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shocktherapy (easterman/coyle) and hypnochromia (easterman/clyde) got me committed
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Avellanos calls Hendrick into her office for a peer review.
Hendrick Joliet Easterman & Alice Bradley Avellanos
Tags - Shock collar, Shock play, Erection, Voyeurism? Kinda I guess, but Avellanos is getting more than sexual gratification from this. Easterman is a FREAK, Shock play, Dry Masturbation, Hendrick's misogyny, Mentions of mark making,/Blood, They be discussing Clyde's death D:
A gift for @evilproxxy
Masterlist
“Do you know why you’re here, Hendrick?”
Of course he did.
Not that it was actually necessary, he was merely expressing himself.
What Silas Knisely did was utterly pointless, and showed just how weak he was in the human resources department.
God help Mount Massive.
Though Hendrick wouldn’t fight Avellanos on this just yet.
“Please, Alice. Tell me. Tell me what could you possibly want with me this late at night when it’s a time you aren’t getting paid.”
She straightened up in her chair, collecting sheets of paper behind her manicured nails. Most probably harassment reports. “Oh, I’m getting paid for this. It’s official Murkoff business. You’re the one who isn’t. So… shall we begin? Or would you rather ride your high down so we can do this sober?”
Sobriety. Hendrick dreaded to think.
“Of course you managed to wrangle extra pay from the board to do this. It’s to punish me.”
“Not punish, Hendrick. Investigate. I have several reports from Mr. Knisely on inappropriate contact, breaching personal space and public indecency during a meeting-I mean, what was going through your mind when you pulled it out and started touching it?”
Hendrick sat up in his seat, pulling out a cigarette for a long night. “A penis. Alice, call it what it is. A phallus, a cock. Surely you have more colourful language to use with me than calling a sexual reproductive organ, it?”
She didn’t give away an inch to Hendrick to inform him of discomfort, only her eyes trained on the paper instead of him. “It doesn’t matter. You and I both know what I’m talking about. So why did you do it?”
“An absent lingual frenulum. You know what that means?”
“Hendrick, I’m not interested in what scientific opportunities you might find. I only want to know why you’re sexually harassing Silas. That’s as far as this will go today. You can speak with the junior scientists, and the staff on things you want to look under the microscope. Just explain what you were doing.”
He ignored her. “An absent lingual frenulum encourages hypermobility of the tongue.”
A hypermobile tongue. The possibilities.
Hendrick did not have Clyde Perry to consult with anymore when looking for prospective prime assets. Knisley was the next best thing and in truth, he reminded him of Perry in a way. His physical appearance to be exact.
But back to an absent lingual frenulum. It excited Hendrick. When he first heard, he couldn’t contain himself.
Silas just so happened to be there giving him the good news. Hendrick couldn’t help that his body reacted the way it did, he was so easily swayed when it came to science.
Cold…hard...headed…science-
“Seriously, Hendrick?”
“Uh, what?”
Avellanos pinched the bridge of her nose. “An erection. Right now?”
He only noticed because she pointed it out. But, Hendrick’s cock was very much erect. “Come on, Alice. It’s just my body’s reaction to stimuli, a man must do what his body dictates.”
She sighed. But not the type from exhaustion, the one where it was supposed to make Hendrick look like a fool.
“A missing section of a tongue makes you this excited?” She rummaged through her desk drawer and pulled out a collar that must have belonged to a dog and several pieces of thick card. “Okay, put this on. I have a test I need to conduct. The board ordered it. Don’t give me shit on it, just do it.”
Avellanos was somewhat more tolerable when she was forward and domineering like this. More so perhaps if he wasn’t dropping off of his high. He doubted she’d appreciate another dose of Lysergic acid to his lips.
Hendrick picked up the collar and noticed an addition, drawing in smoke as he did so. It was printed with the Murkoff symbol on it. Little pins and pads attached to the inside.
“Seriously? A shock collar.”
“Put it on. It’s experimental, but it might stop you from touching yourself every five minutes during a regular conversation.”
“Science is the mistress of life, she’s proven to be selfish and unpredictable beside the calculations. It makes her all the more satisfying when a man puts in the effort to study her. She tears down outdated principles, solidifies new ones and is constantly changing. It’s tantalising.”
“Okay.” She practically ignored his passion, pulling out ink blots face up on her desk.
“The Rorschach test?” Hendrick slipped the shock collar on with limp wrists. “Really? You forget what my job is, Alice?”
She lifted one up and showed him. “Just do the test. If you get… aroused, i’ll shock you. Simple, right? And entertaining for me-“
The collar stung and made his body stiffen in the chair.
“Really, Dr. Easterman, already?”
Somehow, the ink blots looked different than he’d seen before.
He didn’t see a fox or a butterfly, or a figure standing in one particular direction. “Are you sure these are directly from Rorschach’s study? I don’t recognise these.”
“They are the exact same.”
A phallus, a penis, a cock. He saw it and it gravitated right to his crotch. Perhaps he was losing his mind. In light of that, he still palmed himself in plain view because he could.
He thought of his own cock, out and in his hand if he could. He could get away with murder under Silas’ eyes, because he was too afraid to do anything for himself and waited on Avellanos to do it for him. He wanted to be knuckle deep inside her if anyone was able, front of them lines batting them all off wit ha stick.
