moment, he’s silent.

“You...you always...she always said...she wondered if you realized she was a person too, haha...you were always...fucking stressing her out over something...!”

“I told her to just -- fucking stop it, to stop putting up with it, putting up with you, and she said she couldn’t, she couldn’t, she could never let you go, I ask why, no Nate I can’t. I just can’t...!”

He stops, and his hands pull away from his face. His eyes are red, like his jacket, and the blood that trails from his mouth.

“He’s gonna come for us now, you know that. You and me, Chloe, we’re dead. He probably heard us. He’s watching us right now. He’ll kill me first, but then he’ll go after you too.”

...It’s gonna be over. The storm’s coming.”

[gatsnip-deactivated20260315]

Year 2016 Kill the Rich Kid

[caligariedarchive-blog]

🎷🐍!!

2D art! Nathan actually sketches and draws quite a bit – and is relatively skilled at it! He’s more proficient with photography and graphic design, but it is canon that Nathan had taken to drawing as a means of coping with trauma induced by the Dark Room…which also establishes it as likely that he had been drawing beforehand.

In his notes, he canonically draws strangely detailed emotes on the side, so! Once again, it’s more than likely. 

Nathan’s drawings, in accordance to my headcanon however, are abstract and grotesque in nature. He tends to not draw humans per se, at least not in…one piece. He’s got a liking for objectheads and monstrous, anthropomorphic creatures – ugly, strange creatures without voices.

On occasion, he’ll draw comics centered around these aformentioned objectheads and creatures. They never speak and said comics always revolve around how they serve as distant outsiders to the world, scorned by all for their gruesome appearances.

Here are examples of what I imagine his work to be like (take caution, as there is blood and the imagery itself is rather unsettling): 1 2 3