Hendrick bet he would prematurely ejaculate over himself if she just brushed past him.
Fool.
The collar shocked him again. Yes, it hurt him, yet the pain wasn’t something Hendrick drew from in a negative way. No, it tingled his senses, singed at his fingertips and made his brain smooth. Fiery.
“What did you see?”
“Nothing I can describe that would be appropriate for the ears of a young lady.”
Avellanos switched pictures. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve called me all week.”
It wasn’t true of course. To put it into perspective, Alice Bradley Avellanos was a tight fisted, penny-pincher on a good day. Oh, and she was a bitch too. It came with the territory.
“Consider it an early birthday gift.”
She snorted, holding up the next picture. “And this year, you’ll receive my gift to you in the mail.”
That meant it was never going to show.
Tight bitch.
“What a kind gesture.” Hendrick studied the next picture. “Now, let’s see.”
A phallus again.
This time, an idea wandered to his head.
I wonder what Perry’s cock would have looked like. I guess I’ll never know.
That same tingling made his cock twitch through the fabric, it was right there and Hendrick was mindful at touching. So he made eye contact, thinking of a dead man’s cock.
“Fuck!”
His legs trembled, fists clenched around the chair arms, stiffened to the point they cramped. The voltage at his neck started to burn and sizzle, he hoped it scarred. A constant reminder of his twisted humor.
“Hendrick. This is supposed to calm your urges down, not rile them up.”
Too late, he was fully erect with the electric eating into him, it turned off eventually and left him in a heap in the cushions of the fancy armchair she managed to wrangle without paying for.
He almost came too.
“Then get on with it, Alice.” His breathlessness did not ease his hardness. “The only one getting nothing out of this is you.”
“So, let’s be professional. A quick fire round. Every time you say something you shouldn’t, or I see your crotch enjoy this, I’ll zap you.”
In honesty, it was just a way for Avellanos to hurt him without any consequences from the board. The joke was on her, though.
She showed him another picture.
An absent lingual frenulum. “Her tongue-her tongue.”
“It’s a deer.”
“Shit.” He tensed his body up to await the voltage. Though it never came.
“Alice, where is-"
“I think this might be a better way of treatment. Maybe this will teach you to curb your urges like a good dog.”
“Don’t talk dirty to me. Give me the shock, it’s part of my therapy, right?”
“Always trust the therapy.” She lifted another picture. “What about this one?”
Peeved, Hendrick tapped his foot to try and kick the irritation. If she was going to tease him like this, Shem may as well torture him with it. He was certain he’d take this collar back to his office for some deeper exploration anyway.
This picture seemed different though.
One blue eye.
“Clyde Perry…”
Avellanos made the worst buzzer noise and false pressed the button. “Wrong again. it's a moth or...something. Though I suppose the therapy worked. Thinking of your long lost dog has got you soft. Did you love him that much?”
“Perhaps if he wasn’t so much up your ass and tight stockings, he would have been better use to me.”
“I don’t think not being up my ass would have helped stop that shuttle bus, Hendrick. It was you who let him bleed out.”
She pressed the button and this time it didn’t feel so fun.
Hendrick cursed, slamming his fist on the desk like it was somehow going to intimidate her. He wasn’t hard anymore. Thinking of Clyde Perry excited him until Avellanos decided otherwise.
“Oh look, your erection has gone down. I guess therapy really does work.”
“Bitch.”
Wriggling her shoulders like some shitty burlesque trainee, she winked. “Ooh, tell me more.”
“At least let me keep this thing?” He tried pulling it off but it wouldn’t budge.
“You can, Noakes made it, so I doubt the latch will work properly. I didn’t give him much to work with and I had to save money on the materials. It may have to be cut off.” She put the ink blots down and leant forward, arms on the desk like she owned it. “Don’t worry though, he made sure the remote has quite the reach, so whenever you decide to actually sleep. I may just accidentally turn it on.”
So this was full punishment. All for answering his body when It needed him.
“You wont give me an inch?”
“You’ll take a mile like you always do. Now, leave Silas alone, he’s bugged me more than enough already. I honestly can’t stand all these letters he keeps sending me. And these reports? So much work to go through that I don't need right now. This should be enough to get him to back off.”
One man who couldn't handle being at Sinyala, whining like a child on Christmas after receiving coal.
shocktherapy but easterman blatantly misses clyde and is just using coyle as a rebound. if clyde cant be present for shocktherapy he will haunt the narrative instead because easterman wants him instead and coyle Knows easterman wants clyde instead of him
“Every Room You Leave Behind”
Characters: Hendrick Easterman, Clyde Perry (ghost), Leland Coyle
Too quiet, save for the storm hissing against the windows and the low breath of a man trying to keep himself from unraveling.
Leland Coyle sat on the couch, legs spread wide, shirt undone at the collar, a vein twitching in his jaw as Hendrick climbed into his lap like something desperate—like something drowning. Coyle didn’t protest. Not at first. He let Easterman press in, let those hands claw for warmth he’d never quite learned how to give, let him cling like it meant something.
But Coyle wasn’t stupid.
Hendrick’s lips were soft on his throat, but his eyes weren’t even open. His fingers moved with a rhythm that wasn’t meant for Coyle’s body. There was a gentleness in his touch that made Coyle feel like a stand-in. Like Clyde Perry had only just walked out the door.
No—like Clyde was still here.
Hendrick’s breath hitched. Not from pleasure. From guilt.
Coyle’s arms tightened around him. “You gonna open your eyes, or pretend I’m someone else the whole fuckin’ time?”
Easterman blinked—but the moment he did, his pupils unfocused, just past Coyle’s shoulder. And there he was.
Clyde Perry.
Dead three weeks now. Gone in a snap of metal and bone in the underground tunnels. A smell Easterman still couldn’t wash from his hands. And now, appearing just left of center in the dim corner of the office, sleeves rolled, arms crossed, that smug crooked smile still carved into his face.
“Fuck,” Easterman whispered—not at Coyle, but at him. “I should’ve told you.”
Coyle stiffened. “Told me what?”
Hendrick didn’t answer. His gaze stayed locked on the ghost. Still bloodstained. Still impossibly beautiful. Hovering like a secret he never got to speak.
Clyde tilted his head and mouthed, Too late now, sweetheart.
Coyle shoved Easterman back to get a better look at his face—pale, sweating, glassy-eyed.
“You’re not here with me,” Coyle said, low and dangerous. “You’re here with him.”
Easterman didn’t argue. His hands curled into Coyle’s shirt, trembling.
“I needed—someone,” he muttered, and even he winced at the hollowness of it.
“You needed him.” Coyle’s voice cracked with rage, jealousy black and raw. “You miss that little freak so bad you’re making him up while I’m the one holdin’ you.”
“I don’t make him up,” Hendrick said. “He never left.”
Then a harsh shove. Coyle stood, letting Easterman crumple to the couch cushions. A pathetic figure in dress slacks and a half-unbuttoned shirt, still trying to grasp at warmth that wasn’t his to have anymore.
“You really wanna do this?” Coyle growled, motioning between them. “You wanna grind on someone you don’t even want?”
“I did want you,” Easterman said. A beat. “But not like this.”
Thunder cracked outside like bones breaking.
Clyde hadn’t moved. Still in the corner. Watching. Always watching. That smile curling deeper now. A cruel thing.
Coyle turned to the empty space and spat, “Go ahead, haunt him. He clearly wants it.”
And Hendrick, barely breathing now, whispered to the air as his vision blurred, “I’d let you. I’d let you if it meant you’d touch me again.”
Even Coyle didn’t have a reply for that.
Because it was true.
The silence stretched. Then boots on the rug, leather jacket shrugged off, Coyle looming over him again. “Don’t act like he was perfect,” he muttered, shoving Hendrick down with a rough palm. “You think he ever would’ve taken care of you the way I can?”
“Coyle—” Hendrick started, voice cracking, but Coyle pressed his mouth against his, teeth first.
“Don’t start.” His voice vibrated against Hendrick’s lips. “He’s dead. And I’m right here. I’m breathing. I want you. He didn’t know how to take you. He didn’t know what to do with something this fucked up.”
Easterman’s head tilted back as Coyle kissed down his jaw—hard, biting. Demanding. Each touch more cruel than the last. A protest flickered weakly in Hendrick’s throat, but it was smothered by Coyle’s mouth again. Tongue bruising. Possessive.
“Let me give you what you need,” Coyle growled, rutting against him, pinning his wrists down now. “If you’d just fucking let me—stop looking through me.”
Clyde’s ghost had moved.
He was now hovering over the couch, bent at the waist, eyes downcast. Close enough to whisper. Close enough to watch. Blood dripped from his hair, thick and slow—not real, Easterman tried to tell himself—but the red streaks landed wet on his cheek, sliding toward his lips.
Coyle didn’t seem to notice. But Easterman did. He always did.
“Tell me I’m better than him,” Coyle demanded.
Easterman said nothing. Eyes locked on Clyde’s empty ones. His lost love. His dead lover.
“You chose this,” Clyde murmured from above, his voice like a memory with teeth.
Coyle saw the flinch. Misread it.
“Fine,” he spat. “Then I’ll make you mine.”
With one sharp movement, he grabbed Easterman’s left hand-his delicate hand—and held it firm in both of his. A moment of tension passed before Coyle leaned in and sunk his teeth down into Easterman’s ring finger with a snarl.
Easterman screamed.
It was raw. Real. Blood welled instantly. Coyle bit until the skin split wide. Until he could taste the iron and heat and almost hear the scrape of enamel against bone.
“Fuck—stop—Coyle, stop!” Easterman thrashed beneath him, trying to pull away, his back arching in pain, in betrayal, in something tangled between grief and violation.
“You’re mine now,” Coyle hissed, pulling back with red slick on his teeth. “I don’t give a fuck if he’s in your head. I’ll carve myself deeper. I’ll be louder.”
Above them, Clyde’s ghost crouched, face inches from Easterman’s.
“You always wanted something that hurt,” Clyde whispered, blood dripping from the hollows of his eyes now. “And look who you let in. Look who you let win.”
Coyle was panting now, drunk on the taste of him. The doctor was a mess—shaking, bleeding, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t choose between Coyle or Clyde.
And in the ruined quiet between them, Easterman wept.
Not for Coyle.
Not even for himself.
But for Clyde. For everything he never got to say. For the fact that now, he’d never get to leave.
Because Clyde never left.
And Coyle would never let him forget it.
One moment Hendrick was clutching his injured hand to his chest, still reeling from the bite. The next, Coyle had rolled him over onto his stomach, shoving his chest into the cushions. The couch groaned under the shift, leather squeaking in protest.
“Don’t fuckin’ fight me,” Coyle growled, fingers already at Hendrick’s waistband, yanking his trousers down to his thighs. “You think I’m done? No, doc. I’m claiming you inside and out. You hear me?”
“Please—Leland…Stop—” Easterman’s voice was ragged.
“That’s right,” Coyle said, unbuckling his belt. “Beg me. Beg me, not him.”
Hendrick’s body went rigid, every muscle taut with dread and the ghostly presence pressing in on him. Because Clyde was there—kneeling by the couch now, close enough to touch. His cool, spectral fingers slid beneath Hendrick’s jaw, tilting his face toward that impossible grin.
“You let him do this,” Clyde murmured. “You wanted him to hurt you. You wanted someone to fill what I left empty.”
Hendrick squeezed his eyes shut, breath shuddering as Coyle pressed into him. The sound that escaped his throat was sharp and helpless.
“Every part of you’s gonna know you’re mine,” Coyle grunted. “No more ghost between us.”
Clyde’s smile widened, leaning in so close Hendrick could see the dead pallor of his skin, the faint shimmer of drying blood that would never wash away. “Oh, there’ll always be a ghost between you.”
Coyle drove forward harder, muttering obscenities under his breath, each one more like a brand than a word. “Mine. All of you. Fully. Completely.”
Hendrick’s fingers curled into the cushions, torn between pushing away and holding on. The ghost’s hand stayed at his cheek, thumb tracing bone as if in mock comfort.
By the time Coyle was done, Hendrick was limp—breathing shallow, shirt damp with sweat, trousers tangled around his knees.
Coyle pulled away, fastening his belt again. He looked down at the man sprawled before him—disheveled, used, staring somewhere far beyond the walls.
For a brief moment, something flickered across Coyle’s face. Almost pity.
Almost.
Then it was gone. Without another word, he turned and left, the echo of his boots fading down the hallway.
The room felt smaller now, the storm outside pressing against the windows like a living thing. Easterman’s breathing was too loud in his own ears, the pounding of his heart making the air pulse in his throat.
He hadn’t moved from the couch. Couldn’t. His trousers were still tangled at his knees, shirt rucked up his back, skin prickling from the absence of Coyle’s hands but still carrying the weight of them.
Clyde’s ghost lingered like smoke—shifting, reshaping, always there when Hendrick blinked. He stayed crouched at the edge of the couch, fingers ghosting over Hendrick’s cheek in a mockery of tenderness.
“Look at you,” Clyde murmured, his voice warm and poisonous. “All torn open and he didn’t even have to try.”
Hendrick swallowed, eyes fixed on the floor. “Don’t.”
“Don’t?” Clyde’s smirk deepened. “You’ve been waiting for someone to do this to you for years. I saw it in you the first day we met. You wanted to be owned. Claimed. Made small.”
“No I—”
“You didn’t stop him,” Clyde interrupted. “You didn’t even try.”
“I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Hendrick murmured.
Clyde tilted his head, studying him with that same unblinking stare. “You think I haven’t seen you worse?”
“That’s not—” Hendrick started, but the words collapsed into silence.
Easterman closed his eyes, trembling under the weight of him. “You’re not real.”
The ghost’s smile turned cruel again. “Neither is the part of you that’s still alive.”
And then the blood was dripping again—red that wasn’t there, falling in slow drops onto Hendrick’s cheek—as the storm rattled the windows, and the couch seemed to hold him tighter than any embrace ever could.
Clyde’s touch slid down the side of Hendrick’s neck, the chill of it making him shiver. “You think I didn’t see the way you looked at me when he took you? You liked the bite, the danger. You liked thinking he might snap you in two.”
Hendrick’s lips trembled. “I didn’t want him.”
“No?” Clyde tilted his head, leaning closer until his mouth was a breath from Easterman’s ear. “Then why didn’t you fight him? Why did you arch into him like you wanted more?”
Hendrick’s eyes stung, shame pooling hot and deep. “Because you’re not here. You’re dead. And I—”
“And you wanted someone to pretend to be me.” Clyde’s grin was all teeth now. “That’s what he was, wasn’t he? My shadow in your bed. My ghost wearing someone else’s skin.”
“I understand perfectly.” Clyde’s voice dipped lower, silk over steel. “You’ve been mine since before you knew it. And now you’ve let someone else inside you, but it didn’t change a thing. You’re still mine. You’ll always be mine.”
Easterman shivered as Clyde’s cold, impossible weight pressed against his back, an echo of Coyle’s earlier position but more intimate—more right. “You’re not real,” Hendrick whispered again, though his body betrayed the tremor of want curling in his gut.
“Oh, I’m real enough to touch you where it counts.” Clyde’s voice was a slow drag, fingers that weren’t there tracing the shape of Hendrick’s spine. “You still smell like him. But I can make you forget. I can make you remember how it feels when it’s me.”
Hendrick’s hands dug into the couch cushions. “You’re in my head.”
“I’m under your skin,” Clyde corrected, bending to press an unholy kiss just below his ear. “And you’ll never be clean again.”
For a long, breathless moment, Hendrick let himself lean back into the sensation, the phantom warmth mingling with the ghost’s icy presence. His chest rose and fell too quickly, his mind unraveling in the space between grief and arousal.
Clyde’s lips ghosted over his jaw. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No,” Hendrick breathed, before he could stop himself.
“That’s my boy,” Clyde whispered, and the words cut deeper than Coyle’s teeth ever could.
Easterman’s eyes burned as Clyde’s invisible hand slid to cup his throat—not squeezing, just holding, a claim that reached beyond flesh. “I’ll haunt every touch you take from him,” Clyde promised. “I’ll be in the way of every kiss, every fuck. You’ll never know where he ends and I begin.”
Hendrick’s pulse thundered. “You’re cruel.”
“I’m yours,” Clyde said simply. “And you’re mine. Even if you have to let someone else ruin you to feel it.”
The storm cracked the sky outside, flooding the room with a brief, violent flash of light. When it passed, the ghost was still there, smiling like he’d won. And Hendrick—breathing hard, trembling—couldn’t even say he hadn’t.
Summary - Therapy. It's to get you better for something you don't really understand, not yet at least. Dr Easterman has put himself forward to support you, to get you to your best possible self. But, you've never met him. It's difficult to visualise therapy that's tailored to your specific needs if you never meet the Doctor claiming its success.
Just how long have you been in the sleep room?
Let the trials begin.
Pairings - Dr. Easterman (Outlast)/Reader, Night Hunter (Outlast)/Reader, Leland Coyle/Reader, Pusher (Outlast)/Reader, Franco Barbi/Reader, Skinner man (Outlast)/Reader, Clyde Perry (Outlast)/ Reader, Phyllis Futterman l Mother Gooseberry/ Reader
Cast - F!Reader/You, Dr. Easterman, Leland Coyle, Night Hunter, Franco Barbi, Pusher, Phyllis Futterman | Mother Gooseberry, Emily Barlow, Cornelius Noakes, Clyde Perry
Full Tags - (will be updated as the fic progresses) Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, (Slow burn with Easterman) Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Easterman is the ultimate end goal, Vaginal Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Misogyny. Canon-Typical Behavior, p in v sex, Yandere! Behaviour, Red flag behaviour, Sexual Harassment, Nightmares, Manipulation, Drug Induced Hallucinations Unhealthy Food Habits, Drugging, Hanging, Trial-typical violence, BDSM, Restraints, Derogatory Names, Pet Names, Blood Play, Genital Rubbing, Breast Play, Victim Blaming, Dry Humping, Fake Orgasm, Mating Press, Sexual Assault, Porn With plot, plot driven fic, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Sexual gratification, Mentions of bloody bodily fluids, mentions of self harm, Drugged Sex, Forced Oral Sex, Blow Job, Depictions of Death/Gore/Blood/Violence/Non-con/Rape
Divider by @/diviniyae
The comics
A/N - Hey there! This is my first time jumping into the outlast world and I'm loving it! So here is a multi chapter fic showcase, plot and usual Outlast trials shenanigans! I hope you like it! 🤗
Chapters One l Two l Three l Four l Five l Six l Seven l Eight l Nine l Ten l Eleven l Twelve l Thirteen l Fourteen l Fifteen
If you would like to be tagged, please let me know! 🤗
DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).
summary: You're careful to retain your sanity whenever you can, always reaching for an inhaler the moment you become afflicted - but when a run of bad luck leaves you in the clutches of psychosis, you discover that someone has been waiting for you.
In your haste to evade the countless bloodthirsty adversaries stalking the halls, you'd crashed into a bundle of tin cans inconveniently strung directly across your path - and just as your current run of diabolical luck would dictate, of course someone had heard it.
With a wheeze of compressed gas and the rhythmic thump of his lolloping gait, your wrist is shackled by the bony fingers of a Pusher before you can even react. He yanks you closer unceremoniously, dispensing his makeshift medicine with giddy delight.
"Oh, baby, if I was going where you're going..."
And with that, you're firmly in the clutches of full blown psychosis.
As he makes his scuttling retreat, you're left alone in the darkened hallway. Your pulse labours in your ears, senses overwhelmed by the whispers and wails in your adulterated mind. Each ragged breath demands a conscious effort, your eyes uselessly attempting to blink away the manifesting hallucinations.
There he is. The Skinner Man.
He doesn't begin to approach you like usual, however - you catch only a fleeting glimpse before he simply vanishes. The spectre moves too fast for your bleary eyes to follow, and the reflexive whip of your head leaves your stomach churning.
Antidote. You're sure you saw one nearby.
You force a sluggish step, and then another - like fighting against the suck of quicksand, inertia made human. All too aware of the urgency of your condition, you strain to remember where you saw that inhaler. Left or right. Make a decision.
Losing a little sanity never really hurt anybody. Hallucinations can be unpleasant, sure, but a trick of the somewhat tilted mind can't actually harm you.
Psychosis, however... well, it doesn't tend to end well.
As your vision warps, dark lines spreading across the walls like inky capillaries, you press forward. Only a few feet in front of you spawns a long crimson tentacle, breaching the weathered floorboards and gently swaying. Your head throbs.
Pressing up against peeling wallpaper, you sidestep the tendril cautiously. It pulses as it taunts you, and you hold your laboured breaths as you pass it. Find that damn antidote.
Turning a corner leaves you disorientated, blinking slowly and deliberately when you're met with that ghoulish visage once again. The Skinner Man stares, one smoldering amber eye burning into you as he manifests a little closer than before.
...broken...lamb...perfect...
You hear it in your head, the distorted voice rattling around your skull as you press on once more, averting your gruesomely distorted gaze in the continued search for your little green salvation.
He's not real. Don't look at him.
But is he? Because he certainly feels real. The whispers infiltrating your mind feel real too. His image stutters as he slowly begins an approach this time, and you throw your body weight against the nearest door in an effort to evade him.
Where is that fucking antidote? You always carry one on you, unwilling to spend a second longer in psychosis than is ever absolutely necessary, but after a pretty hairy run in with a Berserker you'd decided to forgo your usual supplies in favour of medicinal relief. That's what you get for being sloppy.
...an angel...
The voice in your head is louder this time, and in an instant he's manifesting in the room with you, drawing closer as you stumble backwards. Your breaths only grow more shaky, rattling in your chest as you try to stave off the ever-growing nausea. Screams and gasps continue to echo in your mind as you reach out to brace yourself against the nearest wall, growing unstable on your staggering feet.
...you have...to suffer...
As your vision distorts further, hazy green and sprawling black, you whimper despairingly. You need to get away from him, because it won't be long until you start to wither. His presence alone is enough to harm you if you don't keep yourself at a distance, and it only took one instance for you to learn that the hard way.
...you...deserve...punishment...
The words are eviscerating, the same mantras so often replaying in your fractured mind - but they just feel so real, not simply hallucinations like usual. It's like he's speaking directly to you.
"Go away," you whimper, shaking your head as you shield your face with trembling hands - like a frightened child foolish enough to believe the gesture could somehow make it all stop. "Get out of my head."
...only...they...believe that...
The words catch you off guard and you force yourself to look back at the ghoul, lowering your hands cautiously to reveal the chilling figure before you. He's frozen in place as if awaiting a response, and though your lips part, you can't speak - you simply continue to draw shaky shallow breaths as your warping vision shudders around you.
...no...antidote...no chemicals...
"What did you say?"
Are you trying to converse with him? Have you really gone off the deep end that badly?
...stay...stay with...me...
He's not real. Just keep breathing.
...always...leave...lamb...
"Get out of my head!" You repeat a little louder, attempting to steady your voice as your aching chest squeezes in protest. "You're not real! You're just a hallucination, you're not real."
...feel...me...
A tentacle emerges from the floor just like before, and you recoil when it whips towards you, snaking around your waist before you can even blink. You yelp in shock, sluggish limbs uselessly slapping at the crimson appendage as it encircles your torso.
...I'm here...feel me...
It doesn't make sense. Absent is the typical agony that accompanies a misstep around one of these wicked tendrils, the sharp vicious strike replaced with a touch that's commanding and firm, unyielding yet strangely tender.
You blink slowly, watching in awe as the limb pulses against your body, twitching and throbbing as it tightens its grip just enough to anchor you in place. He steps closer, bony expression unreadable as you meet his gaze.
"I don't understand," you say softly, uncertainly, as you strain to focus on him through the sickly haze of your psychosis. "They said-"
...they lie...to you...
Your breath catches in your throat.
...to keep you...from me...
You're so quick to reach for an antidote the moment you lose a little sanity, but it always makes you sick. You've wondered which is truly worse.
...I love...you...
As the words rattle in your head, you feel another tentacle snaking around your ankle. You reflexively recoil, but the tendril around your waist keeps you steady as the other secures itself around your leg.
...let yourself...be loved...
If he's not hurting you, then perhaps there's merit in hearing him out. If you've finally shattered what was left of your mind, then what else have you truly got to lose? Another tentacle slithers up your back and down your arm, curling around one of your wrists with a gentle massaging pulse, and you don't even try to fight it.
No, it's just a hallucination - despite your impairment, you're sure you still have enough insight to recognise that. None of this is real, even if it feels like it. It's the sheer extent of your psychosis, you tell yourself - simply a case of your unmedicated mind indulging in its crooked stimuli.
You're not crazy, you're just a little sick.
Your free hand isn't left unattended for long as another claret limb encircles your other wrist, rich with heat and an uncanny sense of security. It should make you panic, leave you fighting for freedom, but you don't. There's something about that voice in your head, so commanding and certain, that leaves you unable to resist.
The Skinner Man closes the gap between you, his expressionless face mere inches from your own. You've never allowed yourself the opportunity to get so close to the phantom in the past, far too afraid of the vulnerability of insanity to remain in its clutches for too long - and now you find yourself awestruck by his haunting visage. Sharp arcs of undulating bone are met by voids of impossible darkness, something reminiscent of humanity but distinctly ethereal. He reaches a cadaverous hand up to caress your cheek, and it's not cold or brittle like you expect. There's a strange kind of warmth to it, something bewitching and inviting as talon-like nails curl around the back of your head.
...submit...consent...agree...
Just what are you agreeing to? You can't align your thoughts, so frayed and fragmented as you try to come to terms with what you're seeing. Your wrists remain firmly in place, and you're only reminded of it when you try to reach out and touch him. It makes your pulse quicken, a fly unwittingly captured in the spider's web.
...let me...show you...love...
So transfixed on the spectre before you, you hadn't noticed the tentacle that's been trailing up your thigh. It presses against you through the fabric of your pants, sliding against your clothed crotch with firm rhythmic strokes, and you find yourself nodding dumbly. His skeletal face is mere inches from your own as more tendrils eagerly pull the garment down over the curve of your ass, just far enough to allow one of them access to you.
...my...lamb...
The heat of the slithering limb is intense, and when it slips between your thighs and presses against your bare skin you can't help but whine aloud. Its movements are tender but decidedly purposeful, sliding back and forth against your clit and drawing out slick arousal with ease. Your thighs begin to tremble at the stimulation, your weight almost completely supported by the web of tentacles as your body surrenders to their wordless authority. With a shaky sigh, your eyelids flutter closed.
...all...mine...
When the tip of the tentacle teases at your entrance, you're overcome with an almost instinctual need - the echoes of his voice reverberate in your head, and your own distorted gasps replay in your mind when the throbbing tendril presses inside. Your eyes snap open as your mouth hangs agape, breath snatched away by the overwhelming sensation as it eases itself in with gentle careful pushes, as though you're made of glass. Perhaps you are.
His gaze is intense, scorching and unwavering, and though his expression remains frozen by unyielding bone, something about it feels almost reverent. His hands reach up to cup your face again, ensuring your glassy eyes don't stray from him as the pulsing appendage begins to thrust deeper, faster, as if reassured that you won't shatter at its touch.
...been...watching you...waiting...wanting...
The tip of a tentacle strokes at the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as the other continues to meticulously caress your insides, eagerly seeking out your pleasure as it works. Another slides under the harness of your ESOP, snaking around the curve of your breast and massaging it firmly.
...an angel...my angel...
Pleasure envelops you as each scarlet limb plays its role in taking you apart. His thumbs stroke the apples of your cheeks, one tenderly swiping away a tear that's trickled from your watering eyes. Your body is tensing up, held fast by the clinging grip of those pulsating restraints, and admidst your arousal you feel a dizzying sense of of horror when he slowly unhinges his jaw. Rows of off-white teeth part as another tentacle snakes in through the base of his skull and out through his jagged maw. Frozen in place, it seeks you out, sliding in between your parted lips without resistance and tenderly exploring your willing mouth. You moan around the intrusion as it glides across your tongue, the taper of the limb forcing your mouth a little wider to accomodate it. You suck, not out of conscious choice but rather a peculiar kind of instinct - it feels right, feels good, and as your body is nurtured towards its release, you finally allow your eyes to drift shut once again.
With the seemingly ceaseless and undivided attention dedicated to your release, your pleasure finally crescendos into a shuddering climax, unfettered and all-consuming as it saturates your senses. Every nerve is alight, each cell flooded with an otherworldly ecstasy, and still muzzled by the tentacle lazily sliding between your lips you find incomprehensible release amongst the endless limbs embracing you.
...I love...you...
The words make you open your eyes as quickly as you can muster, phosphenes dancing like fireflies in your vision as you try to focus on him from beneath hooded lids. Gentle hands silently withdraw from your prickling skin, and as quickly as they manifested the tentacles begin to dissipate, shimmering and dissolving as the stain of psychosis begins to wash away. Your limbs are weak, boneless and trembling as you're released from their grasp, withering and spent as they make their reluctant retreat.
I am so disappointed to be making this post, but unfortunately my hand has been forced. I know some of you have seen a post in the outlast tags about a supposed 'callout' for our discord server, and it's only fair for me to clear this up.
It should go without saying that this is unfortunately a malicious allegation. They have never been a part of our server (because they were blocked when it was made to prevent them from bringing drama into our space), and they are now intentionally trying to cause distress to the people I care about. Unlike them, I will actually provide some context, and I'll put this under a cut so that only the people who want more information will see it - because I'm not desperate to perpetuate drama unlike the people concerned in this bullshit post.
If you ask for proof of their allegation they will not provide it, because there is none. What there is proof of, however, is the persistent and continued harassment of myself and my friends. This is the only time I will speak on this - purely for the purpose of clarifying the situation - and then I will not be speaking on this again.
If you care to hear the details, they will be below. If you don't give a shit (which honestly, I would not blame you at all), then please just know that this mess is the most ridiculous and overinflated 'drama' I've ever dealt with in my life, and I'm sorry to have to say this at all.
WARNING: mentions of suicide baiting and emotional manipulation, very brief mention of extreme/highly taboo themes (mentioned due to an anonymous ask)
Context:
Earlier this year myself, elgarwhore (Knife) and cyberneticslasher (Zed) were members of the 'prime time' discord server, which was ran by traitorousfruit and mustymausoleum (now sugared-arsenic I believe) - I'll refer to them as Fruit and Mau for brevity. Myself and Knife were also moderators in the server for a period.
During the course of our time there, Mau developed a kind of proximity crush on me. It was impulsive and became quite obsessive, and due to us both being in relationships at the time I explained that I was not comfortable with anything coming from it. She made me believe that it would all be okay and that she respected my feelings.
One evening while all five of us were in a call, Mau decided to drunkenly declare to everyone that she was "in love" with me. She had already been discussing this with Fruit for a while, but Knife and Zed were not aware of this at all. This was a humiliating, embarrassing, and distressing experience, but I squashed down these feelings and instead tried to be supportive and play it off like it was nothing in order to not upset the apple cart.
Following this call, Mau made vague indications that she would do something irresponsible as a result (choosing to say goodbye when I said good night, saying I wouldn't ever see her again etc.). Fruit did the same while on a call with Knife and Zed, keeping them on the call until the early hours by suggesting that if they left them alone they would also do something irresponsible. Despite having a very uncomfortable bombshell dropped on them out of nowhere, Knife and Zed remained in the call and talked Fruit down (even though Zed had work in just a few hours and needed to rest).
We had hoped that it could go away, considering that we were all trying our best to act like it didn't happen so that Mau and Fruit didn't feel embarrassed or ashamed of the night's events. For a few days, things were okay.
Then, Mau 'accused' Knife, Zed and me of having a group chat without her in it. We confirmed that we did - we had made the chat a while before all of this went down and used it as a place to chat about and develop OCs, to occasionally vent frustrations with the server (because we had raised some concerns about some member conduct, and sadly no action had been taken by Fruit to safeguard the server members - and even when Knife and I had been made mods we were not "allowed" to kick or ban people who were disrupting or causing harm in the space), and we would also occasionally discuss more 'dead dove' style content themes that we didn't want to put in the prime time server (because we didn't want anyone to be made uncomfortable by it). Knife jokingly told her that we just used it to share 'snuff' with each other - we didn't, and we never have (because funnily enough none of us have any interest in that whatsoever) - but she tried to be silly and over the top about it to kind of 'lighten the blow', since at this point we knew we were about to deal with yet another crashout. She also asked Knife if we had spoken about her or Fruit there, and Knife told her that they had only been brought up when I had needed to provide context to her outburst in the voice call a few nights prior.
Mau then decided to come into my DMs and accuse us of triggering her BPD by having a group chat. I explained that I was unwilling to accept that, as I would not be told who I was allowed to have friendships with outside of the server and would not be held responsible for her own reactions. I felt that she was trying to guilt trip me and was still retaining this possessiveness and jealousy she felt, and I was tired of her attempts to manipulate me.
The following night, Zed got an accidental DM from Fruit (meant for Mau), suggesting that they were going to 'get drunk and see what happened'. Unsurprisingly, later that night Knife and I had our moderator roles removed without so much as a courtesy message.
We told them that it felt like a betrayal, and that after all the shit we'd put up with and the fact that we'd still tried to be supportive to them even when they'd hurt us, we no longer wanted to associate with them. We hashed it out in DMs and got everything off of our chests, and then parted ways. Initially I told Fruit that I wouldn't block them and would still be civil if they felt they needed to reach out for support, but after thinking over the circumstances, I decided that blocking and moving on was the best decision for my own wellbeing.
This is why we made our server. We wanted a place where we didn't have to deal with this shit, where people could express themselves in an adult space that was free of judgement and drama, and where the staff would actually handle any safeguarding issues there and then if any came up. Clearly this didn't go down well with them.
Blocking Fruit on discord also resulted in me receiving paragraphs in my tumblr dms slating both myself and my friends and calling me a bitch for blocking them. That was when I knew I'd made the right decision.
I was sent a suspicious anon ask about the new server, asking if "all nsfw was allowed" including specifically cannibalism, rape, and snuff. I was suspicious that it was an attempt from them to try and discredit the server, and it seems like my suspicions were sadly correct. Knife also got a really horrible anon message, which she has posted.
Additionally, despite actually having nothing to do with this at all other than being in the group chat, Zed has also been sent very hurtful and personal anonymous hate from them (including telling her to kill herself, which is frankly disgusting and unforgivable to me). This is completely unacceptable and displays the sheer level of vitriol that they have for us purely because we weren't willing to continue being manipulated and taken for granted by them. They are intentionally trying to hurt us, and this attempt to discredit the server and our community is the last straw for me.
I am so tired. Despite trying my absolute best to play down my own feelings and not crash out over the way I was treated, and subsequently the way my friends have been treated, I can't sit by and watch this shit happen anymore. I'm just so sick of it. I haven't attached screenshots to this post because despite all of this I am still not willing to share private DMs publicly, but if anybody wants to see any proof of what I've said then I can share this privately, please just reach out.
If you've taken the time to read this, thank you so much. It means the world that you have enough faith in me to hear me out.
I will not be publicly speaking about this again. I'm done. I want nothing to do with either of these people. I just want to enjoy the fandom space, continue growing our amazing discord community, and find a bit of peace again after a very painful experience.
Disclaimer: Please do not contact or harass the individuals involved - regardless of what's happened nobody deserves to be subjected to that, and we just want this put to bed once and for all.